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Chapter 451 Stitches

Mr. Atkins hurried me to his car, where Mrs. Atkins was waiting. Seeing that both of their attention and concern were focused on me, I started to feel guilty. They had four other boys to care about. Boys that were their blood-related sons.

"I don’t think you both should leave..." I told them, worried that I might get in trouble for speaking up. "The boys would really want you guys to be there to celebrate. We just won league after all."

"Oh, honey," Mrs. Atkins laid a hand on my left shoulder. She bent her knees so we could be eye to eye, making me feel uncomfortable. "We know it’s a big win for you boys, but you’re hurt. Your health comes first."

"I’m okay, it doesn’t hurt." I told her.

Mrs. Atkins looked slightly stressed. "Jake. We need to make sure you’re okay. Not that we don’t believe you, but if we mess up now, that could lead to more trouble down the road."

"I just feel like you guys are worried over nothing and I don’t want to pull you away from the boys." I really don’t want the boys to get mad at me for taking their parents away too.

"Son." Mr. Atkins put an arm around his wife, helping her stand tall once more. "We’re not treating you any differently than we would treat the boys. If any of them were in need of going to the hospital, that would be the priority." It was like he could read my mind. "Now get in. At this rate, the boys might beat us there."

His words comforted me and my anxiety on the matter. Mr. Atkins could relate to a certain extent about my insecurities. Although our circumstances were different, the impact that it had on us were nearly the same. I want to be like him though, more open and forgiving. Mr. Atkins is my role model for what I want to be like when I grow up. Looking at him, you wouldn’t be able to tell that he had a rough patch in his teens. Heck, Noah didn’t even know what his grandfather had done to his father.

***

The ER visit was surprisingly slow-going. The only ever time I’ve been to the ER was for my near death experience and I wasn’t awake for the most of it. It was bam, boom, and I woke up in a private room. Now that I’m not dying, it was just a long wait.

Mrs. Atkins was responsible for checking me in, while Mr. Atkins called the boys. They were still on their way back to the school, so Mr. Atkins instructed that they go home and take a shower first before checking in on us.

It took time before I was called back, and then it took longer before a doctor walked in. Mr. and Mrs. Atkins didn’t push me for conversation and instead settled on talking about their work and what needed to be done this week before the weekend, when they do open houses.

"Jake Hollander." An older woman in a white lab coat walked in. She looked at the Atkins. "Are you two the parents?"

An awkward pause settled before Mr. Atkins stood up and shook her hand. "I’m Wayne and this is my wife, Mary. We’re the legal guardians of Jake."

The doctor understood his introduction. They weren’t my parents. She came over to the bed I was sitting on. "An open wound on the upper forearm...can I take look?"

I held out my bandage arm.

She slowly unwrapped to reveal a nice size gash that went short way on my arm. She started her examination, having me move my fingers, hand, wrist, bend the elbow; does this hurt and does that make you feel any pain. We went through it all.

"Let’s do an X-ray to be on the safe side." She glanced at the Atkins. They both nodded in agreement. She looked at me. "After we get the ’okay’ from radiology, I’ll send in a physician assistant to close up the wound."

I reluctantly nodded. My stay was becoming longer and longer. By the time I went for the x-ray, got the results, and the PA came in, I was dead tired.

I yawned as the PA explained that the X-ray came back clear and that I would be free to go after the stitches. She then brought in the supplies and started to work.

Mrs. Atkins hovered behind. "Be careful, please."

"Yes, ma’am." The PA said, her eyes not leaving my arm. She was solely focused on stitching up my split skin. "Jake, have you had stitches before?"

I gave a single nod. My near death experience.

"Good, do you have experience on taking care of them." She said.

Uhh. I shrugged.

"Don’t move please." She gripped my arm a little tighter. "I’ll send you all home with some instructions on keeping the area clean. Washing it with some antibacterial soap, or using a cream like Neosporin to prevent infection is strongly recommended. Keep it out of water. A shower should be okay but don’t soak it in a bath or pool. Don’t pick at it. Try not to do any strenuous activities for the next couple of days." She finished the last stitch and backed up to examine her work. "Twelve. Twelve stitches. Not too bad. Make sure to make an appointment with your family doctor to have them removed in ten to fourteen days."

"Jake plays baseball." Mr. Atkins spoke up from his seat. "Will he have to stop for that duration of time?"

I froze. I didn’t think of that. "I’m okay. I can still play." We’re going to the playoffs after all. I can’t just..not play. That wouldn’t be good.

The woman looked at me with an expression of sympathy and pity. "I would say one week off. At the minimum. Or else, you risk opening the stitches and wound, and that can lead to scarring." She packed up her stuff and headed for the door. "I’ll send a nurse in with written instructions on cleaning the wound and how to prevent opening it up." She left.

"I don’t care about scarring." I stated firmly for the Atkins to hear. I have plenty after all. What’s one more on this body?

Mrs. Atkins looked worried. "Jake, you heard her. You shouldn’t risk it. It’ll be painful if they rip open and then you’ll have to get them fixed again. There’s also a risk of infection."

"I’ll be careful." I said stubbornly. "I don’t throw much in games so it won’t be too strenuous."

"What about hitting?" Mr. Atkins asked. Unlike his wife, he wasn’t quick to shut this down. He gave me a chance.

I got up and pretended to swing. From both sides. I frowned. If I’m holding a bat...it might be a little tough to swing a whole bunch. I thought about it. "Allow me one swing each at-bat. I’ll minimize the pressure."

"You don’t have to push yourself so much, Jake. Just take a break." Mrs. Atkins pleaded lightly. "I don’t want to see you hurting yourself."

"Mary." Mr. Atkins said, making her stop. He looked down at me. "Jake, no one’s going to be mad that you can’t play. Take a game off."

I was quiet for a minute before speaking up. "I want to play. I’ll be mad at myself. I don’t want to give up." I swallowed audibly. "Besides...I can’t take a game off. What if it’s the last game? I don’t want to miss it. Let me play, please."

Mr. Atkins sighed. He ran his hand through his hair. "We’ll think about it. We’ll have to discuss it with Coach and your athletic trainer too. They might not want you to play." My face fell in disappointment. "Not because they don’t want you to play, but because it can be a liability for them and the school. For now, let’s get home. We need to bring the boys something to eat."

I nodded at his compromise. He didn’t tell me ’no’ outright. It’s more of a ’wait and see.’ Acceptable.