The doc nodded, scribbling a couple of notes. “Do you know what you might have had access to during your black out?” He continued his questions in a non-condemning manner.
“Honestly, I have no idea, sir. I wouldn’t be surprised if I tried all the things. I don’t have vein blow out, so I doubt I took anything with a needle,” Fane lifted his arms to show the doc. The man in the labcoat looked over his scarred skin carefully.
“How’s your breathing?” the doc asked as he put a stethescope to Fane’s back.
Fane accommodated the breathing test at the doctor’s direction. “As I said, there was the cannabis. My lungs don’t sting or hurt when I breath in deep and I was fine pacing my warm up run, so, not sure if I inhaled anything else.
All the scars hurt the same way that they normally do, so I want to say I didn’t get near any opioids. Though, the long one on my left oblique hurts worse than usual. It’s radiating all the way into my thigh and up over my shoulder. It doesn’t get worse when I exercise or enter into a different position. It’s just there,” Fane touched the errant scar under his gown.
“Here, lay back and let me see,” the doc motioned. Fane laid down and let the man palpate him. Nothing hurt in a defined manner that revealed a bruised or injured organ. The doc helped him sit back up and continued going through a list of possible suspects.
“I spent the night in a red room, so I could probably do with a checker, make sure I didn’t pick up any nasty infections on top of my horrible idea of a party night. I can’t even say for sure if I used any protection with the woman. Wallet’s empty, so I want to say I did,” Fane slumped forward, his thumbs twisting against each other. The farther away from the field he was, the better he was beginning to feel. Maybe it was just something random, and not what he had taken last night. He could hope.
The doctor sighed under his breath. “Alright, we’ll get a checker pulled on you too. At least for your worry, alcohol isn’t illegal. You’re just not supposed to show up to work drunk. Weed isn’t illegal, so that won’t get you dismissed, again, as long as you don’t show up smashed.
Thank you for being honest with me. It does make it so that I can make more informed decisions and better guesses at what is going on with you,” the doctor told him. “You know, I get these guys through here with all of the classic OD symptoms and they’ll straight up lie through a charcoaling that they never touched the stuff that is coming out of their stomachs,” the doctor rose to leave as the nurse came in.
“Do whatever you feel necessary. I’ll take it,” Fane mumbled apologetically.
“You don’t present with any symptoms of having consumed a life threatening dose of anything like carbamazepine or phenobarbital, so I’ll avoid shoving activated charcoal down your throat for the moment. Right now, other than a low fever and that scar hurting, you aren’t giving me any real symptoms for having taken anything. You might have a torn adhesion, a pulled muscle, maybe a dislocated rib, or you might have hit your head and your cerebral cortex is futzing. We’ll get you figured out and back on the field as soon as we can figure it out.” The doc smiled encouragingly as he left the room.
The nurse handed Fane a small plastic cup and deposited a tray of tubes and phlebotomy materials on the counter. “I’ll have you leave a sample in that. There’s a bathroom through that door,” she pointed to what Fane had initially thought was a storage closet. “When you’re done, just ring that bell. I’ll come back and get the blood samples,” she left with barely a second glance at the men. Fane held the plastic cup, glistening under the halogen lights.
“Uh, I’ll just…” Zephyr pointed to the other door and eased himself out.
The nurse, miraculously, was rather good at what she did. He sure as hell did not feel like having veins in both of his arms blown out. When blood samples were required, it seemed to be his general menu of the day to come out looking like an abuse victim or a druggy. No blow outs or calling in another person to pull blood.
Zephyr hadn’t come back. Fane suspected he had returned to the training field. He was supposed to be overseeing the testing today anyway. Fane sat and watched the clock tick by. Was he supposed to be waiting here? He suspected that he should have been dismissed after the testing samples. They’d get back with him about what was going on, right? Half an hour later, and he was getting antsy. It’s not like the hospital had a plethora of little waiting rooms. He had been told that they were really busy today. Well, if I’ve been forgotten, he thought to himself as he laid down on the gurney. A couple minutes of shut eye wouldn’t kill him.
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