Page 39 of The Cutting Edge
Dr. Taylor, a tightly-wound mid-thirties blonde with a severe bun and the perpetual aura of having someplace more important to be, introduces herself as my attending physician. She appears at the end of my bed just after Logan headed out and the orderly picked up my breakfast dishes.
“It looks like your CT scan revealed a hairline skull fracture, so you’ll need to stay in the hospital for a week, maybe longer.”
My thoughts instantly shoot into panic mode. I can’t stay here. I need to get back to work. If I stay here another week, I won’t be able to make my rent, let alone cover my coaching and training costs. I’m barely hanging on by a thread, racking up debt it will take me a decade to pay off, as it is – all in hopes of getting one more shot at my Olympic dream – the dream I’ve been working towards my entire life.
Another week,or more, which I can’t even bear to think about right now, will kill it dead. This stupid concussion can not be the end of me.***
I’d cried for half an hour and finally dozed off again after the awful news from my doctor when my phone rang.
"Coco, is that you?" says an unfamiliar woman's voice when I answer it. Did I forget to say hello?
"Sorry. Yes, it's Coco," I say.
"Hi, Coco. This is Beverly Reid from the home office. We received a report from your facility that you were taken to the hospital a few nights ago for a concussion. Is that accurate?"
"Wait, who is this?" I'm super confused. "The home office?"
"This is Beverly Reid from U.S. Figure Skating headquarters. I'm the medical liaison for the organization. You suffered a concussion?"
'Uh, yeah. I took a puck to the head the other night."
"I'm sorry to hear about your accident. Were you working or practicing at the time of the concussion event?"
"Thanks. Sort of," I say. "I'd just finished teaching a class and my student's father was late. I needed to leave to take care of a friend with cancer, and so I walked my student over to her dad's rink to drop her off."
"And this was the Slashers team rink?"
"Yes."
"Was it a closed practice?"
"I don’t know, I guess so, but I wasn't aware of that at the time." I'm not quite sure where this line of questioning is going, but I'm starting to get a bad feeling about it.
"Mmhmm. And did you drive yourself to the ER? Did someone else drive you? Or did you arrive by ambulance?"
"Ambulance." Dread creeps in, and spreads like a skin rash.
"And when you arrived at the ER, did you receive a diagnosis?"
"Concussion."
"That's what I was afraid of," she says perfunctorily.
I hesitate to even say anything… "And then this morning… a hairline skull fracture."
The line goes silent for a beat. "I see."
My chest starts to pound, and I’m filled with apprehension over what might be coming next.
"First things first. You can not return to the ice to practice or teach until you've passed the concussion protocol and been cleared by a team doctor. Not just your doctor, a USFS team doctor."
My heart sinks. "How long will that take? I can't be off work -- I’m barely getting by with my training and living expenses as it is. My parents aren't able to help me financially anymore -- and with coaching expenses and travel and training fees and costumes and all that, I'm up to my eyeballs in debt." I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes and I push through. "Ireallyneed to work. Really."
"I understand, but the protocols are in place for a reason. The safety of our skaters is of utmost concern." Her voice softens a bit. "You'll get through this."
I'm stunned and fighting back tears when she drops another bombshell:
"I also wanted to let you know that your accident may not be covered under workman's comp."
