2. Diana
Diana
The next morning, my hands tremble as I drive myself to the hospital to meet with the doctors that the team employs.
Not knowing what they might find is what's killing me.
The unknown. I've never been great at not knowing or being able to see how things are going to work out.
Letting out a sigh, I try to release the energy running through me, but it doesn't help.
I'm not sure that I'll be able to get rid of this anxiety until I have some answers.
Once I park my car, I hurriedly walk toward the doctor's office.
The moment I walk in, they take me back and instantly have me in the MRI machine.
As soon as I enter the machine, my anxiety ramps up.
Thankfully, I was able to close my eyes and focus on the Office podcast that is blaring through the headphones they gave me.
It only takes one podcast to distract me before they're pulling me out. That has to be good, right? They didn't keep me in there for too long.
"There you are, Diana," a friendly, elderly nurse says. She reminds me of my grandmother and it quickly calms me.
"How did it go?" I ask as I climb off the table. I adjust my sweatshirt and cross my fingers in the hope that someone might slip up and give me a hint of what's going on.
"It went well. The doctor will receive your MRI and send it off to the team's medical staff," she explains without telling me anything.
Trying not to be disappointed, I nod my head and reply, picking up my purse that’s sitting on the chair across the room. "Sounds great. Thank you."
After my appointment, I decided to head over to the training center, because going home is not going to help me right now. If I go home and rest like everyone keeps telling me, all that's going to happen is me worrying about what the doctors might say. No, I don't need that.
I press down on the gas pedal and speed through Los Angeles, making it back to the facility in record time. Grabbing my gym bag, I know that the only thing that is going to help me is getting lost in shooting practice. No one else is at the facility yet, which means I won't be bothered.
I practice for an hour before I hear Rocky yell across the court, "Diana! You are supposed to be resting. What are you doing shooting right now?"
"Needed to get out of my head," I reply keeping my attention on the hoop, getting my stance ready to shoot again.
"Don't you dare," he says his tone sharp, but I ignore it and release the ball.
We both watch as it drops into the hoop. Spinning back to him, I grin. "See? I'm fine."
"You might be making your shots, but you’re overcompensating," he states.
"What do you mean?" I ask, pulling my brows into each other. My stance doesn't feel different. What could he be talking about? I guess the coach I was working with did say that I was looking funny.
"You put more pressure on your left instead of balancing your weight out between your feet, especially when you move around on the court. Also, you make a face every time you move," he tells me.
"I do not make a face," I sass placing my hands on my hips.
Damn, I thought I was hiding the pain. Maybe, I was wrong.
"Yes, you do."
"Whatever," I say spinning around, not wanting to talk about my back any longer. Even if I'm making a face, it's my body and I know what I can handle.
I pick up another ball from the rack and shoot another.
But Rocky doesn't get the hint because he keeps going. "If you keep doing things--even simple tasks--that pull on the muscles in your back, it can cause things to get worse."
"I get it. I get it," I mumble but continue to shoot ball after ball.
What Rocky doesn't seem to realize in his young mind, is that it's not that easy. Not being able to play basketball is like telling me I can't breathe. But then that small voice whispers in the back of mind, bringing up the idea that I could use this to retire and start a family.
"It doesn't seem like you do," he says, causing me to roll my eyes at him.
"You need to stay in your lane, Rocky. I'll figure out what I'm going to do once I get the results," I tell him.
"I'm here because the medical team wants to speak with you," he says and I listen to his footsteps fade.
I should be walking back with him, but I can't seem to make my feet move. My heart rate picks up. I'm so close to finding out what all this could mean, and it could lead me to my next path.
"Time to face the music," I mutter to myself as I walk back to the office. "Knock, knock," I say while simultaneously tapping on the door.
"Come in," Dr. Love calls from behind the door.
I take a deep breath and push the door open. I'm surprised when I just see the doctor sitting in the office instead of the whole team. Oh shit, this can't be good.
"Have a seat, Diana," she says, motioning to the chair opposite her desk. "Nice to see you. How are you feeling?"
"Good. I just did some shooting and feel a little stiff and sore, but good," I tell her, hoping that my explanation would help ease any thoughts she might have about my ability to play.
"That's good. So, I still don't have your results in hand, but after talking with a doctor from the hospital, we feel it would be best if you took some time off from the game."
"What do you mean?" I ask not able to process what she's telling me at the moment.
"I suggest that you rest and don't do any strenuous activity for a week. When the week is over, we’ll take another look." She explains to me.
"What do you think is wrong?"
"I think it's just a strained back, but I don't want to press it."
"I'm not sure I need to rest that long—" I begin to murmur, but she places a hand up, stopping me.
"You might feel like you’re fine and that you can work through this, but your body is telling you to slow down."
"Okay. Thank you," I whisper, unable to get any other words out, getting up from the chair.
As I walk out the door, my eyes sting with tears trying to push forward, but I try my hardest to blink them away. I just hope I can make it out of the building before anyone sees me. I'm not sure I'll be able to continue to keep the tears at bay if I'm stopped.
I'm able to make it to my locker without being seen.
I grab the rest of my stuff out and head out of the locker room.
I freeze the minute I walk out when I see Rocky standing against the wall, as if he's waiting for me. Quickly, I walk in his direction without making eye contact, hoping to make it past him. I’m done with confrontations for today. Apparently, I'm not so lucky.
"Diana. Hey!" he says, pushing off the wall.
"I don't want to talk right now," I mutter, willing my legs to move even faster as I pass by him.
I really didn't want to talk to anyone about this.
I just want to get out of here and break down in my own house.
Our team was vying for the last spot in the playoffs.
This is the worst time for me to take a break, not just to make sure that the powers that be don't trade me but also to keep myself in the forefront of everyone's mind.
Being a professional sports player isn't just playing the game you train for, but playing the game of politics too.
If the audience is looking for me, it's harder to get rid of me. And no one enjoys it.
I hear Rocky let out a breath as if he's annoyed with me. Honestly, he probably is because he's just been trying to help me and I'm losing myself here.
"Here, take this," he says, pushing a business card into my hand. "My cousin works at this resort and it's the perfect place for you to escape to relax."
"Thank you," I tell him as I pluck the card from him and head to my car, ready to be done with this day.