Falling Hard, page 11
N: We’re at Jenna’s ultrasound. Text me where you go and what’s going on. Take care. Love you.
A: Going to St. Vincent’s ER. I will once I know. Love you too.
Kyle didn’t answer, but then again, he’s with the team and probably can’t answer. The ER is bustling so I have to take a number and wait to register. I sit there forever and begin to lose patience. It’s been an hour and I’m still not even checked in. My Irish attitude, along with the pain that’s gotten increasingly worse since I’ve been there, is about to get the best of me.
I head up to the main desk and ask how much longer it will be. They’re a little past my number now she points out, and says “You must have missed it.” After explaining that no one actually called my number, she apologizes flatly and hands me the next one hanging on the spindle. Taking in a deep breath, I drop my shoulders and squint my eyes, giving her my death stare before hobbling back over and taking another seat.
I don’t wait as long this next round. My number is called and a nurse comes to fetch me immediately with a wheelchair, escorting me to triage. After she takes my vitals and I give her a brief summation of what’s going on, a medical student comes in with some kind of motorized rotary cutter, and boldly explains that he is going to cut my cast off.
He stretches my casted leg out onto the bed and proceeds to cut a straight line down the center. I scrunch my fingers around the thin paper sheeting on the bed, terrified that he’s going to cut my skin with that tool.
“You can relax. I promise I won’t cut you. My Dad’s a carpenter. I’ve been around tools my whole life and know how to use them,” he smirks at me.
“Oh yeah, how many casts have you removed?” I ask.
“Well, you’re my first, but don’t hold that against me. I know what I’m doing,” he snaps.
I roll my eyes at him. “Don’t be mad, but I’m not trusting you until your done and you’ve proven your skills,” I reply.
He laughs and continues on down towards my bright red toes. He reaches the bottom of the cast and takes a long spreader stick off the wall, using it to crack open the hard shell from around my leg. I gasp, completely taken aback by how much smaller my lower leg has gotten.
“See, all done. I didn’t even knick you,” he teases.
“Wait, can you use that tool to save a part of the cast?” I ask.
He shakes his head at me. “We aren’t supposed to do that,” he states flatly.
“But, I need to save the ‘K.D.#0’ part. Please?” I beg him, giving him my biggest smile.
“Who’s K.D.#0?” he asks.
“It’s Kyle Daniels, power forward for the Golden Bears,” I explain.
“Oh, is that your boyfriend?” he asks.
“Well,” I hesitate, not quite sure how to word our relationship. “It’s complicated. He’s entering the NBA draft this year, and probably leaving. We are seeing each other, but I know it’ll end soon enough.” My voice gets quieter as I admit those last words. I really don’t want to voice them to a stranger, but I need him to understand why I want that cast piece.
He swings his legs back around the rolling stool and picks up the cutter and cast. He cuts through that section of the cast and hands it to me.
“Anything else?” he asks.
I shake my head and twirl the piece around in my palm, running my fingers over it lightly.
“I didn’t do that, if anyone asks. Good luck, Miss Bailey,” he says, closing the door behind him.
I place Kyle’s initials in my purse, not wanting anyone else to see it and not wanting to have another visible reminder of the fact that he’s leaving. I have enough to worry about right now.
The doctor finally comes in to tell me that he’s scheduled a Doppler ultrasound for my leg to check for a deep vein thrombosis (DVT), which, he explains, is basically a blood clot. He leaves just as quickly as he entered, without any further explanation. I guess there’s no need for information; after all, it’s only my leg. I hate ambiguity.
The whole process of a Doppler ultrasound is boring and uneventful, but definitely painful when they find the right spot to bear down on. The technician runs the roller ball over my entire leg without finding anything for the first few minutes. Easy peasy, I keep thinking, until she gets to the center of my calf. Suddenly it feels as if somebody stabbed me and my upper body jumps up from the table. I scream out in pain, and try my best to pull my leg away from her, not wanting her to touch it anymore. Tears spring to my eyes and flow in a river down my cheeks. It takes a few minutes for the pain to subside. She apologizes profusely, but says she needs to finish the examination and promises to go slow.
The rest of it passes quite easily, now that she knows where to lighten up. I still maintain a death grip on the edges of the table. My shriveled up leg is lying there unprotected; no muscle mass, white, freckled, and sick looking. I can’t believe just eight weeks of not using it has reduced it to this. I unsuccessfully fight to hold back more tears while I wait for somebody to wheel me back downstairs to the ER.
I pull out my phone and open up my text app. I still have nothing from Kyle. It doesn’t even show that he’s read it. He should be at practice by now. I send off a quick note to Nick that I’m waiting for results from an ultrasound on my leg. He replies with a simple “keep me posted.” He must be busy. I hate bugging him; He and Jenna are a few weeks away from being parents. Their whole world will change and I feel like a stupid third wheel in their life. Where the hell is Kyle?
Eventually, an orderly takes me back to the ER, where the doctor is waiting to explain that yes, I do in fact have a blood clot. He goes over the blood thinner options with me and I decide on taking shots over pills, since the shots require less monitoring by blood draws. This simply means fewer appointments to make it easier on everyone since I can’t drive. A nurse comes in with a few syringes and an orange to practice with. I’ve never given myself shots, but I’m not afraid of needles. So, I practice injecting the orange with a few vials of water before giving myself my first round of Lovenox under supervision.
Another orthopedic doctor comes in and fits me with a massive plastic boot with black Velcro-fastened straps that goes on my leg to protect it while it continues to heal. As he adjusts the angle of it so my toes are pointed down, he explains to me how to use it. It’s a walking boot. I’m not supposed to walk on it until after my next surgery, but he says I can now use the supporting hard plastic under my toes to at least turn around and maneuver with. The x-ray that they took today shows that everything is healing nicely, but that I shouldn’t put my full weight on it yet.
The nurse comes in next and gives me all of the paper instructions for care, my prescriptions, and a number to call if I have any problems. She explains the dangers and hazardous symptoms of a blood clot, scaring me further. I am officially a nervous wreck. How did this go from OK to horrible?
I send off a quick text to Nick with the details, tell him that I’ll need him tomorrow, and that I’m going home to rest. I’m done with this day.
The house is empty when I get there. No Kyle. No noise. I don’t even have a pet or plants to talk to. I change into something more comfortable that doesn’t smell like the hospital and lay down to rest with my phone by my side. Kyle will wake me up when he gets here.
I startle awake at 9:18 pm, not sure what woke me up. Sitting up, I listen to the house and it’s completely quiet. I flip my phone over and see that I have a text. Swiping across the screen, it’s from Kris.
K: Practice was good. Emailed everything to you. No Kyle at practice???
No, Kyle. What the hell? I quickly open up the text I sent him earlier. It’s been read but no reply. I holler out into the house, “Kyle!” but there’s no response. His name echoes off the walls, and my heart sinks. He’s not here, and I’ve got this feeling he’s not coming back. I text Kris back, thanking him for the favor today, and I lie back down. My tears stain the pillowcase with my mascara; what a shitty day.
I never pictured him to be a runner. I don’t know what hurts worse—my broken heart or my leg. I’m being consumed by pain, and right now I choose to drown in it.
Chapter 17
Aran
We were only temporary. My mom used to say, “Never give permanent feelings to a temporary person.” I’ve tried my whole life to understand what that meant. Sadly, now I know.
I barely made it through the holidays. If it weren’t for Jenna and Nick, I would have drowned in a pool of self-pity. They brought Dad and their entire Christmas over to my place, making sure that I had company clear through New Year’s Day, never leaving me alone. They surrounded me with love, reminding me what it feels like to have a true connection with people that truly care about me.
My heart still hurts, but I’ve been here before. Time heals, as it’s always done. I just wish it would hurry up and heal this one. It’s worse than any before it.
Nick keeps reminding me of the pressure Kyle is under and urges me to continue to do my job and go to practices and games.
“Aran, I promise; I know what he’s going through. It’s mentally tough. Just be there for him. Or at least be a visual reminder of the idiot he’s being,” he says, hugging me tight. “Don’t hide from him. Remind him every chance you get. Be your beautiful self. He has to have his own break-through but either way he decides, he’ll find his truth.”
My brother is a great man. He’s been in hell and tortured himself. I trust that he knows what he’s talking about when it comes to the male mind. That doesn’t make this journey any easier, but I believe we get what we deserve. I knew that he was going to leave, but I can’t believe he did it in such a cowardly manner, at a time when I needed him the most.
There’s practice today and a home game in two days. I need to pull my shit together so that I can face him for the first time. My new boot allows me to be on the floor now so I’ll be trading places with Kris. I’m putting myself front and center. He better get used to seeing me, because I’m not a quitter. He can walk away, and even run, but he’s going to keep bumping into me at every turn because I have dreams of my own.
Jenna picks me up and we hit the salon for some lady pampering. She gets a mommy-to-be special, which includes a mani/pedi, a cut and style, as well as a baby massage. I get the mani/pedi and some new blond highlights. I feel better, brighter, and stronger already. There’s nothing like a salon day with your sister to lift your spirits.
She comes out from her baby massage to see my new highlights. “Whoa,” she shrieks. “He’s gonna fucking die when he sees you today.”
“Let’s hope not, but I’m taking Nick’s advice and I’m going to try my best to show him what he’s leaving behind,” I confess.
We arrive at Haas Pavilion and make our way down to the floor with my equipment. Kris waves at us; he’s already situated up in the stands checking angles and zoom length. Coach Hack is on the sidelines talking to some men in suits. I wonder if they’re recruiters, high school coaches, or scouts. They take a seat down near the floor, and the players start to arrive.
Kyle is one of the last guys to hit the floor, which doesn’t surprise me. I think back to the beginning when I met him. He didn’t want any part of this, so I sense it when he hesitates in seeing me. Zooming in for pictures of some of the other players, I feel him watching me, but I pay no mind to him. I never let him catch me getting a shot of him. That’s Kris and Jenna’s job today.
Jenna has the remotes in her hand and she has been advised to aim for shots of him. She’s turned out to be a great assistant, with her timing and those remotes. Every photo helps.
I hobble around in my boot, toeing forward with only one crutch. I’ve had lots of practice over the last few weeks. My lean muscle mass is coming back into my leg now that I can use it more. The doctor keeps warning me to be careful; that any spill can break it all over again. Thank god the pain has subsided from the blood clot, but I have to continue the shots until further notice.
I’m back in my element. I love the field part of my job, and being on the same level as the players. The closer I can be to them, the better the photo turns out. This is my passion. This is where I am most comfortable. I feel like I’ve found a piece of myself again that I didn’t even know I had lost.
I’ve been to enough practices to know when it’s starting to wind down. I gather my camera bag and signal to Kris and Jenna that I’m wrapping it up. I start up the stairs, and leave Kyle behind on the floor to shoot his one hundred consecutive shots. My crew rallies at the exit doors and Jenna quickly adds, “Girl, he watched your ass sashay up every single step.”
“His loss,” Kris chimes in too.
As soon as I get home, I pour a tall glass of wine and settle in to complete today’s edits on the computer. Together, we shot over five hundred frames in a two-hour practice. I’m impressed, but damn, that’s a lot of shots to go through. The blurry ones are instantly deleted, but that still leaves over four hundred images.
I begin to sort through the other players and team shots, separating them from Kyle’s individual photos. One in particular catches my eyes. He’s going up for the rebound, and damn, he looks so good. His long, curly hair is plastered to his forehead, and his gaze is totally focused on the net. I zoom in on his face, reaching my finger out to the computer screen and running it down his straight nose. He’s got dark shadows under his eyes, like he’s not been sleeping. My stomach rolls with worry. I’m itching to pick up the phone and text him.
I reach over and grab my wine glass and down the remaining liquid to drown out the thoughts in my head. Everything hurts. My heart. My head. How did this happen? I’ve gone over our last days together in my mind a thousand and one times. He told me he was happy. He fucked me like he never wanted to leave. He held me like he never wanted to let go. What happened?
I wish he was a social media person, but he’s not. I would stalk him and try to figure it out, but most sports players with big dreams stay off social media in order to avoid jeopardizing any potential career offerings.
My phone rings and it’s Jenna calling. She wants to know if I want to go baby shopping with her, because Nick got called out of town suddenly. How can I turn that down?
We end up going to Westfield Centre for shopping, and I am about ten minutes from regretting this decision. My legs are exhausted, even with my crutches. I look over at Jenna and you wouldn’t even know she’s about to have a baby. Well, if you didn’t look at her belly that is. Her face is full of excitement, eying all the cute baby clothes and room decorations. Her skin is glowing. She turns those big blue eyes on me when she spots a gigantic stuffed giraffe.
“Look,” she says excitedly pointing to the super-sized animal. “I have to get it.” She’s practically bouncing in her shoes.
“I’m so happy to see you happy,” I tell her. “I wish Mom could’ve shared this with us. Let me get it for the little munchkin, but you’re going to have to carry it.”
“Deal,” she shakes her head in agreement. “Nick said the same thing about your mom the other day. She’s been on his mind a lot lately.”
“I’m sure it’s bothering him the closer you get to delivery,” I say in agreement. “She’ll be there in spirit though. An angel watching everything from above.” I hug her tightly before entering the store. I can’t wait to play with this baby and this giant giraffe.
We trudge through Bloomingdale’s with the giraffe and a load of bags to get to the parking garage, when I stop and see a mannequin with the prettiest black velvet and lace bra and panty set. “You should get that. It would look great on you,” Jenna whispers in my ear.
“Who the hell would I wear it for, though?” I ask bitterly. I drop the bags I am carrying to get closer to the mannequin and stretch my hand out to rub the velvet between my fingers.
“You know, there’s nothing wrong with buying things, even sexy things, just for yourself,” she advises. “Get it. I bet it makes you feel beautiful and lifts your spirits.”
My hands run through the sizes hanging there on display. I must admit that I’m a little surprised that they have it in my size. It must be a sign.
“You should go and try it on,” she says.
“Ya think? Really?” I question, rubbing my fingers over the material again.
“Yes, just to make sure it’s not itchy or something weird with it being two different fabrics together. There’s nothing worse than itchy underwear or bras that rub in all the wrong places. Go on. We aren’t in a hurry. I can wait,” she says.
We make our way back to the fitting rooms and I try on the lingerie set as she sits and waits.
“C’mon. I want to see it. Hurry up,” she hollers through the curtain.
I pull the curtain back and she snaps my picture immediately.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Just taking a reminder pic that I can show you when you start feeling down about yourself. Because holy fucking hell, Aran. You’re gorgeous. My body has never looked like that,” she teases. “And probably never will now.” I watch her rub circles on her protruding belly.
“So, I take it that it looks okay, because it feels marvelous!” I exclaim.
“You know he’s coming back,” she says nonchalantly.
“He’d be a fool to leave the most bad ass woman in all of Oakland,” she boasts. “And…he’s still got a key to your place.”
“Oh shit,” I gasp. “I forgot about that. Considering that I didn’t give it to him in the first place. He just took it from my keys.”
“It’s not over until the key comes back,” she insists. ”He’s seen you now. He could have walked over and returned it. He didn’t. It’s not over.”
I make my purchase and we decide to get dinner back in Oakland near my place. Everything that Jenna said tonight is rolling around my head like rocks with sharp edges. I want to believe that something is going on, and he feels like he can’t share it with me. He needs time to work it out, but I don’t want to believe it.
