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We skate toward the rink door as I get escorted off the ice to a distraction-free environment for an evaluation. Whenever a player takes a direct hit to the head or a blow to the body, they have to get properly checked out by a physician. It’s a pain in the ass, but a necessary step, and never something we can negotiate on, which is why I don’t bother trying. It’s saved a lot of the guys from permanent injury.
Dropping my hockey stick and helmet to the side, I steady myself as I begin walking to the trainer’s room in the back of the arena.
“You two, back on the ice and resume practice. I’m going to drop him off.” A whistle blows, and the sound of skates cutting ice continues in the background. I don’t look back but know Coach is following closely behind me.
I almost wish he would berate me, because his disappointed silence cuts deeper than his harsh words would. I’ve been a massive thorn in everyone’s side today. Not just today—I’ve been making a lot of stupid mistakes recently. My carelessness causing an injury in the middle of practice is just icing on the cake.
I cannot afford to behave like this as captain this close to playoffs.
The blow to the side of my head was avoidable. If I were paying closer attention, it would have never happened. But I’ve been disgustingly distracted for days.
All because of a girl.
As I grab the door handle, I whip it open and enter the dimly lit room. Leaning against the wall and closing my eyes, I listen as Coach explains what happened to our team physician, Dr. Tamer. Running my hand through my damp hair repeatedly, I eventually push myself off the wall and observe Dr. Tamer making his way toward me, wearing a gentle smile on his face.
“Rough day, Dominik?”
“Something like that.”
Dr. Tamer has been our team physician since the beginning and is truly one of the top doctors in his field. Every other physician and physical therapist who works under him is equally exceptional. It also helps that he’s got great bedside manners since hockey players can get too blunt at times.
“Let’s get you checked out. Follow me into the dark room.”
“Keep me posted,” Coach says to Dr. Tamer, his hand already on the door handle. He’s got a perma-scowl on his face and refuses to even look at me.
“Will do. I’ll walk Dominik back if necessary.”
Coach offers him a single nod before he storms out of the room.
My stomach sinks to the floor. I feel like a toddler who just got put in time-out.
“Rough day for him as well.”
“All thanks to me.”
“It happens to everyone. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
I follow Dr. Tamer as he walks to a closed door on the opposite side of the large square office. He opens the door, and I step inside the dark room, feeling his hand on my back as he guides me forward. The door clicks shut behind us, veiling the room in total darkness. The lack of lighting is meant to help ease symptoms relating to concussion or severe head trauma. Tamer clicks on a small flashlight and grips my elbow, helping me onto the examination table. My hockey gear digs into the plastic as I adjust my position.
He sits on a stool in front of me, firing off the usual physical questionnaire.
Headache? Yes.
Pressure? No.
Neck pain? No.
Nausea or vomiting? No.
Dizziness? Yes.
The questions eventually blend into one another. Systematic, since I’ve heard them a thousand times. Once he’s finished, he stands up and begins to examine me in the dark.
“Dominik, you may be experiencing a very mild concussion, but I think you’re going to be okay. I recommend you stay in here for twenty minutes and calm your mind if you can. I have a feeling by the time you walk out of this room, your headache will be subsiding.”
Thank fuck.
“Thank you, Dr. Tamer.”
