A/N: I don't own the wrestlers! I do own Pixie and Betsy. As always, it's meant in fun.
The Mizard Of Odd
Chapter 37: Miz Visits The Emergency Room, Part Two
The insurance woman came in first. "Fill out these forms," she told Miz, giving him a disapproving look. "I'll be back for them in twenty minutes."
"Thanks?" Miz muttered, staring down at the forms. "These are like a book, and I don't know half of this stuff."
"Here, let me," Mark said, taking the forms and the pen. He hummed happily as he started to fill them out.
Miz blinked. "Thanks," he said.
It was another couple of minutes before the nurse arrived. "Can you tell me what happened to your friend?" she asked, as she examined the cut on Punk's scalp.
Miz bit his lip. "We're wrestlers," he said, as though that explained it.
Clearly, he was wrong because the nurse stared at him. "Could you be more specific?" she asked. "How did he do this to his head? It has glass in it."
"Er," Miz said. "He and one of the other wrestlers were fighting and he hit the pavement. He started bleeding, then he passed out."
The nurse frowned. "You aren't very forthcoming, are you?"
Mark cleared his throat. "We were at a show, doing an extreme match and another wrestler performed his patented move on him, causing his head to hit the concrete, where had earlier shattered a glass. As a result, our friend Will got glass in his head."
"Will?" Miz muttered, frowning at Mark, who shrugged.
"Thank you," said the nurse. She went back to looking at Punk's scalp. "He'll need stitches. I'm going to call the lab so we can get a tox screen going."
"Oh, he's clean," Miz said. "He's against drugs."
She stared Miz down. "You have no idea how many people come in here saying that and then have drugs in their system."
"Okay," Miz said with a shrug.
"The doctor will be with you shortly," she said, "and I'll send a lab tech down to get some blood." She left them alone again.
"Will?" Miz said to Mark.
"We can't use our real names," Mark said. "And anyway, do you want me to write 'Punk' on the paperwork?"
"Good point," Miz said.
"I'm going to take the paperwork down to the insurance lady," Mark said. "I'll be right back."
Miz nodded. "Stay helpful, okay?"
"I will!" Mark said, smiling again.
Miz stared at Punk thoughtfully until the lab person showed up. "I'm here to get blood?" the man said.
"Sure," Miz said. "He's over there."
"Wow, what happened?" the guy asked, as he readied the draw kit.
"Extreme rules match," Miz said.
"Seriously?" the guy said. "Hey, he kind of looks like CM Punk, back when he had hair."
"Yeah, he gets that a lot," Miz said.
"And you kind of look like the Miz."
"We're look-alike wrestlers," Miz said. "Impersonators. Like in Vegas, you know?"
"Oh, sure," the guy said. "I've gotta say, you guys do a good job."
"Thanks," Miz said.
The lab guy finished taking blood. "Hope your friend feels better. And tell him he's got the look down pat."
"Thanks," Miz said with a smile. "He'll appreciate it."
The lab guy was long gone when Mark returned. "Sorry," he said, "they had some questions, but I took care of it." He once again settled on the floor, humming to himself.
"The lab's been here for blood," Miz said, "and now we're just waiting for the doctor."
"I'm a doctor," Mark said.
Miz groaned. "Not now!" he said. "I need you to hold it together a little longer Mark."
"But I'm doctor Mark."
"Okay, doctor Mark," he said, "we're waiting on your colleague to give us a second opinion and do the actual stitches on Punk's head."
"Well, of course," Mark said, settling against the wall, "that makes perfect sense."
Five minutes later, the doctor came in and said, "I'm Doctor Jackson. So this is Mr. Wallace?"
Miz glared at Mark before turning to the doctor. "Yes?"
"His parents named him William Wallace?" the doctor said. "That's kind of funny." He approached the bed. "But that wound isn't any joking matter. It says here that he got it during an extreme wrestling match?"
"That's right," Miz said. "And he lost consciousness soon after."
"Well, let's have a look," the doctor said, pulling up the rolling stool so he could sit down and examine Punk's head wound and check everything else out. "Looks like he probably has a concussion," he said. "That's pretty consistent with him passing out like that after getting a head injury." He rolled the chair over to the medical supply table and dug out a pair of plastic tweezers. "Let's get this glass out of the wound and then I'll sew him up and he'll be good as new."
"Thank you," Miz said. The doctor started picking glass out of the wound, and Miz winced. "How bad is it?"
"I'll have to clean it up, but I think it probably looks worse than it is," Dr. Jackson said. He grabbed a squeeze bottle off the table and went back to work on the wound. "Looks like I can close it with six stitches, maybe seven."
"Okay," Miz said, relieved.
"We'll want to keep him overnight," the doctor said, "so we can keep an eye on him."
Miz sighed. "We're on a bit of a schedule, doctor."
"He's got a concussion," the doctor repeated. "And he's unconscious." The nurse came in and handed the doctor a sheet of paper. "Thank you," he said. He looked down at the paper. "And apparently," he said, raising his brows, "he's got a good sized dose of Tramadol in his system."
"Tramadol?" Miz said with a frown. "Isn't that a pain medication?"
"Yes. It's a synthetic opiate. It can also put a person who isn't used to it into a pretty heavy sleep."
"I don't get it," Miz said. "He's straightedge. Why would he be taking Tramadol?"