“Sure, hun. Let me see.” I watch her wrinkled finger poke at the keys one at a time as she starts to type. But she stops two letters in. “How do you spell her name?”
“M-A-Z-I-E Hard.”
“Right, okay, this says...” My foot begins to tap against the tile floor as my patience grows thin. “Yes, here.” She points at the screen. “She’s in surgery right now, so you will have to wait in the OR waiting room number five. That’s on the second floor. Take these elevators right here.” I look around and spot them as I shake my head in agreement. “And the room is just to the right when you exit them.”
“Thank you so much, ma’am,” I say, already halfway to the elevator. Surgery? Already? Fuck, this must be really serious.
The stereotypical hospital waiting room is anxiety in a box. The only relief I feel is from knowing that driving away from this building, where I wouldn’t know if Mazie was okay or not, was definitely the wrong thing to do.
Thoughts about Mazie and the way she makes me feel are overwhelming my brain. Why did I stay and not leave? I mean, yeah, she is sick with something unknown to me, and it’s obviously serious, but I would have left any other woman here and sent a quick and brief email to my secretary back at my office the next day to send her a small get-well flower arrangement. Then be done with it.
Slumped in the blue vinyl chair with little to no cushion, my back is beginning to ache as the beige walls and random art prints merge together from staring at them too long. I didn’t look at the time when I first arrived, so I’m not sure how much of it has passed. There are no windows letting me know if the sun has set, but the numbing in my ass tells me it’s been hours.
An elderly woman with a name badge walks in and sits at the small desk that’s positioned towards the entrance. I watch her with intrigue, questioning if she would have any information on Mazie.
Finally, she glances up and meets my gaze. “Can I help you, young man?”
I get up from my chair and walk closer to her; I don’t want to shout over the empty space. “Would you by chance know if Mazie Hard is out of surgery?”
“Let me see. They just handed me an updated room assignment list when I started my shift.” Shaky nimble fingers thumb through a thick stapled pile of papers. There are hundreds of names on there. I assume one for each room in this multi-level hospital. “What did you say her last name was?”
“Hard. H-A-R-D.”
“Yes, I see it here. Oh, well, so sorry to say this. She is in a room, but it has a note here that she is not allowing visitors.”
“Okay, if she’s in a room, does that mean that she made it out of surgery alright and will be okay?”
“There’s really no way of me being able to know that.” Her words hang in the momentary silence as I ponder what to do next. She must have pity on me because she does give me one more clue. “However, she is not in an intensive care room; she’s just in a regular room.”
“Perfect,” I respond with a little more excitement than anyone should have in a surgical waiting room. But I know that Mazie will be okay and more than likely be able to fully recover.
I can leave now with a sense of peace and know that the nurses and doctors are taking good care of her.
Chapter 12
Mazie
Six weeks. Today’s my first day back at the office, and I have to say, even through the pain of recovery, I actually enjoyed the time off. I can’t remember ever taking a week off of work, let alone six. Probably in high school was the last time, and that was just because it was summer break. No, actually, it didn’t even happen then as I was usually busy doing some kind of extracurricular activity. Or studying for a final that was going to happen a week after I returned to school so I could ace the test.
This time off has also allowed me to reflect on things that I was always too busy to stop and appreciate or recognize within myself. The question is, do I go back to working nonstop? Is that the life I want going forward? Or do I want to position myself to downsize and take more breaks in life? If I were to take more breaks, what would I even do with myself?
During the last six weeks I had Betty reroute my patients to the only colleague I trust in this area, and this week since it’s my first week back I’ve only scheduled three patients a day.
Patient number one of the day is your average man, age forty-five. He’s struggling through the normal wear in tear of the degrading body throughout the years, yet his mental capacity wants to remain at the twenty-year-old body age.
Patient number two, the arrogant asshole who has to hit on the lady doctor, who can get it hard and is able to have sex more times than not, and who is probably just here because his dick is overworked. Ugh, he’s the perfect reminder of Grant’s friend Bryce. Although Bryce did have a legitimate reason to be my patient.
Patient number three is the sweetest elderly man. He and his wife are currently waiting for me to see them in one of the exam rooms.
I grab Mr. Smith’s chart off the wall and scan it for any concerns or any new ailments that might have popped up within this past year. The chart shows that he’s been doing really good and looks like he’s been healthy, which is good, considering he’s been through the wringer with prostate cancer a few years back.
With a light tap on the door, Mr. Smith invites me in. “Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” I greet and shake both of their hands. Then I sit on the stool to be eye level with their seated positions. “So, tell me how the year has treated you, and how are you feeling. I see here that your annual scan and tests look good, but how do you feel?”
“Well, Doctor, this year I have really kept up with the working out and staying strong, that way I can use those little blue pills you prescribed me last year. And let me tell you... Just ask Mertel.” I glance over at his lovely wife, and she has embarrassed rosy cheeks. The sight makes my heart warm, bringing a smile to my lips. Mr. Smith follows my gaze, and his own smile brightens upon seeing his wife. “We’ve been married for fifty-two years, and I would not have changed a thing just to be able to see that pink, sexy glow from my Mertel. Anyway, this year, her cheeks have stayed that color ninety percent of the time. It’s like we were fifty years younger and on our honeymoon.”
“That’s wonderful and so great to hear. You both deserve all the happiness and enjoyment. I am so glad you have been able to weather the storm of life to see the fruits of the sunshine.”
“Certainly, and I would not have been able to do that without the support of this wonderful young lady at my side each and every day.” He looks to Mertel and reaches for her hand. Their embrace is sweet, affectionate, and makes me long for something like what they have built together.
Grant has been the only one that I have been comfortable with in order to allow my walls to be down and hand over control of my body. That is one of the major things I’ve contemplated during the past weeks of recovery.
Grant wanted that arrangement, purely sexual, and I went with it for that night. It was amazing, relaxing, and allowed me to mentally escape, but the light of day erected all my walls of me being in control. That scared me and I ran. Then he showed up on my doorstep, better yet, he was dropped at my door, in my place where I have complete control over everything I do.