Chapter 4
The persistent beep of machines stole into Kyle’s ears, prodding him to consciousness. He lifted weary lids, blinked at the crustiness, then felt a damp cloth wipe across his face.
“You’re awake.”
He blinked again, as the figures steadied into awareness. “Mom, Dad.”
“Hey Son.” Mom smiled, holding a washcloth in her hand.
Kyle found a smile. “Glad you could come.”
“I gotta admit it’s a little sooner than I wanted,” Dad said.
“Oh, don’t be like that David,” Mom chided. “It might not be the playoffs but we’re glad you’re okay.”
He shifted his head to see who else was here but Gerry had gone. It was only them. “Wh-what did they say?”
“About the surgery?” Kyle nodded and Mom smiled. “They said it was textbook, and that your kidney is going to take some time to fully heal.”
He winced. “Out for the rest of the season?”
“’Fraid so, Son,” Dad said.
He exhaled. And just when he’d been having his best season in years.
Still, a man could choose to wallow in what-ifs or choose to find the positive.
And having spent the better part of the past year trying to show his parents he was a changed man, he couldn’t fall back into old patterns. Not when he was trying to shine Jesus.
“Well, I’m grateful it got seen to so fast. It could’ve been worse.”
“That’s true.” Mom patted his hand.
“It’s just a real shame it had to happen when you’ve been playing so well,” Dad complained.
“Can’t be helped.”
“That’s right. It wasn’t like Kyle went out of his way to get injured,” Mom snipped.
Ah, this. He loved his parents, but he’d forgotten the way they carried on sometimes.
And while he might be twenty-nine, knowing they’d given up so much for him over the years meant he’d never really found the way to encourage them to settle down and live peacefully.
They weren’t Christians, but even so, he knew plenty of people who seemed to coexist without throwing verbal hand grenades at each other all the time.
A nurse entered, and he exhaled. Finally, he might get some answers.
“Ah, Mr. Tinker. Good to see you’re awake. Did you get some sleep?”
“I must’ve. Huh. What time is it?”
“Nearly seven. So yes, I think you must’ve caught a few z’s. That’s good.” She checked his charts.
“Is the doc coming by?”
As soon as he said it, his heart picked up pace. He’d meant his surgeon, but the thought of seeing Gen again—
“I know you’re on his rounds—”
His. His heart fell.
“—so just be patient.”
He clicked his fingers. “I see what you did there. You want the patient to be patient, and—”
“Oh, Kyle. Why you have to persist in making dumb jokes is beyond me,” Mom complained, but with a twinkle in her eye that suggested it wasn’t so bad.
“I’ll make sure he sees you soon,” the nurse promised, before exiting.
He glanced around for his phone, saw it hadn’t charged last night and the battery was down to five percent. Awesome. “Uh, do one of you have a phone charger I can use?”
Mom investigated the depths of her bag and drew out a magnetized portable battery. “Will this do?”
“Thanks.”
He shifted up the bed, wincing as his side let him know he’d had surgery mere hours ago. Nausea rippled through his insides, his skin flushing hot then cold. Ugh.
“Oh, be careful, dear,” Mom warned.
“Yep.”
He charged his phone and watched the notifications pop up.
Messages from his teammates, his agent, the coaching staff.
Messages from members of the Northwest Ice online Bible study: from Calgary’s Mike Vaughan, Edmonton’s Ryan Guillemette, Winnipeg’s Luc Blanchard, Zac Parotti, and recently retired Minnesota defenseman Mitchell Reilly, who wanted to know if he was up for visitors.
Seeing Mitch had also grown up in Washington state he probably would find it easier to connect than some of the others.
He’d respond soon, but right now he probably needed to talk to his folks. “So, uh, how long do you plan to be here?”
“Oh, we thought we’d wait to see what the doctor says about going home,” his mom said. “If you need us to stay we can do so, help you get settled in. And it gives us a bit of time to catch up with some people, maybe see the old house.”
He nodded, his thoughts straying to the woman who had treated him last night, the one his parents had always looked down on.
What would they say if they knew she had overcome all odds and become the doctor she—and he—had always believed she could be?
Mom might have kittens; Dad might have a stroke.
Was it better for him to tell them now, or have them possibly be taken by surprise?
Seeing they were in a hospital already, maybe the news that was sure to shock them was better told now.
“Uh, you’ll never guess who I bumped into—”
“Ah, Mr. Tinker. Glad you’re still with us,” Dr. Winthrop said, entering the room. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“A little groggy. Nauseous, still.”
The doctor nodded. “That’s to be expected. How is the side feeling?”
“Sore.”
“Let’s have a look at it, shall we?”
The next minutes passed with the doctor inspecting the wound, declaring himself satisfied, and warning that it was likely to cause pain over the next few days.
“Am I still supposed to feel this bad?” Kyle asked.
Dr. Winthrop frowned. Checked his charts. “Your blood pressure is still higher than I’d like. Have you been experiencing fever or chills? Bloating? Any blood in the urine?”
Man he was glad Gen wasn’t around to hear this. “Yeah to all of that. And I can barely pee.”
“Hmm. We didn’t notice anything untoward during the surgery but you might have an infection.”
“But how can that happen?” Mom demanded. “This is a hospital, for goodness’ sake.”
Dr. Winthrop glanced at her. “It might not be an infection, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
Sometimes trauma can affect things, or it could be an allergic reaction to the drugs or the contrast from the IVP.
Regardless, we’ll do more testing and be monitoring you closely.
But I’m afraid we’ll need to keep you for a few more days to make sure your kidneys bounce back okay.
That means you’ll be on a liquid diet for the next little while, just so we can be sure we’re not putting undue stress on your insides. ”
Awesome.
“We’ll likely get you on partial solids by the end of the week.”
Partial solids. “Yum.”
“You should feel healthy within four to six weeks,” the doctor continued, “but should avoid strenuous activities for three months.” Just like he’d warned yesterday.
Dad sighed. “There goes the playoffs.”
“Hey, Seattle might still make it.” Kyle had to look on the bright side. And the boys had plenty of fight, even if they’d miss him.
“Unlikely,” Dad muttered.
That might be true, but humility didn’t permit him to say that aloud. He studied the doctor instead. “Can I work out at all?”
“You can stretch but not do any weight-bearing workouts. No medications or alcohol, either. We want to give that kidney every chance to heal.”
“Of course.”
“My boy doesn’t even drink coffee, so you can be sure he’ll be sensible,” Mom said proudly.
Dr. Winthrop smiled. “I can’t imagine a day without coffee, so good for you.”
“How long do you think he’ll be in for?” Dad asked, just as the doc got a phone call which he frowned at then excused himself to answer.
Did Dad ask for Kyle’s sake or because he wanted a rough estimate before he flew home?
Lord, forgive me. Still, the old patterns were there.
Dad had always supported Kyle’s career, but it sure helped if it meshed with his own plans.
Such as when Kyle had been drafted by New Jersey and been selected to play for their farm team.
Some might see his parents’ decision to up sticks and move there too as extreme parental supportive commitment.
Those people might not know that it had just so happened to coincide with his father’s own promotion at the property investment firm where he worked, which had seen Dad headhunted to lead their east coast division.
The fact Mom didn’t need to pick between her oft-stated two favorite men in the world meant that she’d not issued a peep.
Which had meant that unlike most newbies, he’d lived with his folks for the first few years of his NHL career, until he’d finally moved out aged twenty-four.
And now, with his mom threatening to mother him—smother him, he bet Mitch Reilly would say—he needed to reassert the boundaries he’d been clear about five years ago.
The doctor finished his call. “Sorry about that. You were asking—?”
“About how long Kyle will be in for,” Mom prompted him.
“I’d say we’re talking four or five days, at least. A lot depends on whether this is an infection, and if it is how quickly that infection resolves, and how that kidney is healing. And whether you can be assured of complete bed rest when you return.”
Mom frowned. “Kyle, I’m not sure if that apartment is the best for you. There are so many stairs.”
“It’s got an elevator, Mom,” Kyle reminded her.
“Still, I don’t like it. Perhaps we should get a place here and look after you.”
“I’ll be fine, Mom. The team’ll likely send trainers around to check on me.”
“Well, I know they’ll want to ensure their best asset is healing as he should, but still. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
Dr. Winthrop’s smile was edged with what looked like understanding. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out between you. Suffice to say we need to ensure you aren’t going to push yourself too hard, Kyle.”
A memory flashed of someone who used to do exactly that, ensuring he didn’t reinjure himself. He’d once had so much pride that he’d wondered if it was her treating his injuries that had galvanized her into studying medicine.
“Kyle?” Mom prompted.
“I mean it, doc. I’ll be sensible. Promise.”
“Well, I hope so. Ah, I see your team is keeping tabs on you. I’ll be back to check on you later.”
“Thanks.” Kyle nodded to Gerry, who paused and asked the doctor what the verdict was.
“Well, that’s good news, isn’t it?” Mom said brightly.
“Yep.”