time for work.” His father’s chair scraped back from the table. He stood and headed for the door.
Watching his father leave without another word, Mustang figured he wasn’t going to get as much as a simple “good luck with the operation” or hell, a “don’t die on the table because I’m not paying to bury you” from him.
The man was halfway to the door when he turned back. “Don’t forget to ask the doctor when you can start work.”
Mustang set his jaw. “I’ll ask.” I’ll ask when I can get the hell away from here.
With a satisfied nod, he was gone.
After that beginning, the day could only get better, even with the broken bone and surgery. Just being away from his father lifted a dark cloud from Mustang’s brain. The drugs they gave him at the hospital didn’t hurt either.
“Michael. I’m going to give you a little something I call giggle juice when I’m talking to the kids, but it’s really—” Sticking the IV needle into Mustang’s right arm, the doctor spoke in that way all doctors did as they tried to make even complex things sound simple.
“That’s okay. I don’t need to know any more than that. Giggle juice is just fine. And call me Mustang.” Feeling queasy from just looking at the needle sliding into his vein, Mustang thought it best to interrupt before he went any further with the explanation.
“That’s right. The famous Mustang Jackson. We have a bit of a celebrity here with us today.” He smiled and spoke to the nurse while injecting a syringe full of what Mustang guessed was the giggle juice into the IV line.
Mustang averted his gaze and tried to concentrate on the mint green walls instead of the steady drip, drip of liquid slowly filtering into his arm. Even the toughest men had their weaknesses. His was needles.
A nurse with an ass the size of Texas steered a wheelchair through the door and over to the bed. “Hop on in here, sweetie. You qualify for a free ride to the operating room.”
Mustang started to protest that he could walk when he started to feel spacey. Resolved that he would be pretty much powerless to stop her and not caring so much anymore, he let the nurse help him into the chair. His IV bag full of giggle juice came along for the ride as she wheeled him through the double doors to surgery.
Time started to pass in strange ways and the next thing he knew, they were telling him to hop up onto the operating table. In a haze, he lay down, crossing his legs like he always did when he was relaxing.
“Uncross your legs, please.” The anesthesiologist was less of a people person than the doctor. No joking around. Just orders.
Mustang was pretty sure he complied with the request, but couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t aware of another thing until he woke up in recovery, alone, starving and feeling like he’d downed a bottle of tequila.
If only that were true…
“Look who’s awake. How do you feel?” The well-rounded nurse walked closer to the bed.
“Thirsty. Hungry too, I think.”
“Good. We’ll get you something to drink and eat as soon as the doctor sees you.”
The doctor walked around the curtain right on cue. “Hey, there. Do I hear someone’s hungry?”
Food would be good, but a report that he’d be back riding sooner instead of later would be even better. “Did everything go all right, doc? With the operation, I mean.”
Consulting the chart at the end of the bed, the doctor nodded. “Perfect. The ulna was twisted. Basically, half of the bone did a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn when you broke it. We had to go in, twist it back around and then secure it with a plate. You are now the proud new owner of one metal plate and four screws, but the bone will heal just fine.”
Good thing vivid visuals of snapped bones in his body didn’t bother Mustang as much as needles did or that would have been way too much information. “Am I gonna set off the metal detectors at the airport now?”
Sticking his pen back into his pocket, the
Watching his father leave without another word, Mustang figured he wasn’t going to get as much as a simple “good luck with the operation” or hell, a “don’t die on the table because I’m not paying to bury you” from him.
The man was halfway to the door when he turned back. “Don’t forget to ask the doctor when you can start work.”
Mustang set his jaw. “I’ll ask.” I’ll ask when I can get the hell away from here.
With a satisfied nod, he was gone.
After that beginning, the day could only get better, even with the broken bone and surgery. Just being away from his father lifted a dark cloud from Mustang’s brain. The drugs they gave him at the hospital didn’t hurt either.
“Michael. I’m going to give you a little something I call giggle juice when I’m talking to the kids, but it’s really—” Sticking the IV needle into Mustang’s right arm, the doctor spoke in that way all doctors did as they tried to make even complex things sound simple.
“That’s okay. I don’t need to know any more than that. Giggle juice is just fine. And call me Mustang.” Feeling queasy from just looking at the needle sliding into his vein, Mustang thought it best to interrupt before he went any further with the explanation.
“That’s right. The famous Mustang Jackson. We have a bit of a celebrity here with us today.” He smiled and spoke to the nurse while injecting a syringe full of what Mustang guessed was the giggle juice into the IV line.
Mustang averted his gaze and tried to concentrate on the mint green walls instead of the steady drip, drip of liquid slowly filtering into his arm. Even the toughest men had their weaknesses. His was needles.
A nurse with an ass the size of Texas steered a wheelchair through the door and over to the bed. “Hop on in here, sweetie. You qualify for a free ride to the operating room.”
Mustang started to protest that he could walk when he started to feel spacey. Resolved that he would be pretty much powerless to stop her and not caring so much anymore, he let the nurse help him into the chair. His IV bag full of giggle juice came along for the ride as she wheeled him through the double doors to surgery.
Time started to pass in strange ways and the next thing he knew, they were telling him to hop up onto the operating table. In a haze, he lay down, crossing his legs like he always did when he was relaxing.
“Uncross your legs, please.” The anesthesiologist was less of a people person than the doctor. No joking around. Just orders.
Mustang was pretty sure he complied with the request, but couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t aware of another thing until he woke up in recovery, alone, starving and feeling like he’d downed a bottle of tequila.
If only that were true…
“Look who’s awake. How do you feel?” The well-rounded nurse walked closer to the bed.
“Thirsty. Hungry too, I think.”
“Good. We’ll get you something to drink and eat as soon as the doctor sees you.”
The doctor walked around the curtain right on cue. “Hey, there. Do I hear someone’s hungry?”
Food would be good, but a report that he’d be back riding sooner instead of later would be even better. “Did everything go all right, doc? With the operation, I mean.”
Consulting the chart at the end of the bed, the doctor nodded. “Perfect. The ulna was twisted. Basically, half of the bone did a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn when you broke it. We had to go in, twist it back around and then secure it with a plate. You are now the proud new owner of one metal plate and four screws, but the bone will heal just fine.”
Good thing vivid visuals of snapped bones in his body didn’t bother Mustang as much as needles did or that would have been way too much information. “Am I gonna set off the metal detectors at the airport now?”
Sticking his pen back into his pocket, the
Similar Books
