“Are you ready, Mr. Westwood?” I nod and she points to the wall. “There’s a robe there if you’d like modesty.”
I see the bland, cotton robe hanging there. “I didn’t see it.”
“Clearly,” Gabby whispers, and I turn and she grins again.
Ignoring her, I walk over and shrug into the robe. The nurse turns to Gabby. “He’ll be back here in twenty minutes to half an hour.”
She nods and I follow the nurse down a hallway. The doctor is in this stark white room standing next to the MRI machine, which he’s already explained I have to be in so he can get a clear image of the tumor to direct the needle into it and take a sample, which he will then get analyzed so we know if it’s cancer or the benign kind. “Are you claustrophobic or scared of needles?”
I shake my head at him. “At this point, the only thing I’m scared of is missing the rest of the season.”
He nods but doesn’t give me the answer I want—or any answer. The nurse directs me to get on my stomach on the platform they slide into the tube. I take a deep breath and follow orders.
Forty minutes later I’m dressed in my street clothes with a gauze pad on the back of my leg rubbing against my pants. The procedure was relatively painless. The doctor walks in and I swear I lose any manners my parents ever taught me. “So can I play or not?”
He chuckles. “I talk to Aaron all the time and he always tries to make the case that his job as the team doctor for hockey players is just as stressful as mine. Now I know he’s right if he’s dealing with guys like you all the time.”
“I’m sorry. Truly, it’s just this isn’t just a job and I’ve worked my ass off this year to help get us into the finals and?—”
“You can play until the biopsy results are in,” he cuts me off.
“What about after?”
“Well that will depend on the result,” Dr. Marchand explains. “If it’s cancerous, then you should have surgery to remove it right away and you may even need chemo.”
I feel sick.
“But you still think it’s benign?” Gabby pushes and her optimism finally doesn’t annoy me.
Dr. Marchand nods. “I still believe it is likely benign but it is causing nerve pain and numbness so the sooner we get it out the better. However…”
“However?”
“However the reason I did the biopsy first is that I knew you’d refuse to have it removed immediately if it was benign,” he replies. “It’s a complicated surgery, although with minimal risk, and the recovery would mean no skating for six to eight weeks.”
“Will I suffer long-term injury if I wait a couple of months to remove it? If it’s benign?”
“I can’t make guarantees on that however, it’s been in there for years,” Dr. Marchand says. “So it shouldn’t grow much in the next couple of months so no more damage should be incurred.”
I want to hug the short, portly man but that seems excessive so I shake his hand instead and head out. Gabby is on her phone the whole way down the hall and in the elevator. “Updating Coach,” she says.
It isn't until we're on the sunny street on the Upper West Side with what feels like half the world bustling by that Gabby finally tucks her phone away. "What did Coach say?"
“He said he’s happy the doctor is leaning towards benign and to keep him posted,” Gabby says.
“But is he letting me play the next game?”
"He didn't say either way," Gabby replies, and a sound bubbles up from the back of my throat that is all frustration. Gabby touches my arm. "Hey. Come on. You know he only has your best interest at heart and that he will play you if he feels he can. He needs you on that ice as much as you need to be on it."
“I fucking hope so,” I bark and look at my watch. It’s only four-thirty. Our flight back to Los Angeles isn’t until eleven tonight. I tug on the collar of my dress shirt. “I got all dressed up for this for some stupid reason.”
Gabby smiles and waves a hand in front of her own outfit. “You aren’t the only one.”
I give her a curt smile because I think this is the only time I've ever seen her out of a tracksuit or leggings and a sweatshirt. She's wearing charcoal dress pants and a black blouse with a long tan trench and heels. They're tiny but they are heels. "You look good. I meant to tell you that but it seemed weird."
“Because we used to bang?” She quirks a penciled eyebrow.
“Because I’m… married.”
