Dad Bod (Under Construction 1)

“Mr. Davenport?” A coolness pats my forearm, and I struggle to open my eyes. The room is dark and hazy. I blink slowly, trying to clear the swirling dizziness as I search for the voice. “Mr. Davenport, I’m Dr. Shepherd, your cardiologist, and this is my nurse, Cybil. How are you feeling this morning?” The room is covered in brightness as a short woman, Cybil I presume, pulls the blinds open then smiles to herself. Something about a nurse named Cybil is creepy; wonder how many personalities this chick has? Wonder which one came to work today.

The man standing next to me presses a button and inclines the bed, and I scoot up to get comfortable. “You look better this morning. How did you rest?” he asks, placing the stethoscope against my chest.

“Like the dead,” I joke, my voice weak and raspy. The doctor looks up at me over his glasses and smirks, moving the stethoscope further down my chest. “What the hell happened to me anyway?”

“You passed the fuck out like a little bitch,” Carter booms as he strides into the room holding Belle’s hand. Laney, Carter’s wife, swats at him angrily as she scolds him under her breath.

“Daddy!”

“Belly! Come here, baby girl!”

Dr. Shepherd thrusts his hand out, stopping Belle from pouncing up on the bed. “Just a minute, Mr. Davenport. Let me finish examining you, please.”

Belle freezes mid-step and pulls her lip between her teeth. “Is my daddy gonna be otay?”

“We’ll make sure of it, sunshine,” Cybil replies. “Come around on this side and you can help me take Daddy’s vitals while Dr. Shepherd examines him, okay?”

Belle nods and moves around the bed, not daring to take her eyes off me.

“Mr. Davenport, our initial assessment led us to believe you had a heart attack. Do you have family history of heart disease or other medical conditions?”

I try to say the words, but the lump in my throat prevents me from speaking. I pinch my eyes closed and drag in a heavy breath. “His dad … he lost him about eight months ago,” Carter responds.

“I’m sorry for your loss, son. Fortunately, you didn’t have a heart attack. We’ve run numerous cardiology tests—all look to be fine, with the exception of high blood pressure. Have you ever experienced anxiety attacks before?”

Anxiety? High blood pressure?

I cock my brow, confused. “I don’t think so.”

“What specifically were you doing when you had this episode?”

I shake my head to try to clear the fog. “I-I d-don’t remember much. It’s was Belle’s birthday party. Kids everywhere.” My heart pounds against my chest as a tingling sensation crawls from the tips of my toes and up my back, and a beeping shrill punctuates throughout the air.

“Calm down, Mr. Davenport. You’re having another anxiety attack it seems. Your heart’s racing, and you look distressed. Try to take some deep breaths, in and out very slowly,” Dr. Shepherd coaxes. I pull in a breath, but it’s short and shaky.

Belle’s little fingers wrap around my hand and squeezes. “It’s otay, Daddy.” There’s a hidden fear behind her weak smile. I take another breath and push it out slowly, just like Doc said. My chest is still tight, but the weight is lifting, my breathing becoming somewhat easier.

“You’ll learn how to control the episodes over time, but the best advice I can offer you is to stay calm and breathe. Aside from losing your father in recent months, has anything else happened that would cause stress?”

Fuckin’ hell—life.

“After Dad died, I took

over his construction business. Being the single father of a preschooler, working long hours—that’s just the tip of it.”

“Again, I’m sorry for your loss, but you’re still young, and your daughter needs you, Mr. Davenport. I’m rather concerned with your health overall. I pulled your medical records in hopes of finding past EKGs, ECGs, or stress tests to help link this episode to any heart-related illness, but I’ve concluded this might have been the first episode of this magnitude?”

I could tell him about the chest pains and shortness of breath, but it would only urge him to run more tests, costing me more money and time that I don’t have.

“I guess so.”

“So, no previous symptoms?”

“Don’t fuckin’ lie, Madden. Think of Belle,” Carter scolds, pointing his finger at me. “He can’t walk a flight of stairs without nearly passing out. And if he’s surrounded by people, he gets flustered and red in the face like he can’t breathe. That shit can’t be normal, right?”

“No, sir, it’s not normal at all, but it is common in men who are overweight and have high blood pressure,” Dr. Shepherd replies to Carter then turns to me. “When I was going through your chart, I noticed you’ve gained a substantial amount of weight in the last few years. The first step to getting you healthy is losing the weight. I suggest a low sodium diet, cut out any pop or sugary drinks, and begin a workout regimen.”

I nod, speechless. Humiliated. What can I say? My doctor just politely called me a fat ass, and he isn’t wrong.