Barefoot Beach Box Set

Chapter 6: Sunstroke-2

I woke in Room 782 at West Reef Hospital with a headache, blurred vision, and feeling as if ten guys had done a train on my body. A male nurse the color of dark chocolate stood next to me and said in a deep voice, “Mr. Shawford, welcome back to the real world.”

I sputtered words out of my mouth that neither of us could even begin to understand. My mouth was dry, I felt my heart race, and the Florida light that found its way into the hospital room was blinding what little vision I could muster. I blinked a number of times, swallowed dry air, and felt pulverized in the hospital bed, beaten to my core. Then I tried to sit up, but the African-American nurse said, “Stay down, Mr. Shawford. You need lots of rest. Why don’t you drink this?” He passed me a glass of water, which I consumed without any fuss whatsoever. “Your body also needs lots of liquids. You’ve had a doozey spell of heatstroke, young man.”

I took a drink of the icy water, swallowing half of it down from the paper cup in just a few gulps. I regained my breath and finished the remaining liquid off, emptying the cup. Following my task, I directed my attention to the black man next to my bed and studied him from his waist up: aqua-blue scrubs, pot belly, plastic name badge pinned backwards so I couldn’t make out his name, and broad shoulders. The guy looked to be in his late forties, sported gray-black scruff on his chin and cheeks, and beamed a generous and all-white smile at me that confirmed he was not my enemy. Curious of his name, I asked, “Who are you?”

“Nurse Ramon, Mr. Shawford. I’m on duty until eleven o’clock this evening.”

“What time is it?” I groggily said, wanting to know.

“Almost seven o’clock in the evening. You still have me for four more hours. Then Nurse Beatrice will be watching you throughout the night.”

I looked from Ramon to the IV in my arm and admitted, “The IV hurts. Can you take it out?”

He shook his head. “Of course not. You need some fluids and fun juice. Just relax and keep drinking.” Ramon took the paper cup from me, filled it with the use of a plastic green pitcher, and then returned the cup to me, suggesting, “Drink up, my friend. The sooner you get some liquids back in your system, the faster you can get out of here. I’m no doctor, but this I know from experience.”

I listened to him and drained the cup of water. As he poured a third cup for me, I asked, “How did I end up in here?”

“You were at a party and drinking too much in the sun. You dehydrated and passed out. A man by the name of York called 911 and now you're here.”

I recalled very little of the scenario on the beach, and none of the ride to the hospital with Brayden at my side. Most of the time at Ging’s and Nick’s was a folded blur for me, and something that I couldn’t easily unwrap. “Where is York now?”

Ramon passed the third cup of water to me, which I consumed. In doing so, he said, “He went to the bathroom and to get a cup of coffee. He should be returning to see you in a few minutes.”

“How long was I unconscious?” I asked, wanting to know. If anyone had the answer to my question it was Nurse Ramon at my side.

“Approximately two hours. I’m glad to see that you’re awake now.”

Within the next few minutes he fluffed my pillow, took my blood pressure, studied my temperature, and looked into my eyes with a very bright object that resembled a penlight. Once he was satisfied with his results, he pulled away from me and said, “I think you’re going to live. Dr. Fairmont will confirm my guess. I’ll have him check on you.”

I knew Dr. Fairmont from a shin accident fourteen months before. I was attending another party at the time, closer to Naples than Barefoot Beach, stumbled over an ottoman, lost my balance, and fell on a sliver of my crushed martini glass. The shard sliced my right shin open and Dr. Fairmont was nice enough to sew it back together with seventeen stitches. A tiny scar was left on the leg as a reminder of the party and my clumsiness, but no one could really tell that it was there since it was covered in a fine layer of dark fur.

Again, Ramon filled my cup of water and passed it to me. Then he said, “I’ll go inform Dr. Fairmont that you’re ready to see him.”

“Thank you,” I said, still feeling as if my head were being pounded with a sledgehammer

“You’re welcome, young man. Off I go.”

I watched him leave, settled in my bed, sipped at my fourth cup of water, and closed my eyes for a few seconds to rest them.