“My arm has been pretty sore lately.”
The doctor nods, his mouth turning down. “Well, there were some concerning things in your X-ray.”
The doctor turns on the screen above the cabinet, clicking at the computer keys and moving the mouse around before he pulls up an image of Jack’s X-ray. He takes a pen and circles the area between the two bones of Jack’s forearm, turning to look back at us.
“So as you can see, this is the area where synostosis has occurred. The bones have begun to fuse together, which is causing limited range of motion in your arm, which you’ve undoubtedly noticed. I’m sure the ER physician let you know, but continued hard use of this arm could significantly speed up the process of moving into type II or III, which could result in complete loss of function in the most severe cases.”
Jack nods shakily. “And that’s why it’s been hurting?”
“It can cause some aches and pains for sure, but I imagine the reason you’ve felt worse this last week is because of this right here.” He points his pen to another area, and it’s then that I notice the tiny, dark line on Jack’s bone. “When you took the hit at your last game, you seemed to have suffered a hairline fracture here on your ulna. These types of fractures can be more common in cases like this; with the limited range of motion you’re experiencing, it’s easier for the bones to sustain these types of injuries.”
“I…I broke my arm again?”
“Not a full break,” the doctor says. “But definitely a fracture.”His brow furrows then. “My concern is that in situations like yours, it isn’t unheard-of at all for comminuted fractures to occur.”
“What’s that?” Jack asks, his grip on my hand tightening.
“It’s where the bone breaks into multiple pieces. Given your profession, you’re at an even higher risk. I worry because in such a case, you’d be more susceptible to nerve and blood vessel damage if such a break occurred. Given that you’re already at risk of limited mobility without corrective surgery, that scenario could only make things worse.”
Jack takes a deep breath. “Are you suggesting that I quit playing then?”
“It would be very prudent for you to take a step back,” the doctor admits. “You’re in the optimal window right now for the corrective surgery, but if you continue to damage it, the guarantee of a full recovery lessens. Especially since synostosis patients have a high risk of reoccurrence.”
“You mean even if I get the surgery, this could happen again?”
“It’s very possible, I won’t lie to you.”
I feel Jack’s grip on my hand slacken, his body slumping down into the chair as his eyes avert to the floor. I can practically see the thoughts bouncing around in his head; I know that this is absolutely the worst-case scenario we were prepping for, and yet now that it’s here, I find myself at a loss for what to say to him.
“Coach is going to bench me for sure when he hears this,” Jack mutters.
I squeeze his hand. “It’s still your decision to make here,” I remind him.
“That’s true,” the doctor agrees, “however, I would strongly suggest moving forward with the surgery. We could get you scheduled today.”
“Can I…” Jack swallows thickly. “Can I think about it and call you back?”
The doctor frowns. “Certainly. No one can force you to move forward with surgery, but as your doctor, I would be remiss if I did not strongly suggest it.”
“Yeah, I got that,” Jack says, his tone almost bitter.
He’s barely holding my hand now, his entire body seeming to have deflated into the chair, almost like he’s already given up. My heart breaks to see him this way, but I know I was right when I told him this is his decision to make. No one can make it for him.
“Take the night to think about it,” the doctor says. “I can have my nurse check in with you tomorrow to see how you’re feeling about everything.”
Jack says nothing, still staring at some spot on the floor, so I nod back at the doctor, answering for him. “Thank you. We appreciate it.”
“No problem, ma’am,” the doctor says. “I’m sorry I didn’t have better news for you,” he tells Jack.
Jack just shakes his head, muttering his thanks all while continuing to gaze unseeingly.
The doctor leaves us then, and I try to think of something to say,anythingto say—but Jack is already pushing out of the chair. “I want to go home now.”
“Sure,” I tell him. “Of course.”
He moves past me toward the door, barely even looking at me as I scrabble after him. I can feel his moroseness rolling off him in waves, and try as I might, I can’t think of a single thing to say to take it from him.
All I can do is follow him, hoping that he hasn’t already given up.