I’d Had A Headache For Seven Days, But My Husband And His Mother Kept Saying, It’s Nothing, You Don’t Need A Doctor. So I Took A Taxi To The Hospital Alone.
After seven days of unbearable headaches, I secretly took a taxi to the hospital, where a doctor’s terrifying discovery made me question everything my husband and mother-in-law had told me.
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I’d Had a Headache for Seven Days, but my husband and his mother kept insisting that nothing was wrong. They told me I didn’t need a doctor, even as the pain became impossible to ignore. Eventually, I took a taxi to the hospital alone. During the examination, the doctor pressed two fingers behind my right ear, where a hard lump had formed. His hands suddenly stopped moving. He asked me not to move my head, not even a little, and wanted to know exactly when the pain had started. I told him it had been seven days since something stung me behind my ear. He ordered a scan, and a nurse wheeled me away.
I lay inside the machine listening to its mechanical whirring, trying to convince myself this was nothing serious. Afterward, I waited eleven minutes, watching the clock on the wall. When the doctor returned, he carried a printout and remained standing. Then he asked whether I knew I’d been shot. I laughed because the question sounded completely absurd. But when I saw his expression, the laughter disappeared. His next words would change my life. To understand why, you need to know who I was, where I lived, and why I’d Had a Headache for Seven Days without receiving medical attention.
My name is Cheyenne Potter. I’m thirty-six years old, and I drive a school bus outside Billings, Montana. Route 11 takes me along gravel roads and cattle guards with fifty-two children and plenty of country music I don’t choose. I’ve driven that route for six years without an accident, something that makes me incredibly proud. My husband, Jarrett, is thirty-nine. We’ve been married thirteen years and have two daughters, ages nine and six. We live on five acres east of town in a three-bedroom manufactured home with a covered porch. I even installed our clothesline myself because I love the smell of sheets dried in the wind.
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West of our property stands a long ridge covered in sandstone and sagebrush. Beyond it, about a mile and a quarter from our porch, is Big Sky Precision Range.
Jarrett has worked there as a range officer for four years. He supervises firing lanes, calls ceasefires, and makes sure everyone follows safety procedures. He’s always been careful with firearms, and I’d never worried about his work.
The range belongs to Gerard Witt, a generous, outspoken man who is also my mother-in-law Lorene’s first cousin.
Lorene moved into our home after hip replacement surgery. She’s sixty-eight, manages our household checkbook, and firmly believes that most doctors charge too much for problems that eventually disappear.
For years, the sound of gunfire from beyond the ridge had been part of our everyday lives. We heard distant cracks followed by the faint ping of bullets striking steel targets.
Eventually, we barely noticed them.
That spring, the range had introduced a long-distance course with steel plates positioned a thousand yards away. Gerard was proud that the new attraction brought experienced shooters from several states.
On a warm September evening, he was hosting a competition called the Big Sky 1K.
Our daughters were indoors watching a movie with their grandmother. I was outside collecting sheets from the clothesline before the evening dew settled.
The sunlight was turning golden over the ridge.
As I reached for a clothespin, I heard a strange whining sound rush past my head.
An instant later, something struck behind my right ear with a sharp, burning sting.
I grabbed my head and pulled my hand away.
There was blood on my fingertips.
Not much, just a thin red smear.
I searched for the insect that must have stung me, but couldn’t find one.
I’d Had a Headache for Seven Days by the time I finally reached the hospital, but everything had begun with that unexplained sound beside the clothesline.
And now, staring at the doctor’s face, I wondered what had really happened in my backyard that evening.
