I will not think of the man I’ve known for years right now. The man who causes my heart to constrict when it shouldn’t or who smiles at me as though it’s only for me.
Stop this. It will never happen.
“Hey there. I’m Doctor Watson.” The doctor brings me out of my daze.
“Like from Sherlock Holmes?” My face squinches.
He swings a stool closer to the exam table. “Is he a doctor?”
I shrug.
“I recognize you from Lake Spark Academy. You teach there, right? I think you might actually teach my daughter Sammy next year. She’s going to be in seventh grade.”
“Oh, fun,” I breathe out a reply as I try to tamp down my pain.
Lake Spark Academy is a private school. It’s half an hour from here, but I enjoy the fact that it means I’m less likely to run into my kids on the weekend. I take that back—not kids, teenagers. I need a break from teenagers. Teen students take a little more patience. Sometimes, I regret that I didn’t choose to teach preschool, but there are not many private preschools in the county.
The other week, I went to a real estate open house for a building with a great garden on Main Street. I’m not sure why I went, but when I walked through the rooms, it became obvious that I was entertaining the idea of starting my own private preschool. Pure dreams. We all have one or two.
The doctor gestures to my thumb. “Well, maybe I should be worried that her new social studies teacher has had a few questionable accidents.” My face falls from his sentence. “Relax, it’s a joke. I heard what happened from the nurse.” His professionalism hides the slightest of humorous smiles wanting to escape. He unwraps the white bandage I’ve been pressing against my thumb to stop the bleeding. I refuse to glance down. “For sure, we’re going to have to stitch you up.”
“Figured. But these days they have those clear roll-on stitches, right?” I’m hopeful.
“No can do. Your cut is too deep.” He examines my thumb. “Maybe even cut a nerve”
I gasp, and new warmth flushes through my body. “A nerve! Is that why I’m really struggling right now to feel my thumb or is it just pure pain from my stupidity?” My voice cracks as I whimper.
“All of the above. I would say four stitches and a brace on your thumb, and then in about ten days you’ll have to return to have the nurse remove them.”
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself, and I attempt a few yoga breaths, but it fails to calm me down. “Okay.”
“So let me grab some supplies, then I will stitch you up.” I chuff a laugh. “Must be your excitement for the day, I guess.”
He grins. “I would assume that you’re implying that this emergency room doesn’t see much action. Believe it or not, we’ve had a busy day. Tetanus shot due to a wild animal bite, someone had a burn from coffee. All the end-of-the-world things, you know.”
“We’re a quaint town,” I quip.
“That we are. Let’s do this. We’ll stitch you up and get you on your merry way.”
He quickly grabs a few things from the side cabinet before returning to his stool where he places his supplies on the tray next to him, and I notice the needle with liquid nearby.
“What is that?” Panic sets in.
He doesn’t spare me a glance and gets to work on his tools. “Lidocaine to numb the area before I stitch.” My eyes follow his movements down and then my entire body spins.
Blood. Needle. My thumb.
Then the world goes black.
“Hailey.”
The feeling of a cool cloth against my forehead helps my body begin to stir. I blink repeatedly as I wake groggily and try to grasp my bearings.
“There you are.” A smiling older nurse greets me. She slowly helps me to lie on my side while a warm rush flows down my body. “You fainted.”
Oh yeah, because I hate everything that involves sharp objects and blood. Apparently, just not bread knives.
“I think I’m beginning to feel better,” I mumble.
