“You’ll be back to normal in about eight weeks. We’ll give you some antibiotics and ointment for the road rash. You’ll need to change those dressings one to two times a day,” the doctor continues.
“No problem.”
“Your ribs will heal in a few weeks. Just, take it easy. Sleep sitting up, propped by pillows, for at least a week.”
“Got it.”
“It’s your shoulder that’s the worst of it,” he confirms, glancing at my X-rays.
“Broken?” I assume the worst because my arm is hanging at a weird fucking angle and the pain was agonizing before the nurse pumped me with a strong painkiller.
“Dislocated,” the doctor breathes, tapping the X-ray. “I’m going to slide it back into place but first, we’ll give you a light sedative. After it snaps back in, we’ll have to immobilize it. You’ll be in a sling for at least a month, maybe longer.”
I nod, grinding my teeth. I hate the thought of being helpless for a month.
“Daily activities, like dressing, will be a challenge but?—”
“I’ll be fine,” I cut the doctor off. It was my own fucking fault for crashing. I took the curve too fast, my head twisted up and my body craving more. I knew I fucked up before I cleared the turn, but it was too late. My bike slid out from underneath me and I flew forward, slamming into the ground on the right side of my body. “I’m lucky.”
He nods and instructs the nurse to give me a sedative.
“Please! I need to see him,” Carla’s voice sounds out.
“Carla!” I holler, swearing as pain blazes through me.
The doctor gives me a look before popping his head out of the ER bay. “Here.”
A moment later, Carla rushes into the space, her eyes wide with worry. Her mouth drops open and horror washes over her expression the moment she sees me. “His arm! Tell me what’s wrong with him!”
“Cucciola.” I smile when I see her.
“The sedative is working,” the doctor says, clearing his throat. “It’s a dislocation. I’m going to slide it back into place. If you’d step out?—”
“I’m not leaving him,” Carla cuts the doctor off and steps to my side, reaching for my good arm.
Fortunately, my leather jacket, gloves, and boots, protected most of my body, hands, and feet from further injury.
“Okay,” the doctor agrees. He steps closer and Carla shuffles back half a step. Taking my hand, the doctor begins to guide my arm through some movements. “You’re going to hear a sound, like a pop, and then it will slide back in.”
I nod. “This isn’t my first dislocated shoulder.”
“Great,” he snorts, his lips curling with humor.
Fifteen seconds later, a gross sound fills the air, and I grit my teeth, releasing a groan, as my shoulder slips back into place.
“That’s it.” The doctor grins. “We’ll get you set up with a sling and you’ll be out of here within the hour.”
“Thanks, Doctor. I appreciate you,” I say.
The nurse immobilizes my shoulder, binding it in a sling, as Carla shifts her weight beside me. The silence is stifling and I hate that she’s here, seeing me like this. Vulnerable, weak, and frustrated.
When the nurse leaves, I look at Carla. “You didn’t have to come.”
“I wanted to,” she says, sitting in the chair beside my bed. “I couldn’t even think, breathe, I—” she sighs. “I knew something was wrong when I couldn’t get in touch with you?—”
“You were calling me?”
She nods. “We won. The girls won the regional final.”
