Hoop Dreams Page 6

Chapter 6

  The dim light and strange sounds of the room confused Darius as he blinked his eyes open and he winced at the pain in his right shoulder when he attempted to lift his arm.

  “What the hell,” he let out in a weak voice as he gingerly raised his head from the pillow to glance around.

  In his dazed state of mind, he couldn’t even begin to make sense of the array of machinery, wires and tubes around him at first, so he closed his eyes to block out the unusual sights as he tried to gather some semblance of composure. His breathing was labored as he tried to fathom out what was going on, but the drowsiness caused by the medication in his veins clouded his thoughts even more and made it difficult to get a grasp on reality. It made him wonder if he was dreaming, but it gradually became apparent that he wasn’t.

  The images coming to mind triggered unpleasant memories and he groaned when they started to flash through his head faster and faster until it was impossible to stop them. The argument with Gemini, the encounter with Phaedra in the bar and the joyride in a stolen car were at the forefront of his thoughts and he let out a hopeless sigh as his brain was overwhelmed.

  “We crashed,” he muttered under his breath.

  He recalled being helped out of the smashed up SUV by Marcus and walking away from the others. The sudden flashback to a truck speeding towards him brought beads of sweat to his forehead. They began to roll down his skin and he wanted to lift a hand to wipe them away, but was conscious of the flare of pain as he tried. The racing panic was impossible to contain and he opened his eyes to look around again.

  “Oh no… no,” he let out as the realization swept over him.

  The glaring headlights of the oncoming truck was the last thing he could remember, but the pain he was feeling and the medical equipment surrounding him made it clear that the vehicle didn’t just pass him by.

  “Oh please,” he let out in a despairing voice as he tried to sit up.

  He winced again at the pain in his shoulder, but forced himself past it to try and rise to a sitting position. It proved impossible and he tried to kick the sheets off… but nothing happened. The swell of terror grew stronger and he grabbed at the bedcovers with his left hand to drag them away. There was suddenly no catching his breath as he stared at the metallic braces on his lower limbs. He desperately willed his muscles to work, but they wouldn’t respond. His anguished cry was loud as the truth set in and he didn’t want to believe it.

  “It can’t be,” he shouted and all he could think about was standing up.

  There was no moving his legs, though, but he still refused to accept it and grasped the sheets to drag himself to the side of the bed. It almost made him topple to the floor and he was aware of the spurt of blood as the needle at the end of a plastic tube pulled out of the vein in his arm. He stared at the line of red sliding down his skin, but the condition of his legs was all he could think about and he wanted to stand up.

  “No… no… no…” he cried out in a louder voice and reached down towards the floor when he leaned over the side of the bed.

  The growing hysteria made him hyperventilate and the sudden fight to get air in his lungs made him think he was going to die. A grip on his arm hauled him to the center of the bed and he looked around in alarm at the crush of people now surrounding him. He didn’t recognize a single face and the burst of adrenaline gave him some strength to struggle. His attempts to resist being held down quickly faded and he could only watch as his wrists were strapped to the metal frame of the hospital bed. The prick of pain made him cry out as the needle was reinserted in his arm and a plaster stuck over it.

  “My legs,” he let out, but there was no response from the medical staff surrounding him.

  There was another jolt of pain as the needle of a syringe pierced the flesh of his upper arm, but the warm glow of the strong sedative slowly rolled over him. He blinked as he looked at the concern on the watching faces, but the scene began to swim before his eyes and it slowly faded to black as the medication rendered him unconscious.

  The bright light hurt his eyes when he awoke from the drug-induced sleep and there was no chance to get to the edge of the bed this time. He moved his left hand to test the strength of the plastic strap securing it to the metal frame and knew that he was stuck where he was until someone came. That meant all he could do was wait and he tried to just lie as still as he could as the minutes ticked past. The bedcovers hid the sight of his shattered legs, but the memory of seeing them the night before was emblazoned in his mind and he couldn’t clear the image away. It meant only one thing to him.

  His dream of making it big in basketball was over.

  The evening before he was the star performer in a game, but his meeting with Marcus and the drunken chaos that followed meant it would be the last one he ever played in. He wanted to try and move his legs but was scared to even try, and he recalled the utter helplessness he was engulfed in the night before when he tried to get to his feet. The anguish welled up just thinking about it, so he closed his eyes and tried to choke the anxiety down before it overwhelmed him again.

  “I want to die,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  The voice startled him and he glanced across to the door to the see the elderly man stepping through it. The white coat and clipboard gave him a look of authority and Darius just watched through half-closed eyes as the doctor walked over to the side of the bed.

  “I’m Dr. Sinclair,” he started. “How are you feeling?”

  “I just told you,” Darius replied sullenly.

  “Well, the injuries you sustained aren’t life threatening,” Dr. Sinclair went on. “So, you can put the idea of dying out of your mind.”

  “My life is over whether I die or not,” Darius went on.

  “You might want to hear me out before you make up your mind about that,” the medical man said and looked at the clipboard he was holding.

  Darius narrowed his eyes as he stared.

  “Where exactly am I?” he asked.

  “Mercy Medical Infirmary,” Dr. Sinclair replied.

  It was the name of the closest hospital to his neighborhood, so Darius wasn’t entirely surprised that’s where he ended up.

  “And what do your notes show?” he asked.

  “That you’re a lucky boy.”

  Darius couldn’t stop the snort he let out when he saw the gaze of the older man come to him.

  “I’m not sure lucky is the word I would use.”

  “Well, there are plenty of teenagers that get drunk then decide playing on a road is a good idea,” Dr. Sinclair said in an uncompromising tone. “Plenty of them never wake up at all, so I’d say you were fortunate that you did.”

  There was no avoiding the humiliation of his stupidity being laid bare and he couldn’t argue that it wasn’t his fault. That didn’t make the consequences of ruining his life any less devastating.

  “Yeah, OK it’s down to me that I’m lying here,” he said. “Where does that leave me?”

  “Well, the positive thing is that your head escaped completely unscathed,” Dr. Sinclair replied. “That’s usually the killer, but you obviously landed in such away that it didn’t sustain any real damage.”

  He glanced down at the clipboard.

  “And?” Darius said as the silence stretched out.

  “Your right shoulder was dislocated,” Dr. Sinclair went on. “It was put in place when you arrived last night and won’t suffer any long term problems. Some physiotherapy in the days and weeks to come will be needed to strengthen it, but it should be just as good as before when the treatment is over.”

  There was another silence that unnerved Darius and he needed to fill it again.

  “What about my legs?”

  Dr. Sinclair rubbed a hand on his chin as he brought his gaze to the patient.

  “The news about them is not so good, unfortunately,” he went on.

  “Ah fuck,” Darius let out and jammed his head down on th
e pillow.

  “Your lower spine and legs appear to have taken the brunt of the impact when you were hit. My guess is that you landed on them and this exacerbated the problem.”

  “I’m not going to walk again, am I?” Darius said in an anguished voice, but Dr. Sinclair ignored his question to carry on talking.

  “The bones in your legs were broken, but they’ve been reset and will heal properly. The damage to your lower spine is more difficult to fix… but not impossible.”

  The words offered a glimmer of hope to Darius.

  “So I might get the use of my legs back?”

  “There’s no point in me sugarcoating this,” Dr. Sinclair said. “The nerve and spinal injuries are severe and have left your lower limbs partially paralyzed, but it’s not irreversible. The surgical procedure that can repair the damage is experimental, however, and not without risk. You need to understand this. The prognosis without it is that you would likely get some use of your legs eventually, but it would probably mean a life of metal braces to support your limbs and the use of crutches to get around.

  “And what about if I get the surgery?” Darius asked immediately.

  “Well, if it’s successful, you would get the full use of your limbs,” Dr. Sinclair said and went on quickly when he saw Darius was about to interrupt. “But you have to understand that on the occasions it has been used before, it has only worked around sixty percent of the time. The other forty percent of the cases were left permanently paralyzed and living life in a wheelchair.”

  Darius closed his eyes as he considered the implications of the words. He opened them again when Dr. Sinclair carried on talking.

  “You also have to understand that in the event of the surgery being successful, you would need to remain on medication.”

  “For how long?” Darius asked.

  “The trials of the first patients to undergo the procedure are still ongoing, so we don’t know for sure,” Dr. Sinclair told him. “But it could be for life.”

  Darius let out a sigh. The prospect of taking drugs for the rest of his days wasn’t one he liked, but the alternative was much worse. His hopes of making it big in basketball rested on the surgery and he knew that without it his dreams were completely dead in the water. That meant there was only one choice he could make.

  “I want the operation,” he said.

  “You’re sure?” Dr. Sinclair replied.

  “Yes,” Darius went on in a determined voice.

  “Then we need to go through with it today,” Dr. Sinclair said. “The quicker it’s done, the better the chances of successfully repairing the injuries. I need you to sign this consent form to give your agreement that you will accept the outcome of the procedure… whatever that may be.”

  He adjusted the pages on the clipboard he was holding so that the consent form was now on top. He then put it on his patient’s chest and helped lift his head to slide more pillows underneath. Darius didn’t even bother to read the form and simply looked for the dotted line where he needed to put his name. The stab of pain made him scowl when he reached out to take the pen from the doctor, but his damaged shoulder didn’t stop him from signing the document.

  “Is there anything you want to ask?” Dr. Sinclair said.

  “Has anyone come to see me?”

  “I was brought in from another hospital to treat you,” Dr. Sinclair answered. “I only got here an hour ago, so I’ve no idea if there are any visitors here for you. At the moment that’s not something we can worry about, unfortunately. We need to prep you for the surgery and get you in the theater as quickly as we can.”

  “Yeah, OK,” Darius said and watched as Dr. Sinclair picked up the clipboard then left the room.

  He still couldn’t recollect any of the accident after the truck hitting him, so he didn’t know exactly how he ended up in the hospital or whether any of his family or friends actually knew he was there. It wasn’t that unusual for him to come in late at night when his parents were already in bed then leave the house early the next morning before they were up, so he suspected they wouldn’t be overly concerned at not having seen him. Not showing up at college was more likely to raise alarm bells, but it might be days before that happened. The one person that would probably notice he wasn’t around was Gemini, but the argument of the night before meant she wouldn’t bother seeking him out anytime soon.

  The outcome could mean that no one knew he was in trouble at all. That was really the least of his problems though, and he turned his thoughts to the surgery. The idea that it could leave him completely paralyzed was terrifying, but he knew there was no choice. A life without basketball was one he couldn’t contemplate and he needed to take the chance that he would be able to play the sport again.

  A succession of nurses began to visit the room over the next hour as the preparations for the operation got underway and he was finally transferred to a wheeled trolley to be taken out of the room. Dr. Sinclair was at his side as they made their way to the theater, but the words the older man was saying didn’t register in Darius’s mind as his fears grew. He wanted to be anywhere else than where he was at that very moment and his hands clenched tightly to fists as he tried to control his emotions.

  His fingers only uncurled when the anesthetic began to take effect on the surgical table. Darius remembered the warmth of drowsiness enveloping him the evening before when he was held down and injected. The same feeling was overwhelming him again as he stared up at the half-covered faces of the medical staff that would be operating on him. He was aware of being turned over on to his belly and tried to listen to the comments being spoken, but his brain was unable to process the words as he descended into blackness and lost consciousness.