When Fritz pulled the van around, I called shotgun. Cindy, Brook, and Halle took the middle row, and Tim and Wolf grabbed the back. The girls were all giggles, which confused the boys. Fritz pulled out of the driveway, and we drove towards the front gate for the subdivision. We were almost there when I looked out my window and saw a Lincoln Navigator come barreling out of a side street.
“Oh, shit!” I said to warn Fritz.
He spotted them at the last second and tried to veer out of the way. When he swerved, it put my passenger door right in line with the near fender of the SUV as it crashed into our side. I heard the impact and screams from the back seat as everything suddenly went dark.
◊◊◊
I could tell I was in a hospital by the smells. There was no mistaking it. I could hear a monitor beeping as I slowly opened my eyes.
“He’s awake,” my dad said.
“Go let the nurse know,” Mom said.
“How long have I been unconscious?” I asked.
“It’s been three years.”
I felt my eyes roll back in my head as that bit of news returned me to unconsciousness.
◊◊◊
Chapter 21 – I Thought the Worst Sunday October 9
My mom’s attempt at humor last night had failed, in my estimation. I’d been completely freaked out until the doctor came in and explained my injuries. Any time you’re knocked unconscious, it’s cause for concern. That was why they’d kept me overnight. Other than the risk of brain injury, the doctor had said I would live. If the pain I felt this morning was any indication, I had my doubts.
When I’d seen the SUV about to plow into us, I’d turned my body. There was a cut and a huge knot on the back of my head where it had struck the window. I had three cracked ribs, a bruised upper arm with a swollen elbow, and the outside of my right leg was banged up. What hurt the most was my hip.
The doctor said I’d injured my iliac crest or hip bone. In layman’s terms, I’d received a hip pointer. The way the doctor described it, I’d had the soft tissue of my hip crushed against my hip bone. What made that injury so painful was that the cluneal nerve runs right along the iliac crest; a contusion (basically a bruise) to that nerve hurts—a lot. I could attest that the pain was intense when I tried to walk, laugh, cough, or even breathe deeply. The cracked ribs didn’t help with the last three, either.
My parents walked into the room.
“How do you feel?” Mom asked.
“You know how we joked about turf toe and hip pointers?” I asked my dad, and he nodded. “Hip pointers are no joke. Between that and my ribs, I can barely move without it hurting.”
“How long until you can play ball again?” Dad asked.
“Three to six weeks. The best case would be to come back for the last game of the season, worst case would be for the State Championship Game,” I explained.
When I first woke up, I thought the doctor was being overly cautious when he said I wouldn’t play for at least three weeks. Then my pain meds started to wear off. I’d come to dread the ten feet it took to walk to the bathroom, and I didn’t even want to think about running around on a football field.
“How is everyone else?” I asked, fearing to hear the answer.
“They’re all fine,” Mom assured me. “I sent them all to the hotel last night when they told us that only family could visit you. Brook sent me a text saying they’re coming over after breakfast.”
“I want to get out of here. We have all those meetings scheduled for today, plus I need to talk to the USC coaches.”
“Your dad and I had some time to talk last night. We think you’re right,” she said.
I guess my look of confusion came through, at least when it came to my mom ever admitting I was right about something.
“No smart comments,” she said with a warning glare, and then it softened. “Your dad pointed out that we hadn’t taken your desire to just be a kid seriously. We had some heated words when he pointed out I was the worst offender by having you take pictures for my listings.”
“What your mom is trying to say is, let us worry about the meetings. If something big comes up, I’ll talk to you. Your mom was always going to remodel your house anyway, so why fight it?” Dad said and got a dirty look from her for his efforts.
“Sounds good, but I’d like to sit in on today’s meetings,” I said.
There was a knock on the door, and Fritz stuck his head in. I saw his wrist was wrapped.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Broke my wrist. I guess I had a good grip on the steering wheel when we were hit. They have to wait for the swelling to go down before they can put it in a cast.”
