10. Graham

10

GRAHAM

I push off on the ice with my good leg, favoring my bad one as I make a full lap around the rink. My left leg feels pretty shaky, so there’s no way I can play on it tonight.

“Webber!” Coach yells out my name as I round the corner of the ice and skate to the bench where he is watching everyone.

“Yes, Coach?” I say when I come to a stop.

“You’re scratched for tonight. Go change and get some treatment on that leg. Find out what we’re looking at here. I need you one hundred percent before you’re back on my ice.”

“Yes, sir,” I say. No point in arguing because I know he’s right. Scratching me is the right thing to do, even if it does piss me off that this small injury is causing such issues.

I head off down the tunnel and strip out of my gear. Since I’d only done the one lap, I didn’t even break a sweat yet, so I change into a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt, then go in search of Whitney.

“If you’re already in here, that isn’t a good sign,” she says in lieu of a greeting. “Take a seat.”

I do as she says and sit down on her exam table.

“Did you go out on the ice at all?” she asks.

“Yeah, took one lap. Coach told me to get off his ice. Said he’s scratching me and to come see you for answers and to report back to him. He doesn’t want me back until I’m one hundred percent.”

Whitney whistles. “Damn, he isn’t playing around.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. I haven’t been at one hundred percent in a long-ass time.”

“And that is why you’re now in this position. Pushing through an injury only works for so long. Eventually, your body says enough is enough. I’m going to make a few calls and see if we can’t get you seen by a doctor. See if they think an MRI or CT scan would be in order to get a better idea of what we’re dealing with since the PT doesn’t seem to be helping much.”

“Fuck, you think it is that bad?” I ask as I squeeze the bridge of my nose. I can feel a stress headache brewing behind my eyes.

“You know we tend to err on the side of caution when it comes to lingering injuries, especially when our go-to treatments aren’t showing improvements, and in your case, you continue to get worse. A visit with the team’s orthopedic and maybe a few tests will give us a clearer picture of what we are dealing with and allow us to set up the best action plan for you. The endgame will also be to get you back on the ice. As long as that is what your body can handle, that is. I know you don’t need to be told this, but your body has put up with a lot of shit in your thirty-six years of life. Playing professional hockey isn’t for the faint of heart, and you’ve been doing it for a long time. Your body has taken a brutal beating over the years. It’s okay to back off and be kind to it. You only get one body, and it might be time to put it first.”

“Damn, you’re brutal.” I chuckle, trying to make light of the situation. I knew this was a possibility. Hell, getting injured at any point in my career was always a possibility.

“That’s one of the things they pay me for. To be brutally honest with you. It doesn’t do either of us any good for me to lie and say you’re fit to play. I don’t want to see any of you hurt, even if your injuries keep my job secure.”

“I get it. So does this mean I have to fly back to Austin early? Or can you get me in with the Seattle docs?”

“Let me make a few calls, and I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, do you want me to wait here?” I ask.

“Yeah, but go ahead and get comfortable. I want you to sit with some ice. You can either lie back on the table or take the recliner.”

I move over to the recliner and get settled. Whitney returns with a bag of ice wrapped in a towel. She gets it where she wants it on my hip, and I can immediately feel the cold sensation seeping into my muscles. “Sit tight, and I’ll be back. Set a timer for twenty minutes. When it goes off, remove the ice if I’m not back yet.”

“Will do,” I say.

“You want the remote?” She motions to the TV hanging in the corner.

“Nah, I’m good. I have my phone.” I shake it in my hand.

“Alright, I’m going to go make those calls. You want some ibuprofen for that headache when I come back?”

“How’d you know I have a headache?” I ask, a little dumbfounded.

“I know a lot more than you guys like to admit to. Over the years, I’ve picked up on everyone’s idiosyncrasies.”

She disappears out the door and down the hall. I unlock my phone and hesitate on what app to open. I decide to send Savannah a quick text before calling my parents. I haven’t talked to them in a little while, so I might as well use this time to catch up.

Graham:

Coach scratched me from the game tonight. I couldn’t even make it one lap around the ice, so it was the right call. I’m in our trainer’s room now waiting for word on what doctor I’m being sent to see. Just wanted to give you the quick status. I know you’re at work, but I wanted you to hear it from me rather than see the report that I’ve been scratched.

Once I send the text, I close out of my texting app and call my dad.

“Hello, son.” His deep timbre fills my ear.

“Hey, Dad, how’s it going?”

“Same shit, different day,” he says as he always does. It’s his signature saying that I have heard every time I talk to him.

“I couldn’t agree more,” I say. “How’s Mom?”

“Doing fine, she’s right here with me. You’re on speaker,” my dad says.

“Hi, sweetie,” Mom pipes in. “How’s the road trip? Shouldn’t you be at practice?”

“Hip is causing some problems; I’ve been scratched from the game tonight,” I explain.

“Time to retire. Move home and settle down,” Mom says. She’s been bugging me for years to at least settle down and get married. Have a few kids for them to spoil while they still can.

“Hopefully not this year, but we will see,” I say. I don’t even address the rest of her statement, as I don’t want to give her any false hope.

I visit with them, listening as my mom fills me in on all the drama with her knitting group, and Dad fills me in on the gossip coming from the men who hang out at the local hardware store. I swear, they are like a gossiping duo, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

“I had the insurance company out to check the roof,” Dad says.

“What’s wrong with your roof?”

“Hail damage from the last storm. They say it needs to be replaced.”

“At least the insurance will cover the majority of it. What do you have to cover?” I ask.

“Should just be our deductible. They should be sending the paperwork in the next few days.”

“Well, let me know what it is, and I can cover it.”

“You don’t have to do that, Graham,” Mom interjects.

“Sure, Mom,” I agree with her, just to make her think she’s won. When I got my first big check, I paid off my parents’ house. With my second one, I bought them both their dream cars. Dad picked out a Chevy truck, and Mom picked out a Toyota Highlander. I didn’t care what they were. I just made sure they were both fully loaded and had every bell and whistle they could possibly want or need. They sacrificed a lot for me to play hockey growing up, so taking care of them as they’ve aged has been my privilege. “Sorry to cut this short, but our trainer is on her way back in, hopefully with some news for me. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“Good hearing from you, son, and keep us posted,” Dad says.

“Love you, Graham. Talk soon,” my mom adds before we disconnect.

“So what’s the verdict?” I ask Whitney as she hands me the ibuprofen and a cup of water before she takes a seat on the rolling stool. I quickly knock back the pills with the water.

“Seattle’s orthopedic can see you in an hour. They will do the initial exam, discuss their findings with our docs back in Austin, and then make a plan. I’m not sure if they’d do any imaging other than X-rays or just send you back to Austin for something like an MRI or CT scan, if that is what they decide you need.”

“Sounds like a plan. Do I need to head to their office, then?” I ask.

“Nope, they will come here to the rink, so just sit back and relax,” Whitney tells me.

“Easier said than done,” I grumble.

Whitney chuckles. “Easy there, big guy. How about something to eat? That way your stomach isn’t empty with that ibuprofen you just took?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I’ll take you up on the shake. I am feeling kind of hungry, now that you mention it.”

Whitney stands back up and walks out of the treatment room. She returns a few minutes later with a freshly made shake and a protein bar.

The hour waiting for the doctor to show up goes by rather quickly. Even with the meds I took an hour ago, my hip throbs in pain, but at least my head isn’t also still pounding.

“Hi Graham, I’m Dr. Burns,” a middle-aged man introduces himself to me.

“Nice to meet you,” I greet as we shake hands.

“Whitney has given me the quick rundown on your history and what is going on. To start, I’d like to get a few X-rays so we can at least rule out any fractures,” Dr. Burns says.

“Okay,” I agree to his request. He leads me down the hall and into a room with an X-ray machine. It only takes a few minutes for the technician to get the images he requests, and I’m back in the exam room.

He’s looking at the X-rays on his tablet and is able to mark them up as he’s talking to me, describing what it is that he sees. “Your hip joint shows a decent amount of arthritis. That isn’t a huge surprise in an athlete of your age.” He circles an area, pointing out the issue on the image, which is displayed for me to see on a large monitor on the wall. “I’m a little concerned about this area,” he says, and circles another spot. “I think your bigger issue is a subluxation to the joint.”

“What is that, exactly?” I ask, having no idea what that means.

“It is a partial dislocation of the joint. Did you recently take a big hit in a game?”

“Yeah, in our last game. I had to leave the ice and didn’t return for the remainder of the game. Granted, only a few minutes were left of the game when it happened, but had it been earlier, I don’t think I would have returned then, either.”

“Seeing as your symptoms worsened so quickly, I think that is the main issue to address first. Once you are back home, you can address the arthritis with your doctor.”

“I like that idea,” I say.

“I’m going to call and consult with Dr. Jones now. Do you want me to do so from here so you can be in on the conversation?”

“That’d be great,” I state.

He presses a few buttons on the phone sitting on the little desk in this exam room. I wait patiently as the phone rings until an automated system answers. Dr. Burns listens to the options, then selects one for incoming calls from other doctors. The call is quickly answered, “Good afternoon, this is Macey, how can I assist you?”

“Hello, Macey, this is Dr. Burns up in Seattle. I need to speak with Dr. Jones, please. He should be expecting my call regarding Graham Webber.”

“Oh, yes. One moment please,” she says, and I assume she puts him on hold, or maybe transfers his call.

“Dr. Burns, tell me you have good news for me,” Dr. Jones says as he connects with our call.

“I’ve got Graham here with us. Mostly good news to report, nothing is broken,” he says in reply.

“Good to hear.”

“I have two findings. One, lots of arthritis in his hip. That alone would have most people limping and crying on your doorstep, asking for surgery. I don’t think that is the main issue, though, with Graham.”

“The arthritis has been noted for a while now. We’ve been monitoring it, but it has never posed a real issue in the past,” Dr. Jones explains. “What is the second thing?”

“I’m confident we’re also dealing with a subluxation of the joint. Mr. Webber states he took a bad hit in their last game, so my assessment is that caused the dislocation. I’ve already emailed you the X-rays that we took so you can have a look yourself.”

“Thank you. I agree with your assessment now that I can see the images,” Dr. Jones says over the phone. “Is Graham there with you?”

“I’m here, Doc. What are you thinking?”

“It is up to you if you want to fly back early to rest at home in your own bed. I think we should put you on the injured reserve list, possibly even the long-term injured reserve if things don’t get better within a few days.”

“How long do you expect me to be out?” I ask.

“Not sure. The best thing you can do for this type of injury is to rest it as much as possible. I know it isn’t possible to completely not use it, but the more you can rest it, the better your recovery will go. If it is still bothering you after seven to ten days, I will order a CT scan to see if anything further is going on.”

“I can live with that. Let me talk to Coach and see what he thinks about me returning home or if he wants me to stay with the team. We’ve still got five days left of this trip.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll have the front desk schedule an appointment next week. If the pain gets worse, then let us know ASAP, and I’ll get you in sooner.”

“Thanks, Doc,” I say to Dr. Jones before he hangs up with us.

“I’m all done here; you discuss things with your coach and then decide to stay or go. Before I go, let me write you a script for something a little stronger than over-the-counter ibuprofen,” Dr. Burns says as he pulls an old-school prescription pad from his pocket. I don’t think I’ve seen one of these in years.

“Thanks, Doc. I appreciate you coming out here to see me, and for this.” I hold up the paper script.

“My pleasure. Hope to see you back out on the ice soon,” he says before parting ways.

I make my way to the visiting team coach’s office. It is a tiny room, hardly big enough to hold a desk with two chairs. I rap my knuckles on the half-opened door, and Coach calls me in right away. “Come on in,” he calls out.

“Just met with the local doc and we talked to Dr. Jones, as well, so he’s up to speed on my diagnosis.”

“And what is that?”

I explain the two diagnoses that I was given and tell him the suggestion that I head back to Austin early, or do I want to stay with the team. Both options have a lot going on, but ultimately, being back home in my own bed will be the best rest I can get.

“The doctor suggests IR, if not the LTIR list,” I tell Coach.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Let’s start with IR. We can move you to LTIR if things don’t show any improvement after a week.”

“I’m fine with that. Do you want me to stay with the team?” I ask.

“Nah, we’ll get you on the next available flight. Go home and rest. Don’t be out doing anything stupid.”

I chuckle at his instructions. “I’m not some fresh rookie who doesn’t know how to recuperate from an injury. I promise to take it easy.”

“Good. I’ll have someone from the office contact you soon to notify you when you’ll be flying out.”

I leave Coach’s office and head for the locker room but get intercepted by Whitney on my way. “Dr. Burns mentioned he gave you a script, do you want me to have that filled for you quickly?” she asks.

“Oh, sure. I was just going to take it back with me.”

“With it being a paper script, it will be easier to fill in the state it was written in,” she explains. “I don’t mind. There’s a pharmacy a few blocks away, and I was running out anyway.”

“That’d be great. I’ll be heading home once they book me a flight, so having the script filled before then would be nice. I have a feeling that flight is going to be a bitch.”

“Hopefully not too bad, but this will definitely help.” She holds up the paper I handed her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Thanks. Before I go, I wanted to get some guidance on what I should be doing once home and until you return.”

“There are some stretches you can do; it might be smart to get you in for a few massages that focus on your hips. But really, we want the joint to have as much rest as possible, so take it easy, for the most part.”

“Sounds easy enough,” I say before we part ways.

I enter the locker room. Since I won’t be dressing for the game, I grab my shower bag and start stripping from my workout clothes. My phone vibrates on the shelf, and I see that I’m getting a call from someone in the front office.

“Hello,” I answer the call.

“Hi, Graham, this is Lindsay from the office. I got a message from Coach Hamilton to get you a flight back to Austin as soon as possible. I’ve found you one that leaves at seven and gets into Austin just after eleven o’clock. Does that work for you?”

“Hi, Lindsay, that works for me. Thanks for getting me something so quickly.”

“Of course, alright, I have you all set. You should get the email shortly. I’ll also text you the information for a car to pick you up. Are you at the rink or the hotel?”

“I’m at the rink already.”

“No problem. I’ll also arrange for your luggage to be delivered to the rink so you have it by the time you are picked up. Do you want me to arrange a car service to pick you up in Austin and take you home?”

“Possibly. Can I make a few calls first? I might be able to get a ride, and if not, I can always Uber home.”

“Yep, not a problem. Just call or text me, and I can get something set up for you, if needed.”

“Thanks, Lindsay. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Anytime, Graham.”

I hang up and check my emails, and sure enough, I have the confirmation email for my flight. I punch the confirmation number into the airline's app and check in. Thank god for nonstop flights and for the team splurging and putting me in first class. I wasn’t looking forward to the cramped seats in coach with my hip feeling this way.

Graham:

Do you have any plans tonight around 11?

I shoot off the text to Savannah, not really expecting a reply yet, so I finish stripping from my clothes and head for the shower. Now that I have to be at the airport in an hour, I need to get moving.

“Good luck tonight, boys,” I call out to the busy locker room. Everyone is getting ready for the game, yet here I am, about to walk out in my suit.

I get a few “hell yeses” from around the room before I head out to the waiting car.

“Graham,” Whitney calls after me as I walk down the hall. I stop and let her catch up to me. “Here’s your script. Sorry it took me so long to get it to you.” She’s breathing hard, like she just ran a marathon.

“Are you okay?” I ask as I take it from her.

“Yeah, just had to run. The pharmacy took forever to fill the script.”

“Sorry, you should have just said forget it. I could have gotten it taken care of when I got back home.”

“Hindsight.” She laughs.

“Thanks. I’m on my way to the airport now.”

“Then don’t let me make you late. Have a good flight home. Stretch lightly, don’t overdo it, get a couple of massages, and I’ll see you when we get back to reassess.”

“Will do, bye.” I give her a little wave as I head for the doors.

I walk out the door and find a car waiting for me. “Mr. Webber,” the driver greets me. “I have your bag in the car already. Did you need to stop anywhere on the way to the airport?”

“I don’t think so,” I say as I slide in the back seat.

I pull my phone out of my pocket for the drive and see I have a text from Savannah.

Savannah:

Just in bed, possibly watching the game if I’m still awake, why?

Kind of a cryptic message, I’m not going to lie.

Hello… Are you still there?

Graham:

Yeah, I’m still here. Got tied up for a bit.

I’m coming back tonight. I land just after 11. Think you could pick me up?

No pressure if you can’t. I can get a car service.

Savannah:

Wait, why are you coming home? Did you get cut from the team? Can they do that?

I chuckle at her concern for my job.

Graham:

I didn’t get fired, and no, they can’t just cut me like that. I have a pretty tight contract. I’ve been put on the IR list and was given the option to stay with the team or head home to recover there. I chose to head back home so I can sleep in my own bed rather than hotels for the next 5 nights.

Savannah:

What is the IR list? And yes, I can pick you up. Send me your flight details.

Graham:

Injured reserve. It notifies the league that we are hurt. It also allows the team to call up another player from the AHL to fill in the roster spot while I’m out so we’re not shorthanded. If I’ll be out longer than a week or so, they’ll move me to the LTIR, which stands for the long-term injured reserve list. Being added to that list comes with some stipulations but can be backdated to my injury date.

Savannah:

Did they figure out what is wrong with your leg?

Graham:

Yeah, some arthritis that we knew about, and now a subluxation of the hip joint. Layman’s terms are I partially dislocated it.

Savannah:

Ouch! What does recovery look like?

Graham:

Rest for now. If the pain is still there in a week or so, they’ll send me in for a CT scan, and we’ll reassess.

Savannah:

Do you think you’ll have to have surgery?

Graham:

They didn’t bring up surgery, but there is always the chance.

Savannah:

Would that cause you to miss the entire season?

Graham:

I sure hope not. It would just depend on how long the recovery period is. But for now, I’m on strict orders from Whitney to take it easy. She wants me to do a few stretches, go get a few massages, and we’ll reassess once the team is back.

Savannah:

I’m glad to hear you have a solid plan in place. Send me your flight info, and I’ll be there to pick you up.

Graham:

Thank you. See you soon.