I hang up and stand there for a moment, my mind racing. Natalie is beside me now, her hand on my arm, her face creased with concern.
“What happened?”
“My dad fell and broke his hip. He's in surgery right now.” An image of my dad on the floor, pain etched on his face. “He was trying to transfer to bed by himself because he's too fucking proud to ask for help.”
“Oh, Ethan. I'm so sorry.”
“I need to go home. I can't just sit around and wait for phone calls.”
“I'll come with you.”
“You don't have to do that.”
Her eyes meet mine. “I know I don't have to. I want to.”
This is a family problem that I should handle alone. But having Natalie with me sounds too good to refuse. I used to think I do well alone but having her in my life has shown me how different it is with someone on your corner.
“Okay,” I say. “Let's go.”
The next hour passes in a whirlwind of phone calls and logistics. I call the team office and explain the situation. They're sympathetic and tell me to take whatever time I need.
Natalie calls Ken, who is impressed by her dedication to continuing my treatment remotely. I contact my travel coordinator and have her book us on a private flight to Eau Claire, leaving in three hours.
While Natalie goes to her apartment to pack, I throw clothes into a duffel bag with barely any thought to what I'm grabbing.My mind is stuck on the image of my father lying on the floor of his bedroom, too stubborn to call for help.
I understand that stubbornness and the need to prove you're not a burden, that you can still do things yourself, and that you're not completely dependent on the people who love you. I've felt it every day since my surgery.
I text my mother: On my way. Should be there by evening.
She responds immediately: What about your treatment?
Me:Bringing my PT with me.
Mom:The pretty one from your building?
Mom:I'm just asking. See you tonight. I love you.
Me:Yeah. Love you too.
Natalie returns with a small suitcase, and Vincent drives us to the private airfield. The flight is quiet, with neither of us talking much. Natalie reads a book while I stare out the window at the clouds below, trying not to spiral into worst-case scenarios.
When we land in Eau Claire, there's a rental car waiting. I drive us straight to the hospital, my knuckles white on the steering wheel.
Every mile brings more fear. What if the surgery went wrong? What if there were complications? My father is the heart of our family. He's the one who taught me to skate and who told me I could be anything I wanted if I worked hard enough.
My mother and my sisters need him.Ineed him. The idea of walking into that hospital and hearing bad news is so terrifying that I push the gas pedal harder, as if I can outrun my own thoughts.
Natalie's hand covers mine on the gear shift.
“Hip fractures from falls are actually very common in MS patients,” she says quietly. “The surgery is straightforward, and recovery rates are good, even with the added complications of his condition.”
I glance at her. “How do you know that?”
“I did some research after you told me about your dad.”
I swallow a lump of saliva in my throat.
“The biggest risks are infection and blood clots, but hospitals monitor for those closely,” she continues. “And the fact that he was healthy enough to attempt the transfer on his own is actually a good sign. It means his baseline strength is still there.”
