Return To Sender (Letters to Nowhere #2)

Chapter 22

~jordan~

            "Have you looked at your throat?"

            I shake my head, unable to provide a verbal response while the camp's doctor has a stick pressed against my tongue.

            He removes the wooden stick and steps back, clicking off his flashlight. "Not only is your rapid stress test positive, but you've got a ton of swelling and pus going on back there. You're tonsils are huge."

            I swallow, biting back the pain and nausea that just hit me after creating a mental image of pus in my throat. "So it's bacterial?"

            "The strep and the tonsillitis both." His eyebrows shoot up. "I'll have to start you on some antibiotics, but with three recent rounds cleaning out your system, you're at risk for all kinds of other infections, like C-diff."

            I'm dizzy now and sweating from the nausea, but I'd rather not look like a wimp by lying back on the exam table.

            "I hate to break this to you, but you need to get those tonsils out and soon. Very soon."

            Cold sweat trickles down the back of my neck as I absorb those words. No freakin' way. Not a chance in hell I'm going under the knife for a sore throat. Maybe not for anything.

            He's got his back to me now, looking up something on his laptop. I can't stay upright any longer, so I take advantage of the opportunity to lie back without him watching me carefully. I feel a little better the second my cheek hits the cold polyester exam table.

            "Aren't tonsillectomies like a thing for little kids?" 

            "They're a thing for people with huge tonsils like yours and chronic infections," he says sternly. "There's an ear, nose, and throat specialist in town. Looks like I can get you in next Wednesday."

            I shake my head, causing the white paper of the exam table to crinkle. "I can take care of that when I get back home."

            He turns to face me before I can sit up again. "When you get home? As in at the end of the summer?"

            "Uh-huh."

            "If you want me to give you antibiotics and clear you to coach again in twenty-four hours, then you need to agree to see a specialist next Wednesday. If she clears you to wait until the end of summer, then that's fine, but I wouldn't count on that happening. The complications you're potentially facing are very serious, so don't be an idiot."

            I scrub my hands over my face and groan. I don't want to deal more doctors, with worrying, with going home and leaving Karen.

            Karen.

            I shoot upright again. "Oh shit . . ."

            His eyebrows go up waiting for me to expand on the swearing.

            "Hypothetically speaking," I ask, "How contagious is this strep/tonsillitis combo?"

            "I'm afraid to ask why?"

            I let out a breath. I should have been more careful. The last thing Karen needs is swollen tonsils. "My girlfriend is here at camp . . ." I figure that should be enough details for him.

            He nods and turns back to his laptop. "What's the staff member's name?"

            "Karen Campbell. But she's not staff."

            He lets out a low whistle under his breath as he types her name into the database. "Nina Jones is not going to be happy with you."

            I roll my eyes. "Yeah, so what else is new."

            "No drug allergies, no recent illness," he says to himself before opening a drawer and pulling out two boxes. He tosses both lightly into my lap. "One Z-pack for you and one for the girlfriend as a preventive measure. Tell her to replace her toothbrush and come see me if she has any nausea, rash, vomiting, and so on . . ." He also hands me a tiny paper cup with one white pill and one brown pill. I look them over carefully, but don't make a move to take them. "Steroid to reduce inflammation and a pain pill. You'll have to come here for each dose of these. Can't have them floating around staff quarters."

            I'm pretty sure pain pills and anti-inflammatory meds are already floating amongst the staff.

            He jots down the details for next week's appointment and hands me a sticky note. "No coaching for two days. Which translates to, stay in your cabin and don't kiss anyone, got it?"

            "Got it." I slide off the table, my hands full of pills and paper. On the way back to my cabin, I debate calling my dad and updating him on my recent health issues but decide against it. I'm eighteen now, I don't have to run everything by him.

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