Chapter 3
Three
Everyone was right.
I needed all the drugs.
They’re incredible.
Earlier, a doctor tried to move me, but I made an animalistic sound, so she immediately stopped, nodded once, and said, “Okay. No more of that.”
Ten minutes later, a nurse hooked me up to an IV bag that promised relief in liquid form.
Sweet, sweet chemistry.
I stare at the ceiling as it works its magic, my thoughts floating just slightly behind my lips. When I turn my head, Emmy and Celeste are standing on either side of the bed.
“Remem… remem…” I try to wrestle the word into focus.
“Oh no,” Emmy murmurs. “She’s delirious.”
Celeste waves her off. “Leave her be.”
“No,” I insist, wiping my eyes because they’re suddenly leaking for no reason. “You guys remember when Emmy went into labor with Sasha?”
Emmy sighs. “Hard for me to forget, Mads.”
“No, but remember,” I say, laughing now, “we all took turns with the gas and air thingy.”
“You stole it,” Emmy says flatly.
Celeste grins. “That was a great night for everyone except Emmy’s vagina.”
We all lose it.
My back twinges, but I don’t care. I’m high on pharmaceuticals and nostalgia.
“Well,” I gasp, “this is what that feels like.”
For a second, I’m not in a hospital. I’m back in our tiny university apartment. Three girls with no money, no plan, and no idea what we were doing. Emmy got pregnant before any of us were ready, but we adapted. We took turns with night feeds and argued about diapers.
Until she met her husband, who is a wonderful man, but he stole her and the baby. Which was fine because she had another one and he’s a cutie.
Warmth hums through me when the curtains pull back, and a Greek god in scrubs walks in.
I try to blink the haze away.
Am I hallucinating?
“Mrs. Callahan, I’m Dr. Lawson.”
“Oh God,” I sigh. “You’re not the other doctor.”
He pauses.
“You’re hot.”
“Madison!” Emmy and Celeste say together.
Dr. Lawson presses his lips together as if he’s fighting a smile. He’s tall with broad shoulders, and he’s wearing pale blue short-sleeve scrubs, so I get to see his forearms.
They’re great forearms.
They make me feel warmer.
His hair is dark and a little messy. I like it.
I bet Dr. Lawson hates hot yoga.
“I see the medication is working,” he says.
“I don’t usually say things like that,” I add. “I notice. I just don’t announce.”
Celeste groans. “An ounce of shame, Madi. Just one.”
Dr. Lawson rolls a stool closer and helps me sit up, one steady hand at my back and the other bracing my arm.
“I’m Miss, by the way.”
He looks up. “Excuse me?”
“You said Mrs. I’m not married.”
The corner of his mouth tilts.
Success.
“So, Miss Madison,” he continues, “can you tell me what happened?”
“Hot fucking yoga,” I slur.
“Hot yoga?”
“I went on a date,” I explain, waving a hand vaguely. “Third date. I shaved… everything. He took me to hot yoga.”
“I see,” he says. “And when did the pain start?”
“Somewhere between downward dog and losing my Zen.”
He nods and makes notes. “I want to get you into the MRI before we discharge you. Just to be thorough.”
“That’s fine, but afterwards, you’ll send me home with more drugs?”
“With more drugs,” he confirms.
I beam. “You’re my favorite doctor.”
He performs the same examinations as the previous doctor. All of them make me moan, just not in the way I would like to with a man like him.
“Sharp pain?”
“Yes.”
“Numbness?”
“No.”
“Tingling?”
“Yes, but the nice kind.”
Emmy snorts.
“Can I ask you something?” I say, suddenly quieter.
“Of course.”
I swallow. “Is this… my age?”
He looks up again.
“Am I getting old?” I continue. “Because my date said it was my age.”
Dr. Lawson’s brows knit as he reaches for my chart.
He scans it, then looks back at me. “You’re twenty-nine.”
“That’s what I told Sage.”
His pen stills. “Sage?”
“Yes.”
“His name was Sage?”
“I know. I ignored all the warning signs.”
“This has nothing to do with your age,” Dr. Lawson says calmly.
“So, I’m not elderly.”
“No. You’re injured.”
“Hot yoga injury.”
“Hot yoga injury,” he agrees. “This looks like acute muscular strain with nerve involvement. Painful, yes. Permanent, no.”
I sink into the mattress with relief. “Oh, thank God.”
“We’ll get imaging to be safe, but I expect rest, medication, and time will do most of the work.”
“I hate all of those things.”
He glances at Emmy and Celeste. “Any significant stress lately?”
“No,” I say instantly.
“She never stops moving,” Celeste says at the same time.
Emmy nods. “She won’t admit it, but she juggles a lot.”
Dr. Lawson studies me. “When something like this happens, it’s often the body’s way of telling us to slow down.”
“I don’t get that luxury. I work and help care for my mom.”
The room goes quiet. Even the drugs can’t float me past that.
“Do you relax?” he asks, pen hovering over the chart.
“Sure. Sometimes I treat myself and go to bed before midnight.”
“That’s not quite what I meant.”
“I also sit down,” I add. “Daily. Sometimes twice.”
“Madison,” he says gently, “you need to make time for yourself because if you don’t slow down, your body will do it for you.”
I scoff.
“For the record,” I say, very seriously, “I am extremely flexible. I just thought that should be said out loud.”
“That should never be said out loud,” Emmy mutters.
Dr. Lawson writes something in the chart.
I grin and wink at him because I have very little shame without the medication. With it, shame is nonexistent. “Thanks, doc.”
He dips his chin. “I’ll be back after your MRI with the results.”
“And the drugs?” I call after him.
“With the drugs,” he promises, already pulling the curtain closed.
The second he’s gone, Emmy and Celeste turn on me.
“Don’t you two look at me like that,” I warn. “I crawled out of hot yoga yesterday. I no longer feel embarrassed.”
“You hit on a doctor,” Emmy says.
“I complimented his appearance,” I correct. “I was being kind.”
Everything feels a little fuzzy now and soft around the edges
I groan as I sink back into the bed.
“That’s right,” Celeste murmurs as she pulls a blanket over me. “You go to sleep before you get yourself a restraining order.”
I smile, my eyes already drifting shut.
Hot yoga was a terrible idea.