Dad Bod (Under Construction 1)

“That’s a great idea, man. We can do it together.” I cock my brow at my best friend, knowing he’s trying to be supportive. I feel fuckin’ worthless, laying here in this bed hooked up to machines and tubes. I nearly died at my daughter’s birthday party. That would have forever scarred my little girl if I hadn’t come out on the right side of the dirt.

“We’ll keep you overnight again just to monitor you, but you do need to get out of the bed and get your bearings, walk the hallways, maybe after you shower,” Dr. Shepherd suggests, cutting his eyes to Nurse Cybil, sending her a nod to indicate she can remove these shit tubes and devices when I’m ready to move. The doctor not only thinks I’m fat, but also that I stink; good to know, Doc.

“Yeah, I’ll try to do that. Thanks, Doc.”

“Just take it easy. If you get dizzy or feel sudden panic, use your call button and a nurse will be right in. I’ll check on you later this afternoon. Get to feeling better, Mr. Davenport. You have a precious little girl who needs you at home.” Dr. Shepherd turns on his heels and leaves the room, the nurse following closely behind. That dude is not a poster boy for bedside manner.

“Ring me when you’re ready to get cleaned up, and I’ll bring a shower kit and disconnect your leads,” Cybil says before she closes the door. The monitor beeps in tune with the pace of my heart, erratic and skipping beats.

Carter speaks up, breaking the sudden awkward silence. “Mad, man, you scared us all to death. I’m so fuckin’ glad you’re alright, but damn it, you’ve gotta get healthy. For Belle. You’re all she has, man. What would—”

“Stop, Carter.” I hold my face in my hands to hide the humiliation and self-loathing I feel. Taking a deep breath, I stow the emotions and look up at my daughter. “Let Unk and Laney take you to the café to get some ice cream, okay, kiddo? Dad’s gonna take a shower and try to feel better so I can come home.”

“Will I get to see you ’fore Unk takes me home?”

“Yeah, baby girl. Unk will bring you back up to see me in just a little while. Is that okay?”

“Otay, Daddy! You do kinda stink.” She pinches her nose as she leans forward and kisses my hand then skips around the bed to Laney. She takes her hand and leads her out into the hallway. I push the blanket back and try to pull myself up out of the bed, my energy depleted.

Before I can fall back against the mattress, Carter clasps my hand and wrenches me forward, pulling me to my feet. “You can sulk all the hell you want. I nearly lost my best friend yesterday, my brother, and that little girl doesn’t need to know how close she came to losing her daddy. What then, Mad? You’re all she has. I can’t make the choice for you, but I sure as hell will stay on your ass and fight you tooth and nail to make sure I keep your sorry ass around as long as possible. You’re a dick, but you’re my brother, and we need you.” He slaps his open hand on my shoulder then turns away quickly, meeting Belle and Laney in the hall. I know he meant it to be motivational, but hell, kick a guy while he is down why don’t you.

*~*

“Up on your feet already? You need to be careful so you don’t get dizzy.”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

The nurse disconnects the leads and removes the pads from my skin, yanking my chest hair out with each one.

“You’ve got a beautiful little girl. How long have you been a single father?”

“Two years now,” I answer quickly, the memory of the custody battle fresh in my mind. She places a towel, washcloth, and a clean gown on the bedside table along with a shower kit.

“I won’t pry, but whatever the situation is, it seems as though you’re doing a fabulous job of raising your daughter. But you have to take care of yourself as well.”

“So, anxiety … that’s a real diagnosis?” I chuckle nervously, changing the subject.

“It’s very real, but the doctor’s main concern is your blood pressure level and weight. High blood pressure and obesity can lead to serious heart issues, and having a family history of heart disease only increases your risk. I think the commotion of the birthday party may have spurred the anxiety attack, but it was rather extreme. Stress will kill ya, my friend. Dr. Shepherd will likely see you back in his office in a couple weeks and monitor you until he’s comfortable that you’re on the right path to being healthy. Most importantly, like the doctor suggested, is that you get your weight under control.”

I nod, absorbing her explanation. “I wasn’t always like this, ya know? If I wasn’t on a job site or at home with the family, I was at the gym working out. I ran three miles every morning; I was in shape. It was my safe haven, my catharsis, to level out my head and clear any fog that may have been clogging my mind.”

I look away, realizing the irony of the situation. Every thought, every trouble would pour out of me in the form of sweat with the thrust of the weight bar or every pound against the pavement. I left nothing but reason behind, allowing me to return home as a new man. I could resolve anything by going to the gym, then the custody situation with my ex-fiancée changed, and suddenly I was a single father overnight. It was an uphill battle, but one I’d fight over and over again just to save my daughter.

“Then … then my priorities changed, and I simply lost myself along the way.”

“I hope this encourages you to find yourself. For the sake of that precious little girl.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She pats my arm and leads me to the small alcove in the corner of the room. “There’s a call button there on the wall should you need assistance. Once you’re dressed, call for me and I’ll connect your IV and apply new leads. The doctor wants to monitor your heart and blood pressure until you’re discharged.”

I nod and make my way into the closet-sized bathroom, immediately feeling anxious in the small space. “Thank you, Cybil. I’ll be out shortly.” She dismisses me with a wave and closes the bathroom door.

I catch sight of my appearance in the mirror and wince in disgust. My cheeks are red, marking evidence of high blood pressure. My stomach, once tone and lean, now carries at least fifty extra pounds. My old man was overweight. High blood pressure, cholesterol. And he died at the age of fifty-two because he didn’t take care of himself. He put work and other priorities above his health. And now, here I am following in his very footsteps, one foot in the grave years sooner.

Unable to bear the sight of myself any longer, I turn toward the shower and switch on the water, feeling an unmeasurable weight of guilt and humiliation for the man I’ve let myself become.

CHAPTER TWO