He crosses his arms over his chest and sighs. “Mr. Tucker, although the prognosis isn’t as bad as we initially feared, I’m afraid it isn’t as good as you would obviously like it to be, either.”
I blink. “W-what does that mean?”
“I’m afraid your recovery will not be quick. You suffered a major injury to your head. Frankly, one inch closer to your temple and… well, while you did not need surgery, you could have a mild skull fracture. In addition, you suffered a severe concussion, and we are still not sure what effects that will have on your brain and your body. We are still in the early stages of figuring this out.”
I look over at Austin. “What sort of shitty hospital did they take me to?”
“Case, it’s one of the best in the city.”
“Bullshit,” I shout and then cringe when my throat burns and my head hurts.
“I’m getting out of here.” I try to move, then remember that I’m still strapped to the bed. “Ms. Shelly, get these damn things off of me.”
The nurse doesn’t move. She looks to the doctor and he nods. She not so gently unstraps my bindings and removes the neck brace. I turn to stand up, and the whole world spins on its axis.
“Casey!” Austin shouts, but Ms. Shelly is there, probably having anticipated this outcome. She gingerly lays me back on the bed and grabs a pan when I gag. I turn and expel the contents of my stomach into it. Completely humiliated and exhausted from the experience, I close my eyes and turn my head away.
“How long?”
No one answers and I inhale deeply to keep my composure. “How long until I can get back to pitching?”
“Oh, you can start exercising in a few weeks.”
“No, when can I play in a game?”
“Oh. Well, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I open my eyes to stare at him. “What do you mean?”
“Even if your fracture heals, it would be too dangerous for you to chance another injury like this. The next time, your brain may not recoup from a severe concussion like this so easily. You could suffer permanent damage. It is my recommendation that you stay off the field.”
Exasperated, I mutter the words, “For how long?”
“You can exercise and throw in practice, but Mr. Tucker, it is my recommendation that you do not play professionally again.”
Someone gasps loudly, and I’m almost sure it’s Charlotte that runs out of the room. My gaze is fixed on the ceiling.
“Certainly, Doctor, that recommendation is a bit extreme,” says Caleb cautiously.
“I don’t think it is,” says the doctor as though he hasn’t just ripped my heart out of my chest.
“While we are optimistic that Mr. Tucker will make a full recovery to live a normal life, he may even be able to drive soon, I do not think if he sustains another injury like this one that he would recoup as well, or at all. So, no, I don’t think I’m being extreme. I am protecting his health and well-being.”
“Look, Tuck, it’s not so bad. The important thing is that you’re okay.” Caleb’s voice is hopeful. “You’re still young. You’ll find something new to do with your life.”
My head is throbbing now. It feels like a hammer across my forehead and temples. “Get out,” I whisper.
“He’s right. It’s not so bad,” Austin continues, as though I hadn’t spoken, and it makes my blood boil.
Not so bad? Not so bad! Fuck that!
“Get out!”
No one says another word. Neither do they move and I don’t know what else to say to make them understand I don’t want to hear it from anybody anymore. I close my eyes and turn my head again.
“I think Mr. Tucker needs his rest now,” says the doctor. “He has overexerted himself. He’ll feel better in a few days.”
I clench my fists beneath the blanket and gnash my teeth, otherwise I might tell the good doctor to fuck right off. I won’t feel better in a few days. How could I when he just told me that my life is over?
