I nod, close to bursting into tears.
“Well, I’m going to check your vitals, take some blood, and then the doctor will be in to see you.”
I nod again, incapable of speaking.
“I’m John, by the way,” he says kindly as he checks my pulse and takes my blood pressure.
“Nice to meet you,” I reply softly, sinking into myself.
When he draws my blood, I wince and look away, concentrating on the small television in the upper left-hand corner of the room.
“All right.” He picks up a tray with several vials of my blood. “I’ll go get these to the lab and the doctor should be here shortly. It’s not too busy this morning. For once.” He smiles then walks off.
I once again curl up into a ball on the thin mattress and stare off into space. The cramps haven’t subsided and there is a constant throbbing in my lower abdomen.
“How about some trashy TV?” London turns up the volume and scoots her chair closer to the bed. “I never got to watch television growing up. It was always piano lessons or French tutors or studying. It was such a sheltered existence,” she reminisces.
She has told me this before, but it doesn’t sound like she was sheltered; it sounds more like she’s cultured and worldly.
“The only words I know in French are ménage à trois.” I try to joke, but when I giggle, my sensitive muscles contract painfully.
“Those are really the only important ones,” she jests.
London strokes my hair as I lay on my side miserably, watching trashy reality TV. I don’t know how long we wait, but another episode of the same show comes on.
“Ellie Stevens?” An older man in a white coat announces my name.
“Yes, that me.” I turn onto my back. He looks at me as if he recognizes me.
“I’m Doctor Holiday.” He introduces himself as John rolls in a machine behind him. “We never formally met, but I’m the doctor who performed your surgery the night you were shot.”
“Oh, yes. I remember hearing your name.” I struggle to sit up.
“It’s good to see you doing well.” He smiles as he pulls up a chair next to me.
“I think that is yet to be determined.”
Doctor Holiday grins slightly as he pulls up my shirt. “How’s your fiancé?”
I look at him thrown. “He’s my husband now. You know him?”
“We met briefly. Quite the intense individual.”
London snickers. “That’s one way to describe him.”
Doctor Holiday pushes on my abdomen. “Any pain?”
“A little.” I wince.
“Still bleeding?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Good.” He takes a seat in the chair and plays with the knobs on the machine John rolled in. “When was the last time you had your period?”
“Last week.”
“And everything seemed normal? Normal blood flow?”
