Page 130 of The Backup Plan

Within a few minutes, the scan completes and the machine resets back to its original position, and we head into the room.

“So?” Lucas asks as Clark begins pushing buttons on the machine’s panel. “What did it say?”

“Not sure,” I say.

“That sounds ominous.”

“No. The machine wasn’t transmitting the scans to us. Just technology being technology is all.”

“So do we need to do it again?” he asks.

“We’re going to wait and see,” Albert says. “We’ll reboot it. Reprocess it. If that doesn’t help, I’ll have the tech look at it. Then we can rescan if need be. We typically like to wait twenty-four hours between contrast scans to let it clear from your system.”

“It can be hard on the kidneys,” I add.

“Okay. Sounds like a plan.” Lucas sits up on the table. “So, you’ll let me know if I have to come back?”

“Yes,” I say automatically.

“Thanks for breaking the machine,” Albert jokes.

“Someone’s got to keep you guys on your toes.” Lucas wiggles his eyebrows. “Later.” He leaves with a casual wave.

The room feels quieter the second the door shuts.

“Go ahead and do whatever you need to do,” Albert says. “I’ll work on this and let you know what happens.”

“Sounds good,” I say and leave for my office to do just that.

Over the past two months, my time not spent with athletes has been spent reaching out to other professional team doctors. I’ve peppered them with questions about their protocols and programs. Some were guarded as if sharing information with me would risk their team success while others were a fount of knowledge.

I’ve begun compiling notes from my informal interviews and follow-up emails and am using them as a guide—along with my own observations here at the Rebels—to piece together an outline for my proposal. One that focuses on load management and injury prevention. With all the money invested in their athletes, the Rebels top priority should be keeping their players injury-free.

And now with my research done and my notes organized, it’s time to take on the monumental task of actually writing the proposal.

Exciting in theory, but also cumbersome and overwhelming to begin. That’s why when the knock comes at my office door, I’m surprised to look up and see that it’s dark outside.

When did that happen?

“Come in,” I say when I see Clark, the MRI tech, standing there.

“I was finally able to get the machine working properly and recovered the scans.”

“That’s great. Thank you for working on it.”

“Of course.” He smiles. “Albert’s already seen them. The images and his observations should be loading in the portal if you want to pull them up.”

“Perfect. I appreciate it.”

“If you want, I can wait to make sure you can access them before I leave for the day.”

“That’d be great. Give me one sec.”

I log into the portal and navigate to where I need to be. The images load. I lean in, expecting baseline comparisons, minor inflammation, wear consistent with playtime, and scar tissue that looks ominous but is expected. All things proof of a well-repaired shoulder.

No . . .

“These are wrong” I say, eyes flashing up. “These aren’t Hale’s.”