“I’m the sheriff in Bluebell Falls,” I say with that little hint of pride.
“Well, thank you for your service in both the Marines and as sheriff.” He bows his head in thanks. “Do you mind if we do a physical exam?”
“Not at all.” I get situated on the bed and take my shirt off. His hands gently trace the scars long ago healed. The same scars I avoid looking at all costs.
He asks me a million questions about where the pain is and how it feels before he tells me I can put my shirt back on.
“So, it could be a few things, but I feel like two are the most likely. We’ll need to do a couple of scans to narrow it down, but I feel confident it’s either arthritis or ASD, which is adjacent segment disease. Both are treatable. However, they both don’t have a cure.”
I nod slowly, not really coming to terms with the fact that this may never get better.
“I don’t want to give you a treatment plan until we narrow down which it is; however, we have a CT machine in house and can get it in while you’re here if you have time,” he offers, and my shoulders release all their tension. No waiting for answers; I’ll get them today.
“I have nowhere to be until four this afternoon.”
“Perfect. Let me go grab Sandra, and she’ll get you set up. I promise to answer any and all questions once we get an actual diagnosis.” He holds out his hand to shake, and I take it. I’ve never had a doctor be so … human before, and I’m more than glad I found him. It also makes me a little depressed I waited so long to get it checked out.
Sandra, the nurse, comes in and takes me to the area where the CT machine is, and in the matter of an hour, I’m back in room three, waiting for Dr. Brian Vincent to come in and tell me what’s going on.
He doesn’t make me wait long and comes in with a file in his hand. He sets it on the counter before taking a seat on the stool again.
“Well, good news. We have a diagnosis.” I nod, holding my breath, expecting the worst. “It’s ASD, like I thought. It basically means the areasabove and below your fusions are getting overloaded. I assume when you carried the man to your truck, it was a little too much strain on your back, and because you have three fusions, it’s giving you exponentially more pain than I would expect. Now, like I said, there is really no cure for this. However, we are able to do injections from some good stuff in your platelets to help promote a higher level of healing, and you should be feeling great within a few months.”
I breathe out and let his words really soak in. It’s not terrible news, and it’s treatable. That’s the best-case scenario.
“Okay. How many injections?” I honestly don’t have a lot of questions because he’s done a really great job of explaining it at a level I understand.
“Well, I don’t have a definite number because I would want to see how you react to the first two or three. I’d want to spread them out to do one a month, and then do a scan after the second one and see how things are looking. We’ll do a lot of rinse and repeat until you feel better and I’m happy with how things are looking around your fusion sites. If we see a lack of progress, we have other options to look at, but I don’t want to get into those unless we absolutely need to.”
“How soon can we start?”
He chuckles and directs me to the front to get everything scheduled. Because the injections are a bit of a process, I’m driving back here in a few days to get the ball rolling.
I finally end up back in my truck, and I take a minute to process the entire appointment. The overwhelming calmness that settles over me almost brings tears to my eyes. Being stubborn is a part of my DNA, and suddenly it all feels stupid as hell. I could have been more proactive and not let my back get so bad; instead, I let it get to a point where I can barely get out of bed in the morning.
This first step in taking care of myself, in order to be the man Rina always deserved, is officially complete. Now, I just need to drive home in time for my first therapy appointment.
Well, therapy fucking sucks.
For an intake appointment, I didn’t expect to get into a lot of things, but holy shit was I wrong.
I’ve been sitting on my couch for God knows how long, just staring at the wall, ever since I hung up on our virtual session.
We only got through my childhood, but apparently, I don’t talk about things often enough because it all rushed out once I got started. Now, I just feel empty, but not in a bad or negative way; more like a cleanse.
I think about what the therapist said, about taking the time to reflect and think about what’s truly important in my life, and I decide today is as good as any to start. I get up slowly, looking forward to the day when those injections start working, and go to the kitchen to make a sandwich. Once that’s done, I head to my truck and drive out to the falls.
It’s still the one place I feel I can come to that clears my head and allows me to just think. It’s the best place to attempt to figure out what’s important to me. I may not have come here before I invited Rina not all that long ago, but breaking that barrier makes it seem like a safe space again.
The twenty-minute hike has my back screaming, but I know working through the stiffness in my hip will help me sleep later.
I end up sitting on one of my favorite large stones right on the edge of the water, and I unwrap my sandwich to eat while I start thinking.
What’s important to me?
Obviously, Bluebell Falls and my job as sheriff. I take pride in making sure everyone is taken care of and babysitting the gossip crew. They keep life fun even if I pretend to act annoyed most of the time. It may not have been where I saw my life going when I was younger, but now I can’t imagine doing anything else.
Rina.
