Chapter 17 #3
He nodded. “You’ve got a small tear in the front of the labrum, which is part of the cartilage that helps keep your shoulder stable.
The shoulder slipped partly out of place, and that’s what caused the instability.
The good news is there’s no major rotator cuff damage, nothing fully detached, and no fracture. ”
I stared at the screen, even though I had no idea what I was looking at. “That’s lucky?”
“For this type of injury? Yes.”
“So what happens next?”
“You’re going to keep wearing the sling until the inflammation subsides, and stay up on the anti-inflammatory meds you were prescribed,” he replied. “Physical therapy will start next week.”
“Okay. How long until I can fight again?”
“A realistic timeline to ease back into training is about six to eight weeks if rehab goes well. A fight in five or six months is possible, but only if you follow the plan.”
He gave me a few more instructions on movement restrictions and pain management. When the appointment finally ended, I made my way back to Mason.
“What’d the doctor say?” he asked as I settled into the passenger seat.
“No surgery.”
He fist pumped. “Hell yeah.”
“I do have a tear though, and I’ll be out for a while.”
“Well, that sucks.”
“It does.” I pulled out my phone to check my messages.
Rowan had called twenty minutes earlier while I was with the doctor, so I decided to call him back first. Unfortunately, it kept ringing until his voicemail picked up.
I typed a text message instead:
Saw the specialist and got an MRI. I have a small labral tear. Doc said I don’t need surgery but PT starts Monday. And I can’t train for a while
After sending the text, I copied most of the same message into the group text with Derek, Enzo, and Devon, who’d all asked to be updated once I had any news. The responses started rolling in before I made it home:
Enzo
No surgery is huge. That’s good news man
Derek
That sucks but at least you know what’s wrong now
A few seconds later, Devon’s name appeared on my screen:
Focus on PT and getting healthy. The gym will still be here when you’re ready
The problem was that I didn’t want the gym to be there later. I wanted to be back on the mats now. I wanted to hit pads and drill takedowns. I wanted to feel like a fighter instead of a patient.
When Mason dropped me off at the house, my shoulder and head hurt, and I was already sick of being told what I couldn’t do. He took my car to the gym, and I went inside, lowering myself onto the couch like I was eighty.
My phone buzzed a little while later:
Rowan
Sorry. I was in training when you called
A second text came through:
Can you call me or are you busy?
I pressed the call button, and he answered on the first ring. “Hey, baby.”
“Hey.”
“Sorry about earlier.”
“No big deal, you were training.”
“I still hate that I missed you. I’ve been wondering all day how things were going.”
My throat tightened before I could stop it. “Yeah, I was there for quite a while.”
“What did the doctor say?”
I looked down at the sling. “Pretty much what I texted. Small labral tear, shoulder’s unstable because it slipped partway out, but no surgery for now if I behave.”
“If?”
“Everyone’s really enjoying that part.”
“Because they know you.”
“I’m starting to feel attacked.”
“You should.”
I rested my elbow on the arm of the couch. “I have to do PT, and there’s no training until I’m cleared. Doc said fighting in five or six months is possible.”
“That isn’t as bad as it could have been.”
“I guess. I was also thinking I should probably stay here instead of going to Florida.”
He let out a breath. “You do?”
“Yeah. The doctor seems to really know his stuff, and he said the PT facility is one of the best in the state. Don’t think it would be a good idea to pass that up.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” he agreed, but he couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice.
“If this thing keeps me out for six months because I got impatient, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he said. “I totally get it. It was just nice thinking about you being here.”
“It was, but I think that if I showed up right now, I’d spend every day watching you train while I sat on the sidelines, feeling sorry for myself.”
“I hate this,” he replied.
“What part?”
“Everything,” he sighed. “You’re hurt, and I’m not there to help you. I miss you so damn much.”
His words made it harder to pretend the distance wasn’t getting to both of us.
“I miss you too.”
“Thanksgiving’s less than two weeks away.”
“Eleven days,” I corrected.
A laugh slipped out of him. “You keeping track now?”
“Maybe. You did say you wanted to kiss my shoulder, so I have something to look forward to.”
“There’ll definitely be kissing.”
“With a promise like that, you’d better not cancel.”
The days until Thanksgiving were going to suck—no point pretending otherwise. I’d be recovering while Rowan kept training, but I knew none of it would matter once we were in the same space.
“My ticket is non-refundable, so you can count on those kisses.”
“I can’t wait.”
“Me either, baby.”