However, when morning came, his leg looked and felt exactly the same. He was a bit concerned now, wondering what he could have possible done to it. You couldn’t sprain your shin, could you? He had never heard of such a thing... yet if it wasn’t sprained, than what was wrong? He considered everything from shin splints to a fracture, but how could he crack his bone on a bathtub? He hadn’t clunked his leg that hard, had he?
“Maybe it’s a stress fracture,” he said to no one in particular, as he sat on his bed, massaging his leg and worrying. His friend James had gotten a stress fracture when he was in high school, the result of cross country running. He wasn’t sure how much overuse it took to do such a thing, but he had done a lot of bouncing around on stage during the tour. Could he really have done that much damage to himself?
Now that he thought about it, this wasn’t the first his shin had hurt him. It had ached off an on before throughout the tour. The bathtub incident had only worsened things.
It’s gotta be a stress fracture, Nick thought confidently. Knowing what it was made him feel better, but realizing what he might have to go through because of it definitely didn’t. He remembered James being on crushes for weeks, his leg strapped in a giant and uncomfortable-looking brace. That was the last thing Nick needed. Why did everything bad have to happen to him all of a sudden? First Leah and now this... only a few days ago, his life had seemed perfect. Now little things were adding up to make his life much harder.
Sitting up in bed, gazing absently out his bedroom window, Nick thought about his predicament and wondered what to do. If he really did have a stress fracture, he knew he had to see a doctor. Letting it go would only make it worse, and he wanted it to heal as soon as possible. On the other hand, he absolutely hated doctors. He respected them for the job they did, but the thought of going to one terrified him. He wasn’t sure what had caused it, but he had absolutely dreaded going to the doctor’s office ever since he was a little boy. He wasn’t big on needles, blood, pain, or just the thought of being touched, poked, and prodded by a stranger. And the smell... God, how he hated that antiseptic, mediciney doctor’s office smell. It made him slightly nauseous even to think about it.
Still, he was twenty-three, an adult, and he knew this was something that had to be taken care of. And so, he promised himself that if his leg didn’t feel better in a few days, he would go see his doctor about it.
***
Days passed, and Nick’s leg felt no better. The bruises were healing, but his whole lower leg was still puffy, and the pain was as bad as ever. It was getting harder and harder to walk, and inwardly, Nick knew he was going to have to see someone about it. He was due to visit Brian and Leighanne that weekend, and hobbling around Atlanta on a busted leg didn’t sound like much fun. Besides, he knew if Brian saw what a hard time he was having, he would whisk him off to the Emergency Room before Nick even knew what was happening. Brian could be so overprotective, especially now that he was a father.
So, on Thursday, two days before he was scheduled to fly to Atlanta, Nick set off for the nearest first-care clinic, a facility that would see walk-ins. He didn’t have a doctor of his own in Tampa; he hadn’t been to one in years. Besides, he knew there was no way he’d get an appointment anywhere; doctor’s offices always seemed to be booked. And so, dreading a long day of sitting in a smelly doctor’s office, Nick drove to the clinic.
Luckily, the small waiting room was not too crowded. There were mostly children there with their parents, and he felt strangely out of place. However, he was relieved to find that no one paid any attention to him when he signed in and sat down; he figured the parents were too old to recognize or give a care about him, and the children were too young. It was the teenagers and twenty-somethings that caused problems, and there didn’t seem to be anyone in that age group there. Relieved, Nick picked up a dated issue of Sports Illustrated and thumbed through it, absently looking at the pictures without really seeing them and ignoring the articles altogether.
He finished with the Sports Illustrated quickly and watched as a little girl who looked about six or seven returned a Highlights magazine to the rack. When she had returned to her mother, Nick got up, hobbled over to the magazine rack, and picked up the Highlights himself. Sitting back down, he put his hand over his mouth to hide his smile as he looked down at the magazine’s cover. It brought back memories of countless visits to the doctor and dentist when he was little; Highlights seemed to be the most popular waiting room magazine. He opened it up and slowly began turning pages, stopping to find the Hidden Pictures and read Goofus and Gallant, which had always been his favorite section as a child.
After Highlights, he flipped through a few crinkled issues of Reader’s Digest and then moved on to Woman’s Day. Finally, as he was pouring over the latest “how to drop a dress size” article, the door to the waiting room opened, and he heard his name called. A little relieved, but mostly nervous, Nick quickly stood up, dropping the magazine back in its slot on his way across the room to the nurse who was standing in the doorway.
“Nickolas?” she asked, giving him a polite smile.
“Yes,” he replied, forcing one back.
“Good, come on back with me.” The nurse turned and led him through the door and down a small hallway. “Right in here,” she said, holding open a door for him. He limped through the door and found himself in a small examining room with one of those leathery tables covered in a roll of white paper. The room reeked of medicine, and his stomach churned queasily as the pungent stench invaded his nostrils.
“Can you get onto the table for me?” the nurse asked, watching in concern as Nick hobbled across the room.
“Sure.” Trying his best to keep a brave face and not wince in front of her, Nick hoisted himself onto the table and sat perched on the edge of it, his legs hanging off.
“Great. Now, what’s your complaint today, Nickolas?” the nurse asked, sitting down on a stool across from him, her pen poised over a clipboard.
“It’s my leg,” said Nick. “Right here, at my shin.” He ran his hand lightly down his left shin. “It’s been sort of aching off an on for a few weeks, and I bumped it the other night and bruised it, and it swelled up, and now I can barely walk on it.”
“I see. Can you roll up your pant leg so I can take a look?”
Nodding, Nick pushed the leg of the wind pants he was wearing up above his knee, exposing the lower part of his leg.
“Mm-hm, I see,” said the nurse, leaning forward to inspect his leg. “Looks like a nasty bruise you had going there.”
“Yeah,” agreed Nick.
“How exactly did it happen? What did you hit it on?”
“Um... the edge of my bathtub, actually,” Nick admitted, blushing.
The nurse smiled. “That’s okay, I’ve done that before too. Hurts like the dickens.”
Nick nodded and smiled weakly, feeling slightly less humiliated.
“Well, you sit tight, and I’m going to get a doctor to come in and have a look. He’ll probably want to run an x-ray, just to make sure you didn’t crack anything in there.”
Nick nodded, and the nurse went away, leaving him alone in the room. He sat and looked at the medical posters hung around the room until the door swung open, and an elderly man strode briskly in, his white coat billowing out behind him. “Hello,” he said, taking a seat on the stool the nurse had formerly occupied. “So I hear you’re having some leg pain?”
“Yeah,” Nick said and explained what he had told the nurse earlier, showing his leg to the doctor.
“Hm... I see...” the doctor murmured, studying his leg. “Scoot back and prop your leg up here for me so I can get a better look.”
Nick obeyed, scooting backwards on the table so that his legs were stretched out in front of him. Gently, the doctor felt his leg, prodding it and asking frequently, “Does this hurt?” Clenching his jaw, Nick answered “yes” often.
When the doctor finally pushed his stool back, Nick said, “I was thinking maybe I have a stress fracture. I’m a singer, and I’ve just been out on tour for the past month, doing a lot on stage. Could I have fractured my leg from overuse like that?”
The doctor frowned. “Maybe,” he said, stroking his chin. “I’d like to get an x-ray; I think a fracture is definitely a possibility. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to come with me down to x-ray.”
Nick nodded, his suspicions confirmed. Mentally trying to prepare himself for weeks on crutches, he climbed carefully off of the table and followed the doctor slowly out of the room.
***
