“Shhhhhhhhh. Keep it the fuck down.”
If everything didn’t hurt, this would be funny. But all I want to do is sleep. There’s a drilling behind my eyes I wish I wasn’t familiar with, and a deep ache through all my muscles.
“Common symptoms of recurrent concussions in hockey players include headache, dizziness, difficulty concentrating, memory problems, and sensitivity to light or noise.”
Ugh. Someone’s reading icehockeycentral.com. I can quote their page on concussion in my sleep.
“Memory problems? What if he forgets who we are?”
No such luck.
Another sharp exhale of air, likely due to an elbow to the stomach. “Stop fucking doing that.”
The voices are all mixing together in my brain, but Cooper, August, and Justin are in the room with me. It’s hard to follow who’s saying what and to whom, and I’m still not brave enough to open my eyes.
“Players who have had multiple concussions may also experience symptoms such as depression, anxiety, and mood swings. It is important for players to report any symptoms to their coach or medical staff. Fuck, this doesn’t sound good. Cap, this doesn’t sound good.”
That’s definitely Justin’s hushed whisper. Despite being a rookie, he’s the worrier of the team, the mother hen. I’d smile if my face didn’t hurt. I don’t remember what happened, but from the throbbing in my nose and eye socket, I’d guess I hit the plexi at speed. It’s not my first rodeo.
“Medical professionals may recommend players who have had recurrent concussions sit out for a longer period of time or even retire from playing altogether to prevent further damage to their brain.” There’s a whistle of air. “Cap, he’s on the bench for a while.”
No. Panic clutches my whole body, making me groan. The extra movement seizes the drill behind my eyes and shifts it up a notch. Fuck. I’m gonna hurl.
“Everyone out.” The next time August speaks, it’s so low I barely hear it. “Go get some food. Raffi needs rest. I’ll sit with him while y’all eat.”
“Want something brought back?” Justin again.
“Nah, I’m good. I’ll tag out with someone when you’re done. But no overwhelming him. And keep the fucking noise down, okay?”
Footsteps thump and squeak away. There’s a swish of the door closing. If only their exit had also taken away the dread curling around my body.
If I can’t play, I lose my scholarship. I swallow down the bitter panic lodged at the back of my throat with a groan.
“Easy, Raf. It’s okay. Just rest.” August pats my leg.
It’s fine for him—he’s not the one in this bed.
“Research has shown repeated head trauma can lead to chronic traumatic encephalopathy C.T.E, a degenerative brain disease which can cause symptoms such as memory loss, mood swings, and dementia.”
Great. He’s clearly reading the same fucking website Justin was before he left. August’s words are spoken quietly, and they’d almost be soothing if they weren’t so terror inducing. I know the risks. Iknowwhat I could end up like. But hockey is life.
“Hockey players who have suffered concussions may also experience post-concussion syndrome, which can cause headaches, dizziness, and difficulty concentrating, among other symptoms.
“These long-term effects can have a significant impact on hockey players’ lives, leading to difficulties in their personal and professional lives. Some players may have to retire early due to the effects of their concussions, while others may struggle with mental health issues and financial challenges. Fuck. Raffi, we’re going to have to keep an eye on you, kid. This brain shit isn’t something to fuck around with.”
While I appreciate his concern about my well-being, I’m also freaking out on an epic scale. I need to heal quickly so I can get back on the team. Without my scholarship, I can’t afford college, and I’m far less likely to be discovered by the NHL so I can play professionally.
It’s always been my dream to play big.
Wincing, I swallow down the half-truth. I’d love to play in the National Hockey League, I would, but I know deep in my bones I’m not cut out for it. My parents though, once they learned my childhood dream was to become a hockey star,they took it with both hands and ran with it. I can’t let them down.
“I can hear your fucking brain working from here, Raf. Settle down and go back to fucking sleep.”
But I can’t settle or get comfortable. The pain in my head, my ears, encompassing my entire body, makes it impossible for me to “settle down.”
“Okay, okay. Don’t freak out. Let me help.”
I don’t know what he’s doing because I can’t bring myself to open my eyes, but there’s a lot of shuffling around. The brightness of the room shifts, getting darker. I don’t know what he’s done, but my chest swells that he’s trying to help.
