Status: Completed!
The Best Thing
5 years ago
"Has he woken up yet?" I asked, handing my parents cups of black coffee.
"The doctors haven't been back to report, honey. Why don't you go home? Your mom and I can stay here."
"I'm not going to leave my twin brother lying unconscious in a hospital room, Dad."
My father simply swallowed the lump in his throat and continued to stare mesmerized at his hands that were folded in his lap. Under normal circumstances, I would have never lashed out at my poor father that way. But we were all on edge tonight.
"Hannah."
I turned my head to look down the hallway, from where I heard my name being called. It was Andrew, my best friend.
"I'm sorry, I came as soon as my parents would let me out of the house."
Before I knew it, my eyes were tearing up and my face contorting in disgust. I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself down. I shook my head.
"You shouldn't be here, Shaw."
"Hannah, stop this," my mother tried to reason from where she was sitting in the hospital waiting room, next to my father.
"No! If it hadn't been for him, Dennis wouldn't have been on the ice in the first place!" I nearly yelled, gesturing with my arms waving around in the air.
"You're wrong," Andrew said, calling my true attention to him for the first time. "Dennis is just like you in that he does what he wants to and no one can stop him or tell him otherwise. I never shoved him out onto the ice, Hannah. He was a natural and he loved feeling good at something. He's not like you, perfect in every way. He has to work for his grades. On the ice, he didn't have to work so hard."
I didn't hear the compliment wedged between the descriptive sentences about my brother; all I heard was the implied past tense speaking of my brother's short-lived hockey career.
"Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler?"
All of our heads turned toward the doctor who had appeared by the receptionist's desk. Andrew walked closer to me and, subconsciously, his hand found its way to mine. I was glad, for even though I wouldn't have admitted it at the time, I needed him to lean on. We followed the doctor to his office, where he launched into his explanation of what had occurred just earlier that night.
"Your son has suffered from some very common hockey injuries, but in a very uncommon way. You see," the doctor said, walking over and placing Dennis's X-rays on the viewing screens. "When he was slammed down, he dislocated his shoulder here and here. In medical terms, he tore the ligaments in his acromioclavicular joint, which can be treated by surgery and with months of physical therapy."
My mother let out a sigh of relief and my father began to pat her happily on the back. Something was wrong.
"But when the other player ran into Dennis while he was down on his side, and then proceeded to fall over Dennis, the other player's skate sliced open an area at the back of Dennis's head, which explains all the blood on the ice. And also why Dennis hasn't woken up, yet. He goes in and out of consciousness, and we believe that he is perfectly fine mentally and fully alive. No need to worry, there. We're examining the nerve endings at the back of his head to make sure everything is in tact."
"The doctors haven't been back to report, honey. Why don't you go home? Your mom and I can stay here."
"I'm not going to leave my twin brother lying unconscious in a hospital room, Dad."
My father simply swallowed the lump in his throat and continued to stare mesmerized at his hands that were folded in his lap. Under normal circumstances, I would have never lashed out at my poor father that way. But we were all on edge tonight.
"Hannah."
I turned my head to look down the hallway, from where I heard my name being called. It was Andrew, my best friend.
"I'm sorry, I came as soon as my parents would let me out of the house."
Before I knew it, my eyes were tearing up and my face contorting in disgust. I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself down. I shook my head.
"You shouldn't be here, Shaw."
"Hannah, stop this," my mother tried to reason from where she was sitting in the hospital waiting room, next to my father.
"No! If it hadn't been for him, Dennis wouldn't have been on the ice in the first place!" I nearly yelled, gesturing with my arms waving around in the air.
"You're wrong," Andrew said, calling my true attention to him for the first time. "Dennis is just like you in that he does what he wants to and no one can stop him or tell him otherwise. I never shoved him out onto the ice, Hannah. He was a natural and he loved feeling good at something. He's not like you, perfect in every way. He has to work for his grades. On the ice, he didn't have to work so hard."
I didn't hear the compliment wedged between the descriptive sentences about my brother; all I heard was the implied past tense speaking of my brother's short-lived hockey career.
"Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler?"
All of our heads turned toward the doctor who had appeared by the receptionist's desk. Andrew walked closer to me and, subconsciously, his hand found its way to mine. I was glad, for even though I wouldn't have admitted it at the time, I needed him to lean on. We followed the doctor to his office, where he launched into his explanation of what had occurred just earlier that night.
"Your son has suffered from some very common hockey injuries, but in a very uncommon way. You see," the doctor said, walking over and placing Dennis's X-rays on the viewing screens. "When he was slammed down, he dislocated his shoulder here and here. In medical terms, he tore the ligaments in his acromioclavicular joint, which can be treated by surgery and with months of physical therapy."
My mother let out a sigh of relief and my father began to pat her happily on the back. Something was wrong.
"But when the other player ran into Dennis while he was down on his side, and then proceeded to fall over Dennis, the other player's skate sliced open an area at the back of Dennis's head, which explains all the blood on the ice. And also why Dennis hasn't woken up, yet. He goes in and out of consciousness, and we believe that he is perfectly fine mentally and fully alive. No need to worry, there. We're examining the nerve endings at the back of his head to make sure everything is in tact."