Chapter 5
Jabari
A soft knock sounds on the door, but I still wince. “Come in.”
Raimo and Javier stroll in, dressed in suits. They’re probably on their way to celebrate the win. It means a lot that the guys pulled a W, but I hate not being part of it.
“How you feeling?” Javier whispers.
Scared. Worried. Anxious. “Fine.”
“What did the doctor say?” Raimo asks.
“Severe concussion.” I leave off the swelling of the brain and the lesion. And the fact there’s a small gray spot in my field of view. My vision looks wavy when I try to focus on something. Concussions are the worst.
“So, like, are we talking longer than two weeks for you to return?” Javier questions.
“Yeah.” Thank goodness I remember not to nod. I don’t want to move my head any more than necessary.
The nurse left the room dark, though she kept a small light above the sink on. Which is exactly why I see twin views of concern on Javier’s and Raimo’s faces. Well, they’re a little wavy, but their worry comes across, nonetheless.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine after I get some rest. They told me no screens and to do my best to take it easy.”
Raimo scoffs. “You without your face in your phone?”
“Hey, I have a lot of work I do on my phone. I check my stocks, monitor my fueling . . .” My voice trails off. Okay, so I play a lot of games on my cell, but only when I’m bored and want the time to pass quickly.
Like now.
No screens might kill me faster than not being on the ice. Yeah, right. You love the game. I breathe the game. Knowing I’ll be out at least four weeks makes me want to break out into a cold sweat.
“Anything we can do for you, Crank?” Javier rubs the back of his head.
“Nah. My nutritionist will continue bringing meals, and my cleaning crew will keep everything running like clockwork.”
“Yeah, but if you do need anything, anything,” Javier repeats, “call me.”
“Me too,” Raimo adds. “Steff and I would be happy to bring you a meal or just keep you company.”
“You guys are practically newlyweds. You don’t want to hang around me.” And I don’t want to see them coo over each other.
“Hey, we could always set you up with a lady, so you won’t feel like the odd man out.” The laughter in Raimo’s voice is prominent.
Is it wrong to want to wipe off the smug look I’m sure is on his face?
“Yes!” Javier whispers excitedly. “Who do we know that we can set him up with?”
“Guys . . .”
“It can’t be just any woman. She needs to be special,” Raimo muses.
“Without a doubt. And love hockey,” Javier says.
“Of course. She would not be for him if she did not love the sport as much as we do.”
I blink, then blink some more. Is the gray spot growing?
Raimo just spoke, but visually speaking, I can’t really tell it’s him talking.
His face is fuzzy and blurring the details that are unique to his facial features.
I gulp. Maybe I need to tell my doctor about this.
This can’t be a normal concussion symptom.
If it weren’t for the concussion, I would do a search right now on my cell and see what the internet spits out at me—or AI, since it seems to be running most search engines now.
“We’ll find the perfect lady,” Javier continues speaking, non-privy to my mental meltdown.
It’s time to derail their train of thought. “I don’t think a date while I’m concussed is such a good idea.” I feel off-balance and am still riding the seasick wave.
“Good point,” Javier states.
“But,” Raimo interjects, “that doesn’t mean we can’t have things in play by the time you’re feeling better.”
I think Raimo shrugs. I won’t express how nerve-wracking it is not to be sure that’s the movement I just saw. Maybe he was merely shifting on his feet. Though I don’t hear that particular sound, so perhaps I’m wrong.
“Hey, guys, I need to rest,” I say. I don’t want them to continue talking about my nonexistent dating life when every whispered word feels like a tiny little hammer adding to the bigger pounding in my head.
“Sorry, man. We’ll head out.” Javier moves closer.
His cologne gives me a heads-up that it’s him moving nearer to my bed.
I blink, and the spots dissipate, letting me see Javier’s curly light-brown hair.
He doesn’t have the stereotypical features most people think of Latinos.
He has a boyish face with a hairstyle that seems more aligned with a boy-band singer than a twenty-four-year-old hockey player.
The front of his hair flops forward, but he shoves it right back.
“Praying for you, man.” Javier is always saying things like that.
“Hmm.”
The very first time he did, I let him know his prayers were wasted. Religion isn’t something I believe in. Yet he simply smiled and said he’d be praying even more. Now I don’t bat an eye when he utters such things.
“Call Steff or me if you need anything. Got it?” Raimo claps me on the shoulder.
“Thanks, fellas.”
“See ya.”
Quiet descends with a click of the door.
I let out a breath and close my eyes. If no one is here, I don’t need them open.
Won’t have to wonder if the eyesight issues are due to the swelling in my brain, the lesions, or my obvious concussion.
If I fall asleep, surely all of my worries will be different in tomorrow’s daylight.
If only.
The next morning does not offer a different view. Each of my eyes has a grayish spot in my center vision. My peripherals appear to be just fine. The only question that remains is whether I should tell the team of doctors caring for me or hope this is a concussion symptom that’ll go away with rest.
On the one hand, if I do inform the docs, they might be able to do something about my wonky vision.
Maybe the prognosis isn’t as dire as my mind is making it out to be.
(Of course my mind is spiraling out of control since I have nothing but free time to think.
I do not want to continue following its rabbit trails.)
But on the other hand, the issue could be a lot worse than my mind has even imagined. Because as many scenarios as I’ve thought of, the one that is actual reality might not match my imaginings. Is that a good thing or bad thing?
The door clicks, and my nurse sticks her head in the room. “Hey, Mr. Hall,” she whispers. “Your doctor is making rounds and will be in to see you sometime soon.”
“Thanks.”
“Mm-hmm.” The door shuts quietly.
I have until he walks into my room to figure out what I’m going to say.
I stare down at the tray to the left of me.
The hospital already served breakfast, and it was the worst thing I’d ever eaten.
I miss the meals that are waiting for me in my condo.
This food screams artificial and processed.
Not to mention my vision makes eating a bit of a chore.
I dropped most of my eggs before I got the hang of looking at each bite on my spoon out of the corner of my eyes.
“Knock, knock,” a voice sounds.
Finally, the doctor’s here. I can’t see the clock on the wall—assuming there even is one—so I have no idea how much time has passed between the nurse informing me of his impending arrival until now, but it felt like for-ev-er.
Great, now you’re thinking of The Sandlot when this is serious business. There has to be a medical movie I can reference that’ll prepare me for this moment, only my brain is drawing a blank. Thinking is much more difficult. Probably because the evil trolls pounding my skull haven’t let up once.
“How you feeling, Jabari?” Dr. Scott asks.
“Like I have a concussion.”
He chuckles softly. “Yeah, that’s definitely to be expected.”
“Speaking of expectations,” I begin, though maybe he hasn’t finished his complete thought, but it’s now or never before I lose my nerve. “What are the symptoms to expect? How do I know if something is abnormal or normal for a concussion?”
“Everyone is different of course, but your average symptoms are headaches, blurred vision, nausea, and sometimes vomiting. You might also experience some cognitive impairments, changes in behavior, confusion, and so on.”
Why are there so many symptoms? I don’t know how to feel about them. I’ve already been receiving anti-nausea meds since last night. Probably the only reason I’m able to choke down this food.
Focus. Find out what you want to know. “You said blurred vision?”
“That’s right. Double vision is very real, not just a cinematic effect in movies.”
Ha, even he’s thinking about movies. But that doesn’t explain the spots I’m seeing. My hands twist the bed sheet. Say something or remain silent? “What about seeing spots?”
“What kind of spots? Do they have a color?”
Are they supposed to have a color? I scratch my chin. “Kind of dark, grayish to black. And, um, they look like spots.” I shrug not knowing what else to say.
The doctor clears his throat. “Jabari, how long have you been seeing them?”
Uh-oh. I do not like the tone of his voice. Did I miss a window to get better? “Since last night.”
“Right away? Right after being hit?” His question seems urgent.
I frown. “No.”
“But they haven’t gone away?”
“Um, they’re here and there.” Like right now, I don’t see them even though they were just here a few seconds ago.
Dr. Scott makes a noncommittal noise. “Let’s get you scheduled to see an ophthalmologist. I’ll message them to stop by and give you an exam.”
“It’s not something you can look at?” He’s a neurologist for a reason, right?
“If you’d told me you’re only suffering from blurred vision, I’d say that’s normal and will resolve on its own.
But if you’re seeing spots, I want to make sure you don’t have any retinal tears.
Sometimes, that can happen in a trauma. Though I don’t know if that looks like dark spots to a patient. Hence the referral to ophthalmology.”
I exhale. “Fine.”
“Hang in there, Jabari. We’ll get you feeling better.”
“Better enough to get back on the ice?”
“We’ll do our best, but I would caution you. If you sustain this type of injury again, your symptoms could be much worse the next time.”
Is he suggesting I not get back on the ice again?
He’s joking, right? Hockey is my life. Without it, there is nothing.
I wake up ready to work out in order to be in the best shape for hockey.
I eat close to three thousand calories on game day to make sure I have the appropriate amount of fuel for hockey.
I get eight hours of sleep on the regular so I can be cognizant for hockey.
Every single thing I do is to keep me playing the sport I love. Hockey is imprinted on my DNA.
“Don’t worry. We’ll see what the eye doctor has to say and go from there.”
Right. Don’t worry. Something my mind is hyperfocused on as I sit alone in this dark room. Don’t worry indeed.