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Regardless, the video review was helpful. We have four different video coaches who spent all night last night combing through the areas where we failed, putting together clips for Coach West and the other coaches to discuss with us. There is no way a professional hockey team can be competitive without these video coaches who help put together a visual storyline of where we fell apart and what we need to do to fix the problems.
I’m not headed back to that particular meeting room though. Instead, I turn into the next room that has been set up as a dining room for the Titans. We’re eating a team dinner, catered to resemble pretty much the foods that would’ve been laid out for us in the players’ lounge at our arena in Pittsburgh. Our team’s nutritionist hires the appropriate caterers at all away games to make sure we’re given the exact fuel our bodies need as we start the countdown clock to the game.
With no particular set of mates in mind to sit with, I spot Camden and Hendrix seated with plates before them. It’s the closest table so I veer that way, only to halt when I recognize Lilly’s ringtone blaring from my back pocket.
I pull the phone, connect the call and say, “Hey, babe,” just as I make a U-turn to walk out of the room for some privacy. I haven’t talked to her since yesterday evening before the game when she called to wish me good luck. We’d both been busy—her with working at the hospital and me with game prep—and so our conversation was short. I called her this morning but got her voicemail. She texted me soon after that she had a few things going on and would try to get up with me later.
“Hey,” she greets me, and her sweet voice is a balm.
“How are things going?” I ask, moving down the hallway away from the door and the chatter. I lean back against the wall.
“Not good,” she says, and I immediately straighten, the hair on the back of my neck rising. “Aiden has some complications.”
I’m at a loss for words. I was not expecting bad news but I can tell by the tone of her voice whatever it is, it’s not good.
“I don’t want to lay this on you. You have a game tomorrow and I don’t want anything to mess up your concentration. I’ve been struggling all afternoon whether to just lie and pretend everything is okay or do as you’ve asked and share it with you.”
Even though my stomach churns, and even though I really don’t want the truth because I can tell I’m not going to like it, I reassure Lilly. “The truth. Always the truth and always as soon as you know it so I can be there for you.”
“I’m sorry I’m struggling with this… how to involve you like you want. The only reason I’m doing it now is because you don’t play until tomorrow and I’m hoping you’ll be able to process this in a meaningful way and it won’t mess you up.”
This is going to be a matter of debate for the two of us as our relationship progresses. But now is not the time to argue with Lilly about when it’s appropriate to lay tough stuff on me. Honest to God, she could lay the bad news as soon as I stepped foot on the ice and I will take it and do my job. But the last thing she needs right now is for me to harass her about it. She knows what I want and she’ll eventually get there. Right now, there’s something far more important we need to discuss.
Aiden.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I say softly.
“I don’t even know where to begin.” My heart drops to the pit of my stomach because within those words I hear tears. Water in her voice. Shaky, filled with fear. And I hate being anywhere but holding her right now. “Aiden’s not feeling well and he woke up with a cough this morning. The fever is hanging around, although it’s still controlled with Tylenol for now. They did some routine blood work and his white blood cells are obviously still down from the transplant, which is making him susceptible to infection. The minute he got the cough, Dr. Yoffe called in a pulmonologist. They did a chest X-ray and saw something on it, which prompted them to investigate further. They did a bronchoscopy today.”
“When today?” I ask casually, burning up that she didn’t share this with me.
“Mid-morning.”
Probably at least seven hours ago.
Let it go, Boone.
“What’s a bronchoscopy?” I ask instead, to keep her talking and focused.
“They stick a camera down through his windpipe into his lungs. They’re able to look at the lung tissue as well as take a biopsy.”
I wince at the thought of somebody sticking something into Aiden’s lung and pinching off a piece.
“And do you have the results?”
Lilly doesn’t reply and there is a long period of silence. I can tell she’s collecting her thoughts as well as her emotions. Finally, she says, “Based on what she saw, the pulmonologist suspects he has fungal pneumonia, but it will take another few days for the biopsy culture to confirm it. They’ve started him on medications.”
“And it’s treatable, right? I ask.
In this moment, I feel like I’m going to vomit because if she tells me it’s not, I honestly don’t know how to handle this information.
“Yes, it’s treatable. But it’s also incredibly dangerous for somebody like Aiden to have this because he just doesn’t have the white blood cells that would help his body naturally fight it. It’s all going to depend on whether the medicine works.”
I can’t hide the panic in my voice. “I don’t know what that means.”
“I don’t really know what it means either. I just know that the doctors are very concerned. He’s had more specialists in to look at him today. Someone from infectious disease, nephrology, endocrinology. I can’t keep track of them, Boone. They all tell me about potential complications from the fungal pneumonia, and all I can manage to keep straight is that my brother has leukemia and we’re trying to get him past that.”
“I’m getting on a plane right now and coming back,” I say, my decision based solely on the fact that Lilly sounds like she’s about to fall apart. I cannot let her go through any more of this on her own.
