Page 19 of Power Forward

Hayden

It doesn’t come as a surprise to hear your kids sound incredible. Just like their dad.

Something goes weird in my chest at his words. What would happen if I opened the door and let him come into my life again? Would it be different? We’re older now. Both of us are in different stages of our lives, experienced things that have matured us.

But what if it wouldn’t be different? They say a leopard doesn’t change its spots, after all.

I glance over to Ryan and Isabela. It’s not something I can think about. They rely on me, now more than ever, and I can’t risk losing myself again like I did once before, no matter how much my heart is being pulled in Hayden’s direction.

Chapter Eight

Hayden

“From your latest imaging, your hip has progressed to stage 3, which will explain your increased pain and stiffness,” Dr. Moore says.

There’s an MRI of my hips on her computer screen, showing the narrowing space between my joints. It doesn’t come as a surprise because I know my hips are fucked, along with my knees. It’s not uncommon for hockey players to develop osteoarthritis. We use our hips, knees, and ankles a lot more compared to the average Joe, playing through injuries and trauma all in the name of the game, but mine seems more… severe. Or maybe it’s just how my brain is reacting to my body consistently failing me.

I received my diagnosis during a follow-up of my third knee surgery. They wanted to do a full replacement, but the thought of having surgery for a fourth time while dealing with my depression wasn’t a good mix. Instead, I have bi-yearly scans to monitor the speed of deterioration and cortisoneinjections to manage the pain and swelling. It’s not a long-term fix, as Dr. Moore likes to remind me every time, that it can worsen the damage within the joint the more injections I have, but it gives me more time to come to terms with the fact Iwillneed surgery in the near future. Maybe they can do it all in one go. Hips and knees. Double the surgery, only one recovery time.

“Am I going to need surgery?” I ask, giving voice to the thought.

“It depends on how it progresses, but yes, surgery is likely.”

I open my mouth to speak, but she holds up her hand, a patient smile on her face.

“I know your reluctance around surgery given the history with your knee, which I fully understand. And while I can’t force you to have the surgery, whether it be for your knees or your hip, I can advise it will improve your quality of life, Mr. Cassidy. It will significantly reduce the pain you’re experiencing and give you back some of the freedom you’ve lost over the years.”

Slipping off my glasses, I rub my eyes. I get what she’s saying, but with the way my brain is wired, there’s something that keeps asking, what’s the point? Why go through the agony of recovery after surgery, for what? I’m still going to be a broken man.

“Are there any alternative methods he can try first?” Zara pipes up.

Some might find it bizarre that my ex-wife comes to my appointments, but she knows how these appointments can cause me to spiral, and having her here for support is monumental.

“I know it’ll improve my quality of life, but I’m not ready for surgery just yet,” I say before Dr. Moore can respond. “Can we stick with the injections for now?”

When I put my glasses back on, she’s giving me a pointed look. I’d put money on it that she wants to shake me right now and demand I have the surgery so I can be out of pain and discomfort. I’m sure any other normal person would.

We don’t use that term, Hayden,Roberta’s voice filters through my mind.

I internally roll my eyes. She often has to remind me there’s no such thing as “normal,” but try convincing my brain of that.

“We can stick with the injections, yes, depending on your pain level. When I compared these images against your previous scan, it’s only just moved into the moderate stage of arthritis, so I’m reluctant to give you the injection too early as it won’t have the same impact as it will when the pain worsens.”

I drop my head back and stare up at the ceiling. The sense of defeat settles over me like a weighted blanket. Do these doctors not know how exhausting it is to be so reliant on medication just to get through the day? I know I’m my own worst enemy, and my issues will probably lessen if I go through with the damn surgery, but still.

“Can you rate your pain in your hip on a scale from one to ten? One being minor, ten being completely unable to function in your day-to-day activities?” she asks, typing something into her computer.

“About a five right now,” I murmur.

“Okay, that’s not too bad. I would personally recommendyou wait on the injections, but ultimately, it’s your decision as you know your pain.”

I turn my head to look at Zara. She gives me a sad smile before looking back to Dr. Moore when she continues.

“Continue with the anti-inflammatories as and when required, and we’ll reassess in six months. However, if you need to see me earlier, you know you can call me.”

That isn’t any different from what I’m doing now, but I roll with it because I need to get out of this room. Out of this damn building. If I’m not in here, I’m not being made to think about surgery and how fucked-up I am. Not just mentally but physically.

“I can do that.”

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