I get another dose of drugs, and then I’m back to la-la land.
-&-
I spend the next three days in the hospital. Violet refuses to leave. Charlene and my mom bring her laptop and some files so she can work, and a change of clothes—something more comfortable than jeans.
I try to tell her she can go to work—I know she’s got that proposal to prepare—but she tells me I’m more important than work, which makes me feel good and bad at the same time.
After more than seventy-two hours of observation, the doctor gives me his verdict on Sunday morning before I’m released. Violet, my dad, and my coach are with me when he gives me the rundown. The stitches in my face are the least of my worries. The dislocated shoulder is further complicated by my fractured collarbone and broken rib. I have at least four weeks before I can start any kind of rehab on my shoulder, which was already bugging me before the hit. My rib will have to stay taped for the next three weeks.
The worst part of the discussion revolves around my concussion. I still have no recall of the events leading up to the hit, or anything that happened afterward.
The first memories that have really stayed with me since the injury are when I woke up with Violet in the hospital bed with me, and even that’s hazy. They want to monitor my brain activity closely over the next several weeks, testing for residual impact, I guess. It makes me nervous.
Even if I end up progressing quickly with rehab, which is beginning to sound unlikely, I’m still looking at a good month of sitting on my ass before I can start real training. After that, it’ll be another four to six weeks before I can get back on the ice. It’s already mid-March. Unless we can maintain a solid winning streak, we don’t have much of a chance at the playoffs this year.
Which means I’m out for the rest of the season.
With only three years left on my contract, this kind of injury could change a lot. And not in a good way.
I turned twenty-six recently. While hockey careers are short, I never imagined mine being over already. I figured I’d have at least another five years before I have to make decisions on what’s next. I’ve been planning, but nothing immediate. I assumed Violet and I would have started a family by the time my hockey-playing days were over. We’d have a couple babies, maybe with more on the way.
I’m happy to hang out and be a dad for a few years, take some down time—by then Violet might be working from home, if at all, so we can travel and just enjoy life. Then I’ll get into coaching, if that’s something that feels right. Why did I make millions of dollars to keep working my ass off if I don’t have to?
But that’s all supposed to be later, years from now. I’m not ready to slow down yet.
I’m quiet as I listen to the doctor talk, nodding and agreeing when he sets up what will be a period of rest, followed by a fairly rigorous rehabilitative regime beginning several weeks from now. But my mind is racing, and all I can think about is how hard I worked to get here, and how one hit could take it all away.
Violet grips my hand, her throat bobbing as she swallows thickly. I squeeze back, and she looks at me. Her smile is weak and tears hang heavy on her lashes. Her fear is my own.
I hope this season is the only thing I’m going to lose.8Full HouseVIOLETOnce we know Alex is out of the proverbial woods, he gets to come home on Sunday. Robbie goes to the airport once Alex is released so he can make his meetings Monday morning. I’m not sure what those meetings entail other than talking about weed, since his job is to research and perfect medical strains of marijuana, but it seems necessary for him to be there.
Daisy stays, settling in a guest bedroom. She loves to cook, and she loves to dote on Alex, so she’s totally in her element. I’m not used to Alex needing to be taken care of.
He’s typically self-sufficient. If anything, it’s me who gets doted on most of the time. Alex wakes up early some mornings to make me breakfast and coffee. He’s the one who makes sure groceries are added to the list when we’re running low. With him out of commission, that’s going to fall on me. Am I a little indulged? Yup. But Alex likes it that way. And honestly, I like it, too, probably more than I should. I’ve never been with someone who takes care of me the way he does.