With my acknowledgment, another pair of hands starts trimming my beard. The sensation is calming, reminding me of the times I have gotten ready for different events. Before finishing the task, who I now know as Zara asks if I want it shaped or left a little rugged.
“Leave it. Clean-cut doesn’t feel right anymore.”
The powder she applies smells of lavender, reminding me of Uncle Jake’s rooftop garden. I close my eyes out of habit, not necessity, while they keep working on my face. Behind them, Em is talking to someone. Her voice is calm and decisive, like it always is when she’s in her element.
“The crew is ready,” she informs me. “Two cameras. One close, one wide. The lighting is soft as requested. It’ll be good for your eyes.”
I nod, though it’s more for her benefit than mine. My mouth has gone dry, my palms damp instead. There’s a nervous energy building in me. I’m about to undo every polished sentence my parents have fed the media, and I don’t have the shield of the ice or my teammates to hide behind. Just me in a hoodie, scarred and broken, telling the world I’m not who Iwas. I’m sitting in the same room I have stayed in for the past few weeks, letting strangers in with cameras, daring the fear to suffocate me again. My lungs burn and my ribs feel like they’re bound too tight, but I don’t move. This is the moment I either speak up or I let them own me forever.
“How are you holding up?” Em whispers.
I grunt as a reply. She squeezes my forearm once, the touch firm and grounding. “This is not a performance, Teddy. However your honest truth comes out, it’s yours, and no one can tell you it’s wrong. They don’t know howyoufeel.”
“You’re starting to sound like Ivy,” I smile, thinking of her. Right now, I’d give anything to feel her hand slip into mine. It’s too bad that she has today and tomorrow off. All this would’ve been better with her support. But I know how it would look if she was here on her day off. We have to be careful.
“I knew I liked her,” Em says and stands up. “All right, I’ll get out of the way.”
The camera crew steps in and one of them walks me through what’s happening while fixing the microphone onto the collar of my hoodie. The smell of coffee on their breath makes me feel off, but I center myself with thoughts of Ivy.
A sound tech guy hollers, “Yo, Teddy, count backwards from ten when you’re ready. We’re testing your audio levels.”
I follow their instructions, forcing my breathing to stay steady, even if my heart is racing the closer we get to going live.
Then the producer I met earlier shouts, “Fifteen seconds folks!”
From the corner, a member of the film crew starts counting down from ten. This is it. There’s no going back now. With one last steadying breath, I do my best to center myself.
Quinn’s voice floats over as she makes the introductions from the chair next to the bed. She talks about my career, each stat and accolade sliding into the next with practiced ease. It’s surreal, hearing the story of my life from someone else’s perspective.
“Teddy, thanks for having us here today,” she says after the intro. “It’s good to see you up and awake.”
Awakefeels generous most days, but I nod faintly. “Good to be here.”
"Can you walk us through that night? What do you remember from the game?" Quinn asks, her voice steady and gentle, like she knows she’s asking me to rip open a wound in front of the audience.
My pulse spikes. For a second, I think about deflecting, but the cameras are rolling, and this is why I agreed to do this. My fingers curl around the edge of the blanket draped over my lap, anchoring me. “I remember the cold of the rink and the face-off moments before. I was having a good game and hoping we could still win, even if we were down by one.”
Swallowing hard, I gather my thoughts. This is the part that is haunting my every nightmare and causing my panic attacks. The following words come out steady, but inside I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff.
"I never sawhimcoming. I’m unsure how accurate my memories are after. There are flashes of pain and cold tangled with the certainty that something was horribly wrong and my life was irrevocably changed. Then everything went quiet and I lost consciousness.”
Damn, I really wish Ivy was here, helping me through the painful memories. The silence around me is deafening, everyperson in the room waiting for what comes out of my mouth next.
“I woke up in the hospital three days later, having been in a medically induced coma. I had to have two emergency surgeries to remove the pressure from my brain and help with the bleeding. When I opened my eyes, my first thought was how everything felt completely off. I asked someone to turn on the lights, because everything was dark. They told me they were on. That’s when the instant shock and panic filled me.”
“When did you realize how serious the injury was?”
I draw in a slow breath. “A part of me must have known before I woke up, if that makes sense. When I came to, my body didn’t feel right with all the aches and pains. There was a lot of bruising, too. I could feel every wound when I moved. The care team told me I’ve got what’s called Terson’s Syndrome, leaving me blind for an indefinite period of time.”
“Can you tell us more about Terson’s Syndrome?” she asks softly.
“I’m not a medical professional, so my understanding is limited. Basically, the blood is in the wrong place and causes blindness. My case is bilateral, meaning both eyes suffered from hemorrhaging. I haven’t seen anything clearly since the accident. But recently I’ve been able to differentiate shadows. For example, I’m able to tell where the lights pointing at us are located, but not much else.”
“Do you have any estimation on how long healing will take?”
Even if I don’t need pity, it’s important to gather some. This might be the opportunity for it.
“There’s a chance my vision will come back slowly or it won’t. The truth is, no one knows what’ll happen next. That’s thehardest part.” I let the truth sit, the uncertainty gnawing at me. But I don’t let it break me in front of the cameras.
