Page 12 of His Heart

Even with my neck numb from the local, it hurt. A lot. I breathed in and out, willing my mind to focus on something else. I would not think about the incision in my neck, or the catheter being snaked through my blood vessel. I would not think about the little device that was about to harvest a sample of tissue from my heart.

I stared at the ceiling, detaching myself from the moment. Focused. Just breathing, in and out. My eyes locked on one spot.

There was nothing quick about it. I was used to being tested mentally—wrestling did that to you. But this tested me in ways I hadn’t expected. They worked, moving things, talking, watching the monitors, adjusting, trying again. It took almost an hour before they finally finished and a nurse held a compress to my neck to stop the bleeding.

Even with the sedative, my entire body was tense, my muscles rigid. My mind was fuzzy, making it difficult to use my usual tricks to stay calm.

They brought me back to my room and my parents stood, looking at me as if they’d been afraid I wouldn’t come back.

“He’ll be tired for a while,” someone said. “You should let him rest.”

Vaguely, I was aware of my parents telling me goodbye. My mom bending down to kiss my forehead. My dad saying something I knew I wouldn’t remember. Then I drifted off to sleep.

* * *

I wokeup to an empty room and a very sore neck. I swore I could feel the entire route the catheter had taken, from the incision to my chest cavity. Groaning, I shifted, trying to get comfortable. But it wasn’t much use.

A nurse came in to check on me and just as she was leaving, a familiar face peeked around the curtain.

“Charlie?” I asked.

“Hey, McKinney,” he said.

Charlie Hall walked in, his thick body looking nondescript in street clothes—Iowa City West High School letterman’s jacket over a t-shirt and faded jeans. He kept his dirty blond hair cut short, although I’d seen him off-season, and he let it grow out a little then.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Not really sure yet, actually. Still waiting on some test results. Want to sit or anything?”

“Sure,” he said, lowering himself into one of the chairs next to the bed. “They sent out an email to all the families who were at state. It didn’t say much, other than you’d had some kind of heart problem, and you were here for treatment or something.”

“Not much treatment yet.” I lifted my hand with the IV. “Bunch of drugs. But they won’t know what to do until they figure out what caused it.”

“It’s brutal, man,” he said. “Look, you wrestled a great match. You deserved that win. I’m sorry about all this.”

“Thanks.”

“How much longer are you here?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess it depends on what they find out.”

“Do you mind giving me your number?” He pulled out his phone. “Just, you know, so we can keep in touch. You can let me know what’s going on.”

“Sure, man.” I gave Charlie my number.

I was so surprised to see him here. Charlie and I didn’t know each other well, not outside of wrestling. We went to different schools, in cities far enough apart that our social circles didn’t cross. Yet, here he was. Cami had been here twice, and I’d been getting some texts from people at school, but none of my teammates or other friends had visited. Granted, Charlie lived here, in Iowa City. I guess that made it easier.

“You decide on a college yet?” he asked.

“U of I,” I said.

He grinned. “Me too. I guess next year we’ll be teammates. Assuming, you know…”

I glanced down at myself—at the hospital gown, the IV in the back of my hand. Since we didn’t know what had gone wrong, we didn’t know my prognosis. But there was one thing I knew for sure. I was going to be healthy enough to wrestle next year.

“Hell yeah, we will,” I said. “You’re going to have to cut some weight, though. I’m taking the top spot.”

---