Page 13 of The Recovery Coach
Olivia waited a few minutes before the door opened, and Daisy popped out.
“He’s asking for you.”
She climbed to her feet and followed her new friend into the room.
Connor was in a state of semi-undress.Multiple sets of hands pulled at the layers of gear, pads, and clothing obstructing their examination.
She didn’t know what to do, faced with her best friend whimpering in pain.Working in a hospital, even just the billing department, she’d witnessed her fair share of medical emergencies.Still, seeing Connor like this had terror climbing in her chest.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and approached him, doing her best to stay out of the way.
Olivia took a spot near his head and said, “Hey.”
At the sound of her voice he tried to look in her direction, the neck brace they’d placed him in blocking the movement.He reached out blindly to her, and some of the staff slapped his hands down, restricting all movement.
“Hey.”His voice came out cracked and hoarse.
A small gash on his forehead had already been stitched, and his head rested on a slushy ice pack.It looked like they had already gone through concussion protocol and were working on his other injuries.He’d blown chunks all over the ice after a head injury.Olivia knew that probably meant a concussion.
Removing his shirt and shoulder pads revealed his torso, clammy and pale but clear of any bruising, redness, or swelling.No visible lacerations.
“They told me I can’t go back to the game,” Connor said.
“You were stretchered off the ice.You won’t make it back,” she said, rolling her eyes.She’d heard his scream of pain, rushed to be with him, been barred from seeing him, and he was worried about the game.Fucking typical.
His team of healthcare professionals gathered around the stretcher.“We’re going to lift you to get your gear off, okay?”The question came from a bald man with kind eyes that put Olivia at ease.
Connor’s attention fixed on a spot on the ceiling, and his jaw clenched before he nodded.The group lifted him, and he ground his teeth and focused on shaky breathing while they stripped him out of his pads.
Olivia did her own compulsory assessment of the damage.She tried to stay neutral.But when his thighs were revealed, one of them already bruising and swollen, she couldn’t help the little gasp she let out.
“Fuck,” she whispered, doing her best to fight her own wooziness.
His grip on her fingers tightened.His left femur jutted out at an unnatural angle.Broken, for sure.The collective hush in the room didn’t help his curiosity.
“You’re going to the hospital,” the doctor said.
Connor darted alarmed eyes to the man.
“I don’t need the hospital,” he insisted.
Olivia leaned her face closer to his so he could see her.“Connor.This isn’t the time to argue.You’re going to the hospital.”
He stayed quiet, his hesitation, pain, and anxiety loud in the quiet space.When he nodded, Olivia let out a shaky breath.
The staff spent several more minutes taking X-rays and other imaging she didn’t recognize.Whatever they found had the medical staff relaxing, the energy in the room changing from frenzied and urgent to calm and methodical.They freed Connor from his C-collar and braced his leg for transport.
Once loaded into the back of the ambulance, Connor reached out to her again, clinging to her hand like it was his only lifeline and giving her pathetic, teary puppy-dog eyes.“Come with me?”he asked, voice breaking.
Olivia pulled away from him and raised a questioning eyebrow at the EMT standing by.He nodded.
“Yeah, I’ll come with you.”
Olivia wasn’t familiar with the hospital staff who wheeled Connor off in one direction and pushed her in another.A young woman shepherded her to a waiting room somewhere in the emergency department.The crew on the ambulance told her what to expect, but it didn’t make separating from Connor any easier.
The doctors in the arena had been able to get Connor relatively stable.Luckily, he hadn’t gone into shock, but the way the bone broke and the bruising around the break meant he needed surgery.They said something about setting the bone with a rod and screws.
Sitting in the tiny, silent, sterile-smelling room all alone, each minute stretched into the ether.Olivia couldn’t be sure time passed at all.She alternated between tracing the outline of the faded, ugly, brown pattern on her chair with her finger and scrolling through post after post on social media until her eyes hurt.
