Chapter Eighteen #2
Was he seriously asking to learn some sign? That was a step in the right direction. Evan touched the tips of his fingers to his chin, then lowered his hand, palm side up. “Thank you.”
Tyler copied him. “Thank you.”
“See you later.” He didn’t wait to see if he responded, just gave a wave with his uninjured hand as he hoofed it into the building.
It wasn’t too crowded as he marched up to the registration desk.
His head didn’t like the movement, so he slowed it down and waited for the person in front of him to be finished.
The antiseptic smell and bright lights didn’t help his condition any. As he waited, he perused the room, noting all the mouths moving and people in motion. He definitely didn’t have the attention span to try and focus on any of that today.
The person in front of him was handed a piece of paper and ambled back to one of the chairs. Evan moved forward. The woman at the desk was already talking, though she hadn’t even looked up.
“I’m Deaf,” he said as clear as he could. The woman glanced up and sighed. Whipping out his phone, he tapped on the screen.
—Construction accident. Cut my arm.— He held up his injured arm, and she nodded when she saw the blood seeping through the bandage.
“Who?” She held her hands up in the universal sign for who or what, then pointed at the temporary fix.
He nodded back, then squeezed his eyes shut at the stabbing pain in his head. Tapping away, he wrote, —First aid at the construction site, but it’s still bleeding. Also hit my head on a drainage pipe.—
She placed a paper on a clipboard, added a pen, then handed it to him. “Fill this out.” She pointed to the waiting area. “Bring here when done.” Then, she pointed to her desk.
Evan took the clipboard and gave her a thumbs up. Something everyone knew. In one of the seats, he quickly filled out the form. Name, address, phone number, birth date, insurance, any health issues they should be aware of.
They needed to know he was deaf, but he hated adding it as a health issue.
It didn’t affect his health at all. He was incredibly healthy.
He just couldn’t hear. Gritting his teeth, he wrote Deaf.
He wrote the word again near the top of the sheet, so they’d see it and understand they needed to make adjustments to their form of communication with him.
After dropping it back at the registration desk, he settled into a chair with a view of the door where patients were going. Too often, whatever person was taking people back didn’t always notice that he was Deaf and just called out his name.
The TV in the corner flickered with some silly talk show.
The host was very animated, but Evan couldn’t tell what he was saying because he had a huge mustache.
Plus, the cameraman kept panning to the audience to get their reaction.
Just as well. Most of those shows were ridiculous, even with the closed caption on.
A mom with a very sad baby in her lap sat in a corner, attempting to keep him quiet.
Poor thing. Evan couldn’t hear the child, but with the way the baby’s mouth was wide open and tears streamed down his face, he could tell it must be loud.
The person next to them kept a wad of tissues to her nose, and her eyes were bloodshot. That didn’t look fun.
Little by little, people were brought into the back room. His head felt fuzzy, and the room swam on occasion, like he was watching from behind a wall of glass. When it all got to be too much, he closed his eyes and took slow steady breaths in and out.
When he opened them one of the times, a woman in scrubs stood in the doorway, searching the room. Crap. Had she called his name and he didn’t see? He waited another second and sure enough she mouthed, “Evan Jameson.”
Springing to his feet, he moved forward, then regretted the fast action.
He grabbed the back of a chair and waited until the room stopped spinning.
“I’m Evan,” he said, hoping his voice was loud enough to be heard from across the room.
She glanced up from her clipboard and frowned. Because he hadn’t responded right away?
She said something as he approached her, but he missed what it was. “I’m Deaf,” he said and pointed to his ear. “I didn’t hear you call my name.” His automatic response was to apologize, but it wasn’t his fault he hadn’t heard her. He’d written Deaf on the top of the page in big letters.
She peeked at the paper in her hands and shook her head when she saw the words. Her expression turned contrite, and she mouthed, “Sorry. Busy day and I didn’t see it.” She made sure to face him and speak clearly. “Follow me.” She waved at him to through the door.
She led him to a room and indicated he should sit on the exam table. Once there, her eyebrows slid together. “Do you read lips?” she asked.
At least she asked and didn’t simply assume. Too many people did. “A little.” He dug his phone out once more and tapped into his app. —We can use this to communicate. I don’t always understand everything from lip reading. It might be important for me to understand what the doctor is saying.—”
The woman laughed and held her hand out for his phone, then typed into it. —We usually use a video interpreter service, but it’s down today. If you’re okay using the phone, we can do that. Or we can call to see if there’s an interpreter who can come to the clinic. That could take a while.—
Evan waved the phone and smiled.
She sat at a rolling table and scrolled through a form, then showed it to him. Tapping on the REASON FOR VISIT line, she indicated he should answer on his phone.
—Accident at the construction site I work at. Someone messed with one of the drainage pipes when it was being moved on a chain. It swung around and I got clipped by it. Hit my hardhat and dented it pretty good. I landed near the backhoe and cut my arm. It was cleaned up a bit there.—
She typed away at her own computer, then showed him a few questions. —Dizzy? Nausea? Blurred vision?—
He nodded to all three, causing her to frown. She took his phone and tapped a short message. —The doctor will be in very soon to see you. We’ll clean your wound and see if you need stitches while you wait.—
Within the next five minutes, a medical assistant came in and cut the old bandage off. She spent far too much time, in Evan’s estimation, probing the wound and cleaning it out. It hurt like the dickens.
When the doctor finally arrived, Evan had decided he simply wanted to go home and sleep. He’d had enough of medical procedures for today.
The woman smiled at him and pointed to her name tag that read, Dr. Houseman.
She took a penlight from her pocket and proceeded to shine it directly in his eyes.
Ow. She then probed his head and neck, and he could tell exactly where he’d been hit by the pipe as soon as she touched it.
He flinched and said, “Yeah, that’s where I was hit. ”
Next, she motioned for him to stand up and had him balance on one foot and other things like that. For the next half hour, his reflexes were checked, he was asked questions, written down or typed, and he answered as best he could. Would they think he was dying because his reading level was low?
When she seemed satisfied, she wrote on her pad, “You have a concussion. A mild one, but you’ll need to rest your brain for a few days.”
His sisters would tease him that he rested his brain every day. Now he had permission to do so.
Next, he did indeed get stitches for the cut on his arm. Ten of them to be exact. He sat as still as he could and breathed deeply. They’d numbed the area with some sort of gel, but the cut itself still hurt.
When the doctor was done and her assistant had cleaned up the mess, a paper printed from the device on the counter. She handed it to him and tapped on some of the content.
*No driving for the next 48 hours.
*No screens (or minimal screens) for at least a week.
*Make an appointment with your primary care to have stitches removed in 10 - 14 days.
*Someone should stay with you tonight.
There were some other ones about things not to eat or drink, but he skimmed over them. He could read it all later.
She faced him and said, “Do you live alone?”
“I have a roommate.”
“Is he also Deaf?”
“No, she’s hearing.”
The doctor nodded and made a note on the laptop. Then she turned it to face him. —You’re all set to be released unless you have any more questions.—
Evan waved the paper she’d handed him and gave a thumbs up.
She made the motion of someone steering a car. “Do you have a ride home?”
He nodded, though he hadn’t made arrangements yet.
He’d figure something out. The doctor shook his hand and left.
Glancing around the room to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, he wondered who to call for a ride.
Carli worked in Boston, so definitely not her.
He hated to worry either of his parents and make them leave work.
Heck, he hated to be the cause of anyone to miss work.
He could get an Uber. That meant he’d have to do some form of communication with a hearing person, and he didn’t have the stamina to deal with that right now.
His eyes scanned the room and landed on the large clock on the wall. It was almost three. He’d been here for way too long. Mercedes got out at four. Would she mind leaving a little early? He could check.
In the waiting room, he slumped into a chair in the corner near the window, away from most of the other people.
Fatigue wrapped around him like a blanket, and his head throbbed.
So did his arm, but at least he wasn’t dripping blood anymore.
Closing his eyes, he took several slow, deep breaths to see if it helped at all.
He’d been wired pretty tight since the accident.
He decided to text Mercedes. She was fairly close and might even be able to go back to work after dropping him off.
—Hey, any possibility you could take a short break and pick me up at the walk-in clinic on Governor’s Ave. and bring me home? If not, no worries.—
Leaning his head back against the window, he shut his eyes again. It was only a minute before his phone vibrated.
—What happened? Are you all right? Why don’t you have your truck?—
He had a feeling she’d get her maternal side flowing. —Little accident on the job. Nothing serious, but I need a ride. I can’t drive.—
This was the part he hated. Being vulnerable and needy.
Having to rely on someone else. Yet, for some reason, he didn’t mind Mercedes being the one to help him with it.
Her calm, steady presence was what he needed right now.
The fact she spoke his language, after a day of lip-reading and texting, was refreshing.
—On my way. That’s not far. Unless there’s traffic, I shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.—
There was always traffic, but it was right around the corner, so hopefully she could make it quickly. He could feel his body sagging.
—You’re perfect. Just pull up. I’ll wait by the door.—
She sent back a thumbs up emoji, which hopefully meant she was getting in her car and couldn’t text.
He rested back in the chair, his eyelids heavy again, letting the harsh light fade away.
Only for a few minutes to lessen the pounding in his brain.
Mercedes would be here for him soon. That was a wonderful thought.