"I know," he said.
"He's not going to die?"
"I sure hope not."
"Will he play basketball again?"
"I don't know any more than you do, Bud."
"My parents won't let me see him."
Suddenly the ball rang. My aide, Tony Simmons, came to stand with us. Tony had only been working with me for a few weeks because my other aide moved. I've had a lot of aides. Some of them just didn't like being with me.
"You ready to head to class?" Tony asked me.
"No."
"Come on, let's go." He started walking and I knew he wanted me to follow him, but I didn't want to. I started running, as fast as I could, my backpack thumping against my back. I dodged kids in the hallway, like I was a football player. My dad taught me how to dodge when we played in the park. I heard someone tell me to stop running in the halls, but I didn't listen. I was rounding a corner and sliding, when I smacked into a body. I looked up and it was Mr. Fujimoto, the vice-principal. My backpack slid off my back and landed on the tiles with a thud.
"Slow down," said Mr. Fujimoto. "You know the rules."
I squatted down to pick up my books and stuff that had spilled out, all over the dirty tiles. Tony came up behind me and bent down to help. His face looked red. The bell rang before we'd picked everything up. All the other kids had gone to their classes.
Finally, Tony and I stood up and he handed the last book to me. "How about we walk the halls before we get started on our school work?" he asked.
I'd rather walk the halls then do schoolwork, so I nodded. We started walking. The halls were now clear of other kids.
"This is how we walk in the halls," he said. "Not run."
I didn't say anything but kept walking.
"Good job on the walking," he said.
I continued walking because I liked that he said I did a good job. "I know you must be worried about Sam," he said. "Did you not sleep very well last night?"
"My mother made me patch the walls in my room." I ran my finger along the wall.
"Last night?"
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. His eyebrows were squished together. They were dark brown, like his hair, which always flopped over his eyes, but he wasn't black like my parents. Once he told me he was brown. That's how he described himself. He had so much hair on his eyebrows.
"She made me wake up when it was dark, and I had to work for hours," I said. "Right until morning."
He shook his head. "That's not good. I'll look into that," he said.
"They won't let me see Sam either."
"Well, Sam is quite sick."
"I want to see him in the hospital, but they said I can never go there. Never."
CHAPTER FOUR SAM
The sun streamed through the window beside my bed. I woke up, and at first, I had no idea where I was. Then the stiff white sheets rubbed against my skin. The hospital.
My mother sat in a chair beside my bed with her eyes closed and her head bowed. But as soon as I opened my eyes she jolted upright as if she had some sort of psychic power.
"Did you sleep here?" I asked.
She brushed her hair off her face and straightened her top.
"Go home, Mom," I said. "Sleep in your own bed."
"You sleep good?" she asked.
"Okay, I guess."
"They say heart doctor come today."
I nodded. That was a good thing because I really did want some answers.
My breakfast came and went. And we waited. Me lying in bed and my mother talking non-stop. About what? I couldn't tell you because she went on and on like a long buzzer that just wouldn't stop. The day dragged. The nurse came in and out. I slept. In and out.
Elma showed up mid-afternoon and saved me, just when I thought I might snap at my mother. "Some of the guys are outside. Just came from school. You want to see them?"
"He tired," said my mother.
"Send them in," I said.
Elma left and when she returned Cecil and Craig were with her. At 6'4 and built like a ruler, Cecil loped over to my bed, his crazy black dreadlocks swinging with his walk. More of the shy guy and a true ginger, Craig followed, hands in his pockets.
"Hey, Sokolovic," said Cecil. He held up his hand and I weakly slapped it.
"What's up?" I asked.
"What's up with you, dude? You scared the bejesus out of us."
Craig, AKA Ging, (totally lame nickname but it is what it is) stood at the end of my bed, holding his hands together. "Scared is like putting it mildly. I'm still having nightmares."
"I'm okay," I said, hoping this was the truth.
"Game's rescheduled," said Cecil.
I frowned. "Hey, guys, I'm kinda foggy about the game. Can you, uh, fill me in?"
Across my bed, they looked at each other for a split second. Then Cecil spoke. "City championships, Soko. You were hot. Scored the first two baskets."
I nodded. Two baskets? I should remember that. I could remember every basket everyone had scored in every game. Significant stuff. Why couldn't I remember that? I licked my lips. "And then I…what…just collapsed?"
"Yeah, you got a breakaway, going for your second basket." Cecil grinned, shaking his head. "You nailed it too. You were hot. We woulda killed 'em."
I frowned. I wish I could remember. "How long did we play before…?" I don't know why I didn't want to say collapsed again, but I didn't. Made me seem weak or something. I'd ruined our game. It had been called off because of me.
"Forty-two seconds," said Ging, from the end of my bed. "The game's been rescheduled."
"For when?"
They both looked at each other, again. Sideways glances that didn't include me. "Beginning of next week."
"Maybe I'll be okay," I said.
"That'd be good, bro." Cecil grinned and held up his thumb. "We need ya."
Cecil snapped his fingers. "I heard that Coach Shields might make an appearance. To watch you and me, Soko, in action."
"Lucky you, guys," said Ging.
Cecil laughed and smacked Ging on the back. "It's called skill, dude." Both Cecil and I had been recruited to play for the Fighting Bears next year at the University of Alberta. They were the top university team in the country because they had a coach everyone wanted to play for.
"That's great," I said. I had to get out of here and play in that game."I'm sure I'll be out by then."
"You work on that," said Cecil.
Suddenly, the room took on a silence as if we'd hit a blockage in the conversation.
Cecil cleared his throat before he said, "Hey, Stuart is sure asking about you. I swear he's stalking me. Every time I turn a corner at school, he's there asking me if I've seen you."
"He wants to visit me in the hospital," I said. "He's sent my sister probably a hundred text messages. And me too." I picked up my phone.
"You're joking, right?" Cecil piped up.
For the first time since I'd been in the hospital, I cracked a smile. "No joke."
Cecil and Ging stayed for another few minutes or so, talking to me about their weekend plans, and basketball practices, and the latest sports stats. Then the conversation turned to girls and grad.
"So, rumour has it Ginny from our math class is holding out hope that you're going to ask her to grad-u-a-tion," said Cecil.
I shook my head. "I don't even really know her. Maybe I won't take a date."
"She told everyone in class today you were trending on Twitter."
"Trending on Twitter?" I groaned. That's all I needed was to be suddenly popular on social media. "You're kidding, right?"
"You hit the news big time," said Ging. "Front page of the sports section. Even made CBC."
"I think someone did up some Facebook page for you too."
"What?" I flopped back on my pillow. I hated attention, except when in a b-ball uniform.
Suddenly, a doctor I'd never seen before (but who looked really official) walked into the room, trailed by my mother and father who h
ad been giving me a little privacy with my friends. I guessed he was the heart specialist-slash-cardiologist? He wasn't my family doctor, that was for sure. My parents had said the heart guy would be in later in the day. This doctor's arrival was the guys' cue to leave and my entire family's cue to return. Elma stood at the end of the bed.
"Samir, I'm Doctor Kapoor." He held out his hand and I shook it. "I'm a pediatric heart specialist. How are you doing today?"
"I've been better," I replied. "You can call me Sam."
"Okay, Sam. Yes, I'm sure you have been better. We need to talk about a few things today, all right?"
I nodded but didn't speak because my throat felt like it had closed up. Not a word would come out even if I tried to talk.
He sat down on the end of my bed, all casual-like. "I've looked at your charts and viewed all your test results. You have what is called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy."
I must have been staring at him blankly (I didn't have a clue what that even meant), because he didn't wait for me to say anything before he went on. "It's a thickening of the wall between the left and right ventricles of your heart. So, what happens, Sam, is the thickened heart muscle makes your left ventricle smaller." He used his hands to talk, making little pictures of my heart, of it being smaller and thicker, and I kept staring at his hands instead of looking him in the eyes. He had long fingers and perfect nails that looked like thin pencils with erasers that hadn't been rubbed.
"So," he continued, "it holds less blood. Sometimes that wall can get stiff. That means the ventricle can't relax very well or fill with blood. This in turn can cause high blood pressure, or it can also lead to arrhythmias because the heart's electrical signals are not working properly. Arrhythmias are irregular heart beats. In your case your damaged heart muscle decided to stop during your basketball game because of the pressure you were putting on it." He raised his eyebrows a little. "You're a lucky boy. Many teens have died from exactly the same thing. Your coach and trainer acted quickly."
Damaged. I had a damaged heart. Damaged. Me?
I gave a little nod to show him I was actually listening. Words were impossible.
"The window is between three and five minutes to get that heart started again," he said. "Their reaction time was admirable."
I nodded again. I knew this. I'd been told. I owed Cassandra and Coach Nelson a lot, for sure. I guess hearing it come from a cardiologist made the reality of what had happened hit home. I could have died. Well, in a way I did die for those few seconds. A heart stops, you're dead. Period. End of story. Grave time. They had got my heart started again within the allotted minutes and I was grateful.
But now…I had to get back to this, the present.
"We need to implant an implantable cardioverter defibrillator under your skin," continued Dr. Kapoor, using more medical lingo, "in the upper chest area, which will work with your heart to keep it beating at a steady pace. This ICD will monitor your heart rhythm."
I swallowed before I croaked out, "A what?"
"Implantable cardioverter defibrillator or 'ICD.' They're tiny. Once implanted you won't even know it's there." He opened his binder and showed me a picture of the ICD and where it would go in my body. It was small. And being put in my chest?
I didn't say anything as I looked at the diagram, trying to wrap my head around what was happening to me.
"Once you're stabilized," he looked down at his clipboard, "which looks pretty good right now, we can do the surgical procedure." He looked up at me. "We do want to run some more tests on you to see how your brain is functioning before the procedure. We will do those tests over the next few days." He paused for a split second before he asked, "Do you have any questions so far?"
I was more interested in this thing that was being implanted. Like I was some freak. "Do I have to have surgery for this…ICD?"
"Yes. It's an insertion and you will need to stay in the hospital for a few days after it's implanted so we can make sure it is working properly and to make sure the incision is healing. Of course, you're healthy so I don't anticipate that being a problem."
I nodded. That was good news. I thought about what the guys had said. The make-up game could be early next week. Maybe they could postpone the game until the end of the week. "I might have a basketball game next week," I said. "Could we get it done before then?"
The doctor stared at me for a second, his head tilted to the side. "Sam, I'm sorry but varsity sports are out from now on, especially basketball because of the high intensity. Your heartrate has to stay within a very particular range and, unfortunately, running full tilt down a basketball court isn't in your best interest. In the future, you might be able to play some house league basketball. For fun."
House league basketball? Was he for real?
CHAPTER FIVE STUART
We entered the hospital and I walked beside my mother. I'd been to the hospital a couple of times, in Emergency: once for a broken arm and once for a faceplant that broke my nose. Both times I'd been running away from something or just running. I dunno.
Declan told me I'd been in the hospital when I was with my biological mother too. I guess she almost drowned me in the bathtub and I had to go by ambulance. Declan told me that he'd run over to the neighbours' in our apartment and told them how my mother was pushing my head under the water, so the neighbours had called for the ambulance. Declan also said that she was really, really, really drunk, and that she screamed and hit us a lot when she was drunk. He said he used to cover my ears all the time.
After she tried to drown me, that's when we were taken away and put in foster homes. He remembers every foster home we were in, but I don't, at least not the first ones. I remember being at the Langfords' and that's when I got good at running. And I remember our very last foster home, the Williams', because that is my mom and dad's house. They are so nice to us.
As we walked through the hospital, I looked up at my mom, and she must have seen me looking at her because she turned and looked at me too. Her eyes were so dark and brown that her whites shone.
"Did you tell your new aide that I made you stay up all night and fix the walls?" she asked.
"I dunno." Now I didn't want to look at her.
"The school phoned me and asked if that was true. If you did tell your aide that you had to stay up all night, it was a lie. I only made you work for ten minutes in the morning, and you had to work because it was a consequence."
"I dunno," I said again.
"Okay. But you understand why I made you fix the walls, right? And that lying isn't good because it can get people into trouble."
"Am I in trouble?" I asked.
"No. I could have been, though, if they didn't believe my explanation."
I thought about that. I didn't want her to be in trouble. Had I said the wrong thing? Oh well. It was over now. No one was in trouble.
We walked a few more steps before she said, "I think Sam's going to like what you made him."
It was a black, braided leather bracelet, and I'd found a cool basketball bead to put on it. The bead was silver plated. I liked making bracelets and necklaces and they were all made of leather strands and were either black or brown. They were masculine, as my dad said. My dad wore the bracelet I made him all the time, even with his suit. I was good at making them, just like I was good at running. My mother had given me a bag to put it in, like this gift bag with stripes on it, and I thought it was lame, but she said it was nice to take a gift that was wrapped.
We took the elevator to the second floor, and when we got off my mother went to a desk and asked where Samir Sokolovic's room was. Once the lady at the desk told us, we made our way to his room. My last name is Williams but I've had two last names. My first last name was O'Brien but it got changed to Williams when I was adopted.
"Remember, Stuart, what we talked about in the car. Sam is sick."
She'd talked non-stop to me about how hospitals were places for sick people and not noise or running. Blah, blah, blah. I nodded.
The door to his room was open and we walked in. His mother was by his bed and both her and Sam looked at us when they heard us walk in. I'd met his mother before at a basketball game.
"Hello, Stuart," said his mother. To me she spoke funny, and Sam told me it was because she was from a different country. I can't remember which one. Starts with a B. It's somewhere far away, like over an ocean.
"Hi," I said back. I walked over to Sam and handed him the bag.
"Wow, thanks," he said. "You didn't have to bring me anything."
I shrugged.
His mother patted his shoulder. "You have nice visit." She looked at my mother. "I go for coffee. You join me?"
"Thank you," said my mother. She glanced at me before she turned back to Sam's mother. "But I think I'll stay close. It might be better. Maybe I'll park myself outside the door."
"I bring coffee," said Sam's mother.
They both left, and it was just me and Sam in the hospital room. I looked around at everything.
"I want to see what you gave me." He rustled the coloured paper my mom had put in the bag.
"I made it," I said.
He pulled out the bracelet. "Hey, Little Man, I love it."
It was so cool when he called me "Little Man" or "Little Dude." "Put it on," I said.
I watched as he clasped the bracelet around his wrist. I pointed to the basketball. "I found that at the bead store and thought you would like it."
A Time to Run Page 3