Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
I spoke quietly. “Maybe I should just have the surgery.”
Tears filled my mother’s eyes. “Are you serious?”
I nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. Even when I retire someday, there’s still going to be that unknown hanging over my head. And it’s…gotten bigger.”
My mother’s eyes widened. “Oh my God, Max. How do you know?”
“I had another scan a month or so ago when I was out in California. I went to the same doctor who did Austin’s surgery and all of our scans.”
“That’s your first visit to a doctor for it since your diagnosis?”
I nodded again.
“Are you having symptoms?”
I shook my head. “I just thought… I don’t know what I thought. Maybe I was hoping it had disappeared or something. But I wanted to know.”
My mother smiled sadly. “You wanted to know because of Georgia.”
“Maybe. I guess. Probably.” I paused, feeling tangled in my thoughts. “I feel like a coward. I made Austin have the surgery, but I’m too chicken shit to go under the knife myself.”
My mother shook her head. “What are you talking about? You made Austin do it?”
“When he was diagnosed, Austin asked me what I would do if I were in his place.” I swallowed and tasted salt in my throat. “I said I’d have the surgery. And I promised him he wouldn’t die.”
Mom studied my face. “Oh my God. And you’ve been carrying that with you all these years? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“What am I gonna say? Hey, Ma, Austin is dead because of me?”
“Your brother was very intelligent, and he was also twenty-one years old when he had his surgery. He made the decision on his own. I know because he struggled to make it, and we talked about it a lot. He asked his doctor the same question he asked you, and his own doctor said he would have it done if it were him in the same predicament.”
“But he trusted me.”
“Honey, Austin’s death is not your fault. You do know that, right?”
When I didn’t respond, my mother reached across and took my hand. “Austin was out of breath from walking. He decided to have the surgery because he didn’t feel like he could live a full life the way he was. I know you two were close, but he did not make that decision because of anything you said. And no one could have predicted that he would have a rare reaction to anesthesia the first time he went under.”
I shook my head. “I might not have symptoms like Austin did, but losing Georgia makes me feel like I can’t have a full life anymore.”
“Tell me what the doctor said this time.”
“Mostly the same as he said ten years ago. Any surgery has risk, but the risk of death is pretty minimal because it’s a routine surgery these days, and the likelihood of me having a reaction like Austin is rare because I’ve been under anesthesia with no issues before. The risk for me is that my aneurysm is in the area of the brain that controls motor skills, so if any bleeding occurs, I could have some strength and coordination issues.”
“Last time they said that would be temporary.”
I nodded. “Yeah, they said therapy should be able to build it back if it happens. But let’s face it, I’m twenty-nine. The likelihood of making it back to where I am today in hockey after that happening isn’t great. The difference in speed and agility between me and the next guy who wants my job isn’t that big.”
“What about the risk of rupturing?”
“It’s increased because it’s grown, but I’m still only considered a moderate risk.”
“Moderate for normal people whose blood pressure isn’t being pushed at practice every day, and for people not getting their head bashed around with a stick.”
I didn’t answer, because of course she was right. I’d always known I had an elevated risk of rupture because of my job. But hockey was my life, so I’d never questioned my decision. I would’ve risked everything to play. Only lately, hockey wasn’t feeling like the most important thing in the world anymore.
I shook my head. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t build something with Georgia knowing I’m putting myself at risk every day. I won’t do that to her. But if I have the surgery, I might not ever play professional hockey again.”
My mom frowned. “Sounds like you have a serious choice to make. Which one matters more to you?”
• • •
For the next few days I wandered. I’d shipped my car from New York to LA, and it hadn’t arrived yet. So I rented a Jeep, and my dogs and I drove along the coast looking for something. What? I didn’t know. Perhaps I was looking for a solution, some sort of a sign about what I should do. Nothing had jumped out at me as of yet.