All the lines to cross

by Ashish Rastogi

  Tim, my wide receiver and buddy, is standing nearby. The horror on his face confirms my worst fears. The injury is bad. I slump back to the ground, praying. Oh God not me, not now. The officials have stopped play. Dr. Nelson, our team physician, is by my side with our head athletic trainer.

  "How bad is it?" I stutter between bouts of pain, clutching my thigh.

  "Lie down boy, you broke your leg." Dr. Nelson holds my thigh down with both his hands.

  My world collapses on hearing the words. Tears merge with the sweat. No, this is not the way I want my game to end. I slam my fists to the ground.

  The medical team splints my leg. They put me on a stretcher and carry me off the field into a waiting ambulance. After that, I blackout. The pain, combined with the exhaustion of the game, gets the better of me. Everything is hazy after that. The paramedic gives me few shots to reduce the pain. Sleep is the last word from his mouth.

  BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. THE random sounds wake me up. My eyes land on my leg, wrapped in bandages, hanging from a sling. Fluids are being pumped into my arm. Jason paces the floor. Stephen, my agent, is on the phone.

  "Where am I?"

  Jason turns and walks towards me. "We are at the Bone and Neurology Care Center."

  "Why?"

  "Jon, you broke your leg in the game today." Jason's tone is somber.

  The horror and pain, all come back. Jason is holding back something. "Is there a problem, Jason?"

  Stephen gets up. He is the no-nonsense guy. "Jon, your leg is a mess. We have spoken to a few doctors, and they all paint a grim picture."

  "Will I be able to play again?" The only thing that matters. No pain, no surgery, no hard work can chicken me out. The furrows on their faces set off my alarms. This will not be easy.

  "Jon, the injury does not look good. The last doctor we met was not sure if you would be able to walk without a limp. Your chances of a full recovery are grim unless this lady here pulls off a miracle." Stephen moves his hand above my bandaged leg.

  I don't like where Stephen is taking this. "What? Why do you have to say such a thing?" Sometimes I wish he ate some sugar before he opened his mouth. Jason touches my shoulder. "Don't worry mate, we are working to get this fixed. Do you remember Chuck? He got his knee surgery here."

  Chuck is a defensive back with the Rovers team. His knee was knocked bad two seasons ago. However, he got back after sitting out an entire season.

  "Jason, don't give Jon false hope. We don't know if she will take the case." Stephen is at it again. How I wish at this moment to punch and shut Stephen's mouth. But I need him on my side to get through this fiasco, so I turn to Stephen, "Who is she?"

  "The doctor who will operate on you. She is on vacation and we are trying to contact her." Jason sits by my side. He is my best friend and for the last two years, also my brother-in-law.

  "Are we not losing time? Can someone else operate?" I try to prop up on my elbows on the bed, but Jason stops me and I land back with a thud. My head is full of questions and I'm an impatient jerk. The waiting will do nothing for the worry monster pacing in my head.

  "They say she is the best in these parts. Your only chance at getting out of this intact." Jason is trying his best not to upset me, but it is not helping.

  "We are working on a Plan B. If we don't get her in the next thirty minutes, we move to another hospital." Stephen is not sure about the situation here at the hospital and that can't be good for me.

  "Is there any hope?" My eyes search Jason's face for a clue, but he is expressionless.

  "Yes, there is." My mother walks in with a broad smile. One glance at her and I know the smile hides the worries in her mind. She comes over and gives me a peck on the head. "They have located her. They want us to be present during the call. Let's go."

  Stephen follows mom out of the room. I send a silent prayer to God for help.

  Chapter 2: Vacation Short Circuit

  Sharon

  "Who let the Boss out? Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof."

  "Who let the Boss out? Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof."

  "Go away. Richard." The pillow over my head muffles my voice. The phone rings again, screaming out a chorus of the modified Bahamen song. Three goofy friends got together at a karaoke night. The club owner gifted us the recording and now it serves its rightful purpose. It is our secret and I am not one who sings and tells.

  "Who let the Boss out? Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof."

  "Who let the Boss out? Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof."

  Sharon, he can't hear you unless you pick the phone. Eyes closed, I turn on my bed to the nightstand and pat my way to the source of all this woofing. Through one open eye, I check the time and swipe green.

  "Hi, Sharon. Can we talk for a moment?"

  Yup, the boss-man is on the line. A million ants must be crawling in his pants for him to call at this hour. Through the curtains on the balcony, I notice the sky is still dark. The palm trees sway in a rhythm silhouetted against the horizon lit by the full moon. The gentle breeze from the Atlantic Ocean makes them dance to its tunes. A slow beat of sea waves and rustling leaves. The breeze is cool, and the beach is empty. After arriving today in the evening, I had little time to go for a walk. An early morning run on the beach would be soothing. First, I have to finish Richard.

  "Why are you calling at this hour?"

  "I am sorry, but this is an emergency." Richard's voice crackles through the speaker of my phone. Argh! Richard's voice is not the most pleasant sound in the morning. I bury my face in the pillow. Chin up girl, you need to hear him out.

  "Richard, you are interrupting my vacation after a long hard year. Don't do this. This is my time off from work. It is only a week in Florida."

  "Well, it is the NFL. . ." The screws are coming loose from Richard's brain.

  "What the hell, Richard? You call me at midnight to talk about football?!"

  "No, no." He pauses and tries to put the right words together, "Ok, I will come straight to the point. One of the players of Tornado's injured himself in the game today. He needs your surgical expertise."

  Calm and cool are the last two things on my mind. Richard and I share a narrow spectrum when it comes to testing each other's patience. He started in the trigger zone by waking me up in the middle of the first night on my vacation.

  "For heaven's sake, Richard! The player would be rich enough money to find a doctor anywhere. Why bother me? I am not changing my vacation plans for the money bag." Forgive me for the bad mood. I am a grumpy riser.

  "Dr. Sharon, be careful with your words. You are on speakerphone. The patient's family is here with me." Richard's professional and stern voice is a warning.

  I squeeze my eyes shut as I curse Richard swallowing the words instead of blurting them into the phone. The same old tactic to make me agree to his demand. Put me in a position where I have limited choice and force my hand in public. When will Richard change? He knew I would not agree. As Medical Director of our group practice, he sanctioned my leave with reluctance. He had extracted three years of the most taxing orthopedic surgery schedules out of me.

  "You might as well call the press, Richard. I am not coming back."

  "Sharon, you must understand he is a famous player. You can't refuse a patient like this. Think of the publicity this will bring for the hospital. If you take this on and things go well, we could expand the practice the way you want." Now he is pleading. The thought of Richard sitting in his office surrounded by people clutching the phone brings a smile.

  Richard plays his cards well. I have been breathing down his neck for the last two years to buy more equipment and facilities. We want a separate orthopedic trauma emergency. The triaging at the ER led to the loss of vital time. However, finances did not allow us to make the expansion.

  If he thinks the arm-twisting will work, he has disappointment coming his way. But I need to be polite on the phone. Last time when he wanted me to take added responsibilities, he had all the partners present in his office.


  My eyes land on the clock, it flashes 00.15. Richard must be under pressure. A perfect opportunity to make him squirm in his seat for a little while longer. Time to put on my matter-of-fact, no-nonsense voice.

  "Richard, are you trying to buy me? You understand I will not be swayed by any amount of money or the publicity. So, if you need me back tell me, what difference will I make to the case and why Dr. Chang cannot perform the surgery?"

  Richard does not respond, and I know I have him on the mat.

  "Sharon, you've got me all wrong. Listen to me. The patient has come to us with a complicated injury. He broke both bones in his left leg above the ankle. There is also a lot of soft tissue injury and he may need vascular repair. You are the best person to deal with this. He is the right patient for your new procedure. Given the excellent results in the past, with such injuries, he would benefit from the surgery. Do you want to refuse a patient in need?"

  Richard makes a valid point—perhaps I need to cut him some slack.

  "How is the circulation in the foot?" My medical alarms kick in. Richard gives me the status of the leg which increases my concern. His description heightens my medical senses. We are losing time. "How will I get to Boston? There is no flight out of here before three hours and, then, it'll take me another three hours on the flight to Boston." This is a critical logistics hurdle for us to cross.

  "A private charter is on its way. We will fly you here as soon as you are ready." The voice is not familiar.

  "Richard, who is that on the phone? Where did you find a private jet?"

  "Excuse me, doctor, I am Stephen—Mr. Hayes' agent. The Tornado's own a jet and it's on its way to Florida."

  So typical of Richard. He did not wait for my decision. "Richard, who is the patient?"

  "Jonathan Hayes. The Tornado's quarterback and one of the top five NFL players for the last four seasons. Not to mention the MVPs he won in the last two years. Jon broke his leg in today's game."

  Richard's smug voice is a put-off—he's gloating as if he won all those accolades. He sure is going to milk this for publicity. I can visualize him salivating at the prospect. Richard is not bad but sometimes he loses focus in his efforts to further the practice. He is extremely proud of what he has built at B and N Care. He should be. It is his baby.

  However, I am not buying into this crap. "Richard, don't throw titles at me. A patient is a patient. You and I treat the disease, not names and ranks."

  "Sharon, you are the only one who can deal with this case. Would you want someone to lose a leg?" Richard is desperate. For a second, I consider asking him to go down on his knees. But I know better. This is another one of Richard's tactics, but I am not giving in so fast. I throw one more loop at him.

  "Richard, you are asking far too much from me. You promised me this time off. If you get Dr. Chang to operate it will also save you time."

  "Dr. Sharon, I am Nora Hayes, Jon's mother. Please help my son. We spoke to a lot of specialists. Your name keeps coming up in every discussion. It would mean a lot to Jon and me, doctor."

  My protest flounders at the voice of Mrs. Hayes. How can I say no to a mother? I sigh and remind myself to be careful about my words. Richard and I cross swords often. It is part of our friendly professional banter, but a patient and his mother are at a different level. This must be difficult for the family. They need care and support.

  "Mrs. Hayes, I am sorry to learn about your son's injury. I can understand your situation and feelings. Richard, make the arrangements but remember, I am only doing it for Mrs. Hayes and not for any other reason. We will do all the procedures at our standard charges. I hope we are clear on that."

  "Yes, Sharon, whatever you say." Richard's confirmation brings strange satisfaction. Now he has no chance to play with the financials. Richard can gloat at his victory for dragging me out of my vacation, but I have punctured his bubble a little.

  "Thank you, Dr. Sharon. I will always be grateful to you." Mrs. Hayes' voice brings me out of my self-gloating mode. There is work to do. I have not seen the patient, so I can't make any promises. However, I do need to reassure the family. "Our team will do their best for your son, Mrs. Hayes."

  I call out to Richard to set things in motion. "Richard, is Tom around?"

  "Yes Sharon, I am here." Tom is my biggest support. I give him instructions. "Run the full protocol for the surgery. Share all medical records, images and your assessments on the cloud. I will download them on my way. Can someone send me close-up footage of the match? As many angles as we can find of the time when the injury occurred."

  "Yes, we can—this is Jon's agent, again. I will speak with the NFL and share the footage from the injury review system."

  "Sharon, this is Tom. Initial assessments are on the cloud. You can download them now. Give me thirty minutes and I will upload the remaining information."

  "Great, I will text you my address. The important question. How do I reach the jet?"

  "No worries, we will take care of everything. Mr. Smith will meet you in an hour from now. He will take you to the jet." Mr. Hayes' agent chips in. Smart fellow worked out everything beforehand.

  "Ok, let's get moving then. One last thing Richard, I will not speak to the press. Make sure I am not hounded by news teams hovering around the hospital." This is another thing I need to settle to avoid frustrating arguments with Richard.

  "Sure." The subtle hitch in Richard's voice is a hint. He is reluctant to commit.

  "Richard, do I have a promise?"

  "Yes, I promise. No TV crews." Richard caves in, but I sense this is not the last discussion on this topic. Richard is a born showman.

  After the call, I keep the phone down and get off the bed. Well, this must be my shortest vacation. It sucks. The authentic WWII Mustang fighter plane and swimming with the sharks will have to wait. All my plans for this trip trashed. The phone buzzes with the messages from Tom. Time to return to my first passion, mending bones. I dump my things back in my bag and head to the bathroom for a shower. A long day lies ahead.

  Chapter 3: The Wait Is Killing

  Jon

  'Career ending injury.' God, don't they have anything else to talk about? Every channel I flip to is analyzing my injury. No one wants to give me a chance to come back. None of the medical experts on TV give any sort of hope. I switch the TV off.

  My worst nightmare has come to life. What if I never recover after surgery? What if the franchise releases me and ends my contract because I am no longer fit enough to play? I am not ready to give up my career. It has taken a lot of struggle, hard work and grit to earn my place in the big league.

  At this competitive level, every step, every day, every chance and each play matters. You can't slip up because the moment you do, a guy right behind will climb over and take your place in an instant, thrusting your face into the dirt pit.

  My struggle started in my first year of college when my life went for a spin. I have always been a fighter and never give up. Fate had turned against me. With my family on the verge of breaking down, I stepped up my game. I trained harder, increased my focus—creating plays in my mind, watching videos of the games. All the while working at night to support my family. I could not give up on them.

  My hard work paid off at the Regional Starting Combines, leading to the National Combine and then the drafts. Among the hundreds of hopefuls, I was one of the lucky few who got through helped by my performance, field drills, and interviews. The Tornado's picked me in the first round of the draft. A career start with the Tornados was a dream come true. After two years in training and preseason games, I made the cut to the roster. From then on, there was no turning back. Until tonight.

  The memory of the helmets crashing makes the pain sear. I steel myself. The pain will not break me. One injury will not cut me out. I will get back on the field, no matter what it takes.

  First comes the surgery. The waiting game is difficult. My doubts increase by the hour. What if she refuses after seeing the injury? We would lose c
rucial time. I am not a medical expert, but wasn't every minute important in medicine? What if this was beyond her ability? What if she couldn't fix my leg? Would I ever be able to play again? The fears rage in my mind, but I have to fight them off before they overwhelm me.

  "She is on her way." Mom walks in with Stephen, breaking my chain of thoughts.

  "What did she say?" I try to hide the grimace. The pain is considerable despite all the medications being pumped into me. The bandages are tightening. Maybe, the swelling is increasing. I curse my luck.

  "Hm, she sounded sassy." Stephen is worked up after the call.

  "I would be miffed if someone dragged me out of my vacation in Florida." Typical of Mom, always considerate.

  "I don't mind her sassiness as long as she can get me back on my feet, running. Do you think she can fix my leg?"

  "Not sure Jon, but I sure hope she is worth all this trouble." Stephen, the perennial doubter. Can't he sound a little optimistic, even for a moment?

  "Trust me, she will. If you want Jon playing again, there is no one else who can do it. She has an impressive record with complicated injuries like yours. Have faith in her." Dr. Thomas walks in on our conversation.

  "Well then, we wait. Do you mind if I run a few reference checks?" Stephen is persistent; that's why I keep him close.

  "Be my guest. While you are at it, Google We-TO repair." Dr. Thomas spells it out not hiding his frown. He shrugs his shoulders. "Meanwhile, I have orders to follow and get you ready for the surgery, Mr. Hayes."

  I nod. Do I have a choice? He starts the examination and orders countless tests. The nursing staff is efficient. When he opens the wound, the injury is quite bad. The sight raises doubts in my mind. How will anyone fix this mess? I close my eyes, the stadiums, the crowds, and the ball all seem walking away from me. My chances of playing again are next to impossible.

  For me, putting the leg back together is not sufficient. I need someone to make sure I recover from the injury and play again. Determination and hard work got me this far, but they were in my hands. With a broken leg, I am at the mercy of others.