132

132
Dr Knight 

The drive toward the campsite became increasingly difficult as waves of dizziness washed over me. My vision blurred at the edges, making the road ahead seem like it was swaying and shifting. 

I struggled to keep the car steady, my sweaty hands slipping on the steering wheel as I fought to maintain control. My heart pounded erratically in my chest, a terrifying reminder that something was seriously wrong with me. Several times, I narrowly avoided drifting into oncoming traffic, jerking the wheel at the last moment to stay in my lane.

"Dad, you just passed another red light!" Nathan exclaimed, his small hands gripping the edge of his seat. "Are you even looking at the road?" His voice was rising with concern as he watched me blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision. I could feel his eyes studying my face, noticing things no nine-year-old should have to worry about. "You're super pale, and you're breathing funny," he observed with the directness only children possess. When I didn't immediately respond, he reached over and touched my arm. "Dad, please stop the car right now. You look really sick, and you're scaring me."

I finally acknowledged the danger I was putting us both in and managed to halt the car next to the pavement, pulling over with a slight screech of tires. My hands were trembling so badly I could barely turn off the ignition. With considerable effort, I twisted around and reached for a half-empty water bottle from the back seat. My movements felt sluggish and uncoordinated, as if I were moving underwater. I unscrewed the cap with fumbling fingers and splashed the lukewarm water over my face, not caring that some of it dripped onto my shirt collar.

"Is this what grown-ups call a panic attack?" Nathan asked, watching me with worried eyes. "My friend Jayden's mom gets those sometimes. He says she has to breathe into a paper bag when it happens." He mimicked deep breathing to demonstrate. "Should I find you a bag, Dad? Or should I call Mom? I have her number memorized." His practical approach to the crisis touched me deeply – he was trying so hard to be brave and helpful.

I focused on controlling my breathing, deliberately inhaling and exhaling slowly, counting to four with each breath just as I'd instructed countless patients to do over the years. Gradually, the spinning sensation subsided, and my vision began to clear. The tightness in my chest eased slightly, though the underlying weakness remained. I didn't want to admit it, but I knew these weren't just symptoms of anxiety or exhaustion—this was my body sending serious warning signals that I was choosing to ignore.

"Thanks for looking out for me, buddy," I said, ruffling his hair. "Smart thinking about the breathing technique. That's exactly what I needed to do." I wanted to acknowledge his concern while reassuring him. "You know, you'd make a pretty good doctor yourself someday. You've got good instincts—noticing when something's wrong and staying calm under pressure."

I pulled my son closer to me and wrapped my arms around his small frame, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. His hair smelled like children's shampoo – apple scented, I thought – and something uniquely Nathan that made my heart ache with love. "It's okay now, I promise. I'm feeling much better. Just got a little lightheaded for a minute there, but I'm good now," I reassured him, trying to sound more confident than I felt. I couldn't bear the worried expression on his innocent face.

"Are you sure, Dad?" he asked skeptically, pulling back to study my face. "Mom says that sometimes grown-ups say they're fine when they're really not because they don't want to worry people. She calls it being 'stupidly brave' instead of 'honestly smart.'" He crossed his arms and gave me such a perfect imitation of Angela's no-nonsense expression that I couldn't help but smile. "She also says Knight men are the worst at admitting when they need help." The fact that Angela had apparently been talking about me, using my surname to connect Nathan to a legacy beyond just herself, touched me unexpectedly.

Just then, Nathan's face brightened with sudden inspiration. He snapped his fingers excitedly as a brilliant solution came to his mind. "Hey, I just got the best idea ever! Instead of driving all the way to some faraway campsite, why don't we just camp right in your backyard garden? That way if you start feeling sick again, we're not out in the middle of nowhere!" His expression was so earnest and proud of his clever thinking that I couldn't help but smile despite my physical discomfort.

"We could pitch the tent under that big tree you have," he continued enthusiastically, warming to his idea. "And we could still roast marshmallows and tell ghost stories and do all the camping stuff, but we wouldn't have to drive for hours to get there. Plus, we'd have a bathroom nearby instead of having to use the gross ones at the campground. Billy Thompson said the campground bathrooms have spiders as big as your hand!" He held up his small palm to illustrate the apparently terrifying size of these arachnids.

I carefully considered his suggestion, recognizing the wisdom in it. After all, the last thing I wanted was to put Nathan in a potentially dangerous situation. What if my condition worsened while we were isolated in some remote camping area? What if I lost consciousness again, or worse, while he was alone with me with no one else around to help? The thought of my son having to deal with a medical emergency by himself in the wilderness filled me with dread. At least at my house, we'd be close to civilization and help if needed.

"Let me think about that for a minute," I said, making a show of carefully considering his idea even though I'd already decided it was the sensible option. I wanted him to feel his suggestion was being taken seriously. "Would a backyard camping trip still count as a real adventure for you? I want this to be special."

I spent several moments thoughtfully weighing the options before nodding in agreement. "You know what? I actually think that's an excellent idea, Nathan. We can definitely go buy a proper tent and all the necessary camping supplies, and set up a real campsite in the garden. And you're right about the big advantage—we'll be close to your mom's house if we need anything or if the weather turns bad."

Nathan's face lit up with excitement at having his idea accepted. "Really? Awesome! And we can still do s'mores and everything, right?" When I nodded, he pumped his fist in victory. "This is gonna be so cool! I've never been camping before, not even in a backyard."

He chuckled with childish delight, his previous worry seemingly forgotten in the face of our new plan. "Yes! And the best part is, we'll be close to Mommy too. You love Mommy, right, Dad?" His question caught me completely off guard with its directness, his innocent eyes looking up at me expectantly, clearly hoping for a particular answer.