But I can try. If I’m stronger and faster than everyone else on the ice, there’s no way I’ll get benched. It’s dumbass logic, even I know that, but it’s the only thread I can cling to that won’t shunt me off the cliff into depression. That murky fucker stays at bay most of the time, but every now and then it sinks its tendrils into my skin and tries to fuck with my mind.
Not today, Satan.
We start the middle period on a 5-on-3 powerplay, but our best chance falls right after the Rockets return to their full complement. Apollo de la Peña puts the puck right in front of me, but the best I can pull off is a midriff shot at their goaltender.
Goddamn motherfucking shit.
Chances keep falling our way, but we can’t capitalize on any of them. Tate on the left wing is only able to put his backhanded effort into the chest of their Hulk-sized netminder before we’re stuck on another penalty kill. Artemis goes to the box for delay of game by flicking the puck over the glass.
From the surly glower on his face I’d say he’s as thrilled about how this game is going as the rest of us. It’s like the puck is coated with butter, or oil, or… I can’t really say something slippery considering we play on a giant-ass sheet of ice, but none of us are doing well with the puck handling today.
The skills coaches are going to be thrilled.
The end of the period becomes the Ares Show as he makes a set of back-to-back stops to deny the Rockets, followed by an incredible save to stop their top scorer as he’s fed what looks to be a back door tap-in on the breakaway.
The whole bench is on the edge of their seat—for both teams—my blood pressure is through the roof as Ares barely has time to recover before another wave of shots comes at him.
Guy might have an ego, but he’s got the fucking skills to back it up. Kid’s talented as hell, and I’m glad he’s on our side.
A late “too many men” call at the end of the second, followed by a high sticking penalty puts the Raccoons on another 5-on-3 powerplay we still can’t convert, although it needed a big stop from their netminder to deny Tate’s powerful right circle one-timer.
It’s not until we’re back to full strength on both sides that we finally make a change to the zero-zero score taunting us from the board with back to back goals from Apollo and Tate to put us up by two.
At last. I got assists on both goals which should make me feel better about life, but it doesn’t.
“Watch your six.”
I’m not sure who Artemis is warning until I’m crunched against the boards by some big ape of a motherfucker who takes a two minute penalty for boarding.
Realistically, my teammates know as well as I do that any big hits can be dangerous. But I’ve kept the extent of my...condition to myself. Fucking hate being treated like I’m broken or weak. Or worse, being benched and not allowed to play. It hasn’t been much of an issue the past couple years. I’ve earned my place on the team. My stats have spoken for themselves. I settled into a routine that kept my headaches at bay, and for a while there I even thought making the big time was possible.
But lately something’s shifted. Everything feels harder. Training feels tougher, games take more out of me, and my headaches are becoming more frequent. My stats no longer speak for themselves, every game is a fight to protect my space on the team. Nothing feels comfortable, or safe.
As I skate back to the bench, a headache brews in my temples. What else can I do to make sure I don’t end up permanently benched?
Coach gives me questioning eyes as I take my seat on the bench. I nod at him. I’m fine. But the pain already prickling in my head tells me otherwise.
I can’t outrun this.
But if I’m fitter and stronger, perhaps I can better outrun the defense of the other teams so I don’t end up out on my ass. While I’m pretty proficient at American Sign Language, I really want the degree behind me. I want the protection of having a college degree no one can take away from me. And to do that, I need to maintain my scholarship. And to dothat, I need to keep my pretty head out of the boards, and in the game.
I just need to figure out how to do it.
CHAPTER 10
Victoria
(PRESENT DAY)
“We’re going to do a quick internal ultrasound, okay? From the list of symptoms it sounds like your PCOS is off the rails a bit, and we need to figure out what’s going on.”
For such a commonly diagnosed and suffered condition, it feels like it’s so stupidly misunderstood by so many. It’s taken three different OBGYNs but I finally found one who speaks polycystic ovary syndrome. Once my ultrasound is complete, and she’s shown me the pretty pictures of my “very beautiful” uterus, as well as the cysts all over my ovaries, I’m in the stirrups all over again for my pap smear.
Shortly after Wyatt was born, Mom had cervical cancer. Since she was adopted and we don’t know her family medical history, and since I have my own up close and personal relationship with cysts on my ovaries, it all makes me high risk. So I like to keep on top of my annual well-woman exam.
I want to live a long and healthy life, not just for my baby boy, but for myself as well.
“We’ve talked about your diet, Victoria. But we haven’t really mentioned exercise.”
