Chapter 40
The pain overwhelms my senses. Jacob’s muffled yells float in the darkness that replaces my vision.
“What happened?” My dad’s voice fades in as the world around me does.
“Mari, are you with us?” the on-site medic asks. That must be whom Jacob was yelling for. I hear Ava explaining my condition to him as the ringing in my ears finally subsides.
I open my mouth to tell them I’m fine, but it’s garbled with my crying. Jacob rubs my back, and the soothing motion helps dry the involuntary tears.
If I don’t win the championship trophy, maybe I’ll win for “Contestant Who Cried the Most” this season. They’d have to make that award special for me, but I’ve earned it.
“I’m going to touch your leg, okay?” the EMT says clinically, but his features are kind.
His nametag reads “James.” He reminds me of my dad, who looks on with worry.
As he prods my knee, I wince and bury my face in Jacob’s chest. He runs his fingers along each side.
“It’s not dislocated, but we should get you checked out.
There could be internal damage, like a ligament tear. ”
“I’ll go after,” I rasp out. “After the next fight.”
Disability, chronic pain, and injury come with so much loss and grief.
They slowly chip away at you and everything you are.
They take your hobbies, your joys, both big and small, your comforts, your energy, your patience, your personality.
Your entire world shifts to accommodate your needs until there’s nothing left of you.
My pain has stopped me from working as much as I want, even when I push through (and I shouldn’t).
It’s stopped me from participating in events and from being fully present at things I do attend.
The grief is so heavy, and it’s so deeply unfair.
I can’t lose one more thing to this fucking disability.
Especially not this, not when I’m finally getting my dream back.
My dad shakes his head. “Peanut.”
“What if it’s serious?” Ava says. Her frown is so deep, it’s almost cartoonish. I would laugh if I had the energy. “Mari, it’s your bad knee.”
For some undeterminable reason, I look up at Jacob for backup. He knows how important this is. “Please, no. I can’t miss the fight. Tell them, Jacob. I can’t go out like this.” The tears come again, heavier.
“That’s four-plus hours, sweetheart.” His hand is steady on my back, bracing me for the impact of his words. “That’s a lot of time for something wrong to get much worse.”
“I have my knee brace in my room; I have my cane.” I plead with their regretful gazes, but none of them change. “I’m okay.” I can’t, I can’t lose this chance.
“Look me in the eye and tell me you can put weight on your leg,” my dad says, knowing I can’t.
He’s seen me injure myself hundreds of times in my life.
When I was a kid, the unexplained injuries and pain even got my parents investigated by Child Protective Services.
You can only take your child to the ER with so many injuries, claiming she fell, or ran into something, or woke up like that.
It wasn’t until the other EDS comorbidities started happening—stomach issues, brain fog, weird allergic reactions, and more—that doctors started looking into what could cause it all.
I was seventeen when I got my diagnosis, probably passed down from my grandma on my mother’s side.
My dad, and later Ava, have seen the constant cycle of physical and occupational therapists, doctors, supports, aids, and recoveries or lack thereof.
But if I leave, who will finish getting Zeta ready? What if I don’t make it back in time? The rules say I have to be here as the team captain, even if I let someone else drive. I need to be here; I need to make sure everything is perfect for this last fight. I can’t lose this chance.
“You have to get it checked out, Mari,” my father says firmly. “I can go with you, and Ava and Jacob can work on the bot.” I look at Jacob again, and he nods.
You don’t have to do this alone anymore.
Can I trust them to do it?
Yes. My dad taught me so much of what I know, and so did Jacob. Jacob is a multi-time champion, and his motors are in there. As much as it kills me to leave Zeta right now, there isn’t anyone better I could leave it with, even if the thought makes me sick.
I sniffle, resigned. “You have to stay here. You know enough to work without oversight.”
“I can come with you,” Ava chimes in.
“We can do it, Mari,” Jacob says, pulling me closer and kissing the top of my head. Neither Ava nor my dad reacts, and I don’t think I’d care right now if they did. I want to hurry up and get this over with and get back to Zeta. “Take Ava with you. You don’t have to do any of this alone.”
The EMT comes back to the group, sensing we’re near a decision. “I called ahead to the ER. They’re not too busy right now. You’ll get seen as soon as we get you there.”
“We’ll get the bot ready. Don’t worry.”
“Fine,” I groan. Jacob and EMT James help me stand and get onto a stretcher, which feels wholly unnecessary. As I’m rolled out to the waiting ambulance, I try really hard not to look at the shocked expressions of the other teams. Unfortunately, they’re impossible to miss, gaping like kids at a zoo.
“My first ambulance ride,” Ava says wistfully, kicking her feet back and forth on the bench seat.
“Lucky you,” I grumble. It is, unfortunately, not mine. All I can think about is how I cannot pay this bill if I don’t win at least the Trot.
EMT James was right. They get me back to be seen immediately, whisking me off for x-rays and an MRI as the dollar amounts add up. I will no longer break even on the Trot, if I even have a chance at the last fight anymore.
“It says here you have hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos,” the doctor says. He purses his mouth as he scrolls through digital paperwork and results. In typical ER doctor fashion, it doesn’t thrill him to see a fat patient with joint pain. “How do you know?”
“I was formally diagnosed as a teen.” He opens his mouth to ask another question. “And reevaluated and confirmed in my mid-twenties.” He closes it again with a glare. It’s not the first, nor the last time, a doctor won’t believe me.
“You have a bad sprain.” He points to images of my knee like they’ll mean something to me. “It’s only a Grade I; there’s only some ligament tearing, but considering your condition—”
“Oh, so you believe her now?” Ava cuts in. I wish I could high five her without risking semi-competent medical care. I try to appear stern, but my lips curl slightly despite my best efforts.
“—you need to be more careful. You have evidence of repeated injuries, as well as loss of muscle tone from favoring it. You’re at risk for a more permanent injury.” He ignores Ava. “I’m sure you don’t need a reminder to lose some weight as well.”
“This happened repeatedly while I was a thin teenager, too.”
He stares blankly, but the muscle in his forehead, right above his eye, jumps like a rabbit. “‘RICE.’ Rest, ice, compression, elevation. You know the drill. We’ll get you a brace and some crutches and get you discharged.”
“Will a cane work?”
“Crutches would be better.”
“But a cane will be fine?”
He sighs the all-suffering sigh of a man absolutely sick of my shit. “Use the crutches for a week. You can use your cane after that if you are stable enough. It says you’re from Saint Paul? Follow up with your primary care or orthopedic doctor and get some physical therapy when you go home.”
“Great, I have a brace at my hotel. I only need the crutches. You can discharge me.” I look at my watch. We might actually make it in time if this doesn’t take forever.
His brow twitches again, but he nods and leaves to get the discharge paperwork.
Ava orders a rideshare as we wait, but pensive silence fills the air, as pungent as hospital disinfectants. There’s only an hour before showtime, and that’s if Jacob and my dad got the bot done.
“So,” she says after a moment. “You and Jacob?” I pretend not to hear her. “I guess the talk went well, considering that in addition to helping you on the bot, he was kissing you!” She squeals in a frothing mixture of delight and disgust.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yeah. He apologized. I forgave him. Apparently, the crush I had when I was sixteen was waiting like a sleeper agent,” I admit.
This time, her squeal is in pure delight. “Do you think Dad is threatening him with a wrench right now?”
“Maybe, but I think he’s more likely securing a Christmas dinner invite after everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.”
The laughter between us makes the ticking clock slightly less ominous. However, the pressure mounts as we get into the rideshare and call Jacob.
“Mari? Are you okay? What’s the news? How is your knee?”
“Bad sprain. I’ll be okay. I’ll need to use crutches and get my brace. What’s the status on Zeta?”
“About to go into weigh-in and safety checks,” he says. His voice sounds like winning feels. We did it. They did it. “She’ll be ready for you. You said your brace is in your room? I can grab it.”
“Thank you. Thank you.” Sheer relief brings tears to my eyes. “My keycard is in my backpack, and my brace is in the front pocket of my suitcase.”
“Got it.” I hear the sounds of zippers in the background. “See you soon, okay? You’re unstoppable, remember that.”
Tears threaten to fall again. The exhaustion, the pain, the overwhelm, and the relentless hope. Ava hears my sniffle and bumps her shoulder into mine. A reminder that I’m not doing this alone, not any longer.