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“Did you get the results yet, Doctor?” Emma’s dad asks.
Graham gives him a nod, his eyes meeting mine before moving back to Emma’s dad.
“I appreciate your patience,” he says. “It looks like Emma has sustained a fracture in her lumbar spine—the lower portion of her back.”
My stomach falls. It’s just like me. Just like what happened to me.
“What does that mean?” her mom asks.
He takes a breath. “That means healing is going to take some time. I’ve been consulting with an orthopedic surgeon we have on staff, and he’ll be here in the morning to help you navigate this. For now, we will need to admit her to the hospital overnight.”
“How long will healing take?” the dad asks.
Graham shakes his head. “There’s no way to know. Several weeks to months, really.”
Emma starts to cry, and I reach for her hand and hold on to it. We’ve bonded, she and I. Even if she has no idea that I’ve gone through this same thing. I could tell her I’m okay, that I turned out just fine, because I did. But also ... I didn’t.
“So I won’t be able to do gymnastics?” Emma says through her sobs.
“Not right now, but we don’t know what the future will hold,” Graham says.
“I have a meet in the spring,” she says. “I’ve been working so hard.”
“She’s got a scholarship to the University of Utah,” her dad informs us. “Starting in the fall.”
“Maybe the tests were wrong?” her mom asks, hopeful.
“Could they be wrong?” Emma asks.
Graham looks over at me and then back to Emma and her parents. “Let’s see what the specialists have to say, okay? For now, Lucy and I will be here to make sure you’re comfortable, and hopefully you’ll get more answers tomorrow when you meet with Dr. Kim; he’s the orthopedic surgeon.”
Unable to be here right now, I excuse myself, telling them I need to inform orthopedics to get a room ready for Emma, and leave Graham to continue answering questions for a sobbing Emma and her parents.
I just need a break. Just a quick one to gather my wits. To let myself feel my feels for a second, since I know all too well what Emma is going through. Well, I can’t know exactly how she’s feeling since every experience is different, but some of them are universal. Like the realization that your body failed you, or wishing and hoping for a different outcome, wanting to go back in time and get in the car just a few minutes later, or take a different route ... That’s what I remember thinking about. I remember hoping the doctor was wrong, that healing would be a cinch, that miraculously I’d find out the next day that the tests were incorrect.
It’s that first step of grief: Denial.
It’s all too similar, too many parallels. It’s bringing back all the memories, all the feelings. The look on Emma’s face as she questioned if she’d get to do gymnastics again—if she’d get to do the meet she’d been working toward—reminded me of my own heartbreak when I wondered the very same things about swimming.
With her stable for now, and Graham there to field questions, I make my way to the supply room to catch my breath. I just need a break, even if it’s just for a minute.
As soon as the door shuts, fresh, hot tears start falling down my cheeks. This was all too much like what I went through. I grieved it all before, and it feels dumb to even cry right now, but it almost feels like I’ve pulled back the bandage on a wound and it’s all come gushing out. All the feelings, all the emotions.
Only a minute later, the door handle jiggles, and I quickly wipe my eyes. After a few attempts, it clicks and then softly opens and suddenly there’s Graham coming toward me, pulling me into his arms and holding me to him.
I wrap my arms around him, new tears coming from my eyes just for the sheer fact that he’s here, holding me like he is. I feel his chin rest on the top of my head, his hands as they rub up and down my back, his soft murmurs and soothing shushes as he keeps me close.
I let him hold me like this for a minute or so before pulling my head back to look at him. His eyes are so gentle, his touch so comforting.
“Thank you,” I say to him.
“I was worried about you in there,” he says, his eyes searching my face.
“It felt very familiar,” I say with a laugh-sob combination.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sure that was hard.”
“I just feel so bad, Graham,” I say, my voice coming out thick. “I know what she’s going through. I know what lies ahead for her.”
