Shortly after Christmas I’d gone in for some PET scans. They injected a tracer into my vein and the scan tracked the flow of it into the brain to check for abnormalities. And today was the day that I was going back to get the test results. While my entire family offered to fly out and go to the appointment with me, I told them it wasn’t necessary because Patrick was going with me.
“I’m glad we’re going today to find out what’s up,” Patrick said as he carefully inched himself off the opposite side of the bed.
I slowly opened my eyes once the throbbing had settled down. Patrick came around to my side of the bed and brought a few ibuprofens and some water. I tossed them back and stood carefully. Normally, I didn’t experience too much dizziness, but I wanted to be prepared for that, just in case.
By mid-morning we were sitting in my doctor’s office, waiting for the doctor to come in with the test results.
“Remember, no matter what the results are, we’ll get through it,” Patrick whispered.
“I know.”
“If you have to stop fighting, there are still tons of things you can do with TCF.”
“I know.”
“You can help the front office if you want, or continue working on training and mentoring the junior team until they’re ready to join Team Dragon.”
“I know.”
“And no matter what I love you.”
Patrick was more nervous than I was. And honestly, as much as I’d loved fighting, I’d had a full career of it. I knew I couldn’t, and shouldn’t, fight forever.
“And no matter what, I love you too. And I’ll still fuck you roughly,” I whispered back.
We were laughing when the doctor finally came in.
“Good to see you again, Hollis.” The doctor smiled and said hello to Patrick.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I wish I didn’t have to see you,” I said to the doctor.
“Well, overall, you’re perfectly healthy, Hollis. What’s happening is some early signs of CTE, or chronic traumatic encephalopathy. Sometimes it’s called ‘fighter’s dementia.’ It’s very common among athletes of impact sports.”
“I have dementia?” I asked. I couldn’t.
“It’s what CTE is sometimes called. It doesn’t mean you have dementia, though if the impact continues, you could end up with it, yes.”
“So, I should retire?” I asked. Before the doctor could answer, Patrick spoke up.
“If he retires, can it be reversed?”
“Possibly, yes,” the doctor said as he looked at Patrick. “Studies have been done on boxers and football players that show what their brain looks like while actively fighting or playing football, and then a few years after the impact sports stop. There’s substantial evidence that supports the improvement of brain health.”
“What if I continue to fight?” I asked out of curiosity.
“Then you run the risk of permanent damage and an increased chance of developing dementia. It’s not just dementia to be on the lookout for. Continuing to fight would subject you to other ailments that could have a negative impact on your life.”
Patrick and I talked on the way home about the pros and cons of continuing to fight. It was plain and simple, there weren’t any positive things associated with continuing to fight. I wasn’t even forty yet and didn’t want to risk not being able to live and enjoy the rest of my life.
“I can still work with developing the young fighters of Team Dragon,” I said. It was something I had planned on doing when I retired from fighting anyhow. I was very enthusiastic about it, and I knew my coaches and trainers were all committed to it as well.
“And I’ll still be by your side,” Patrick said.
“Better be,” I teased. I never doubted Patrick’s undying loyalty.
I talked to my family, and all of them were in support of me retiring. We discussed being able to travel and go on incredible trips and vacations together. Travel was something I’d wanted to do with my family once I finally had some time, which seemed like something we’d all be able to do now.
After talking with my family, I spoke to my team and Vin. The team and Vin all understood and supported my retirement. I had a fight scheduled for July with a newcomer to the sport, Juan Jauques. That would be my final fight with TCF.
