Page 98 of Everything's Better With You
“There’s still no cure, Leslie, and there’s no way of diagnosing CTE until after the patient has passed, but I honestly don’t think that’s what we’re dealing with. Your cognitive function is frankly not anymoreaffected than patients I’ve worked with who suffered one or two concussions. Yes, there are some elements you struggle to deal with, like the overstimulation you experienced this weekend, the difficulty remembering appointments, etc., struggles with mathematical computation and abstract reasoning. But Leslie, these are all veryverymanageable symptoms. As for the migraines, I want to refer you to a specialist who has had great success treating them through lifestyle changes in concert with medication. Over twenty-nine million Americans deal with migraines every day and they live mostly normal lives.”
Leslie exhaled at the doctor’s prognosis, and Agnes squeezed his hand. “You mean, I have time?”
Dr. Taylor laughed. “Leslie, you are fitter than most men your age and you have the resources to treat the issues you do have. I think you’ll be alive and kicking long after I retire.”
Leslie laughed and turned to his mom. She hugged him tight and sniffled. She wiped tears from her eyes and accepted a tissue from the doctor.
“So you heard that, right?” Randy said. “He said you’re fine. So does that mean I can get back to beating him about the head and shoulders?”
The doctor laughed. “If you mean that figuratively then yes. You have no restrictions except that you need to avoid any sports or physical activities that have the potential for blows to the head. That includes diving into a swimming pool, martial arts sparring, boxing, etc. And no football, of course. Coach it all you want, but don’t play it.”
Leslie smiled and felt some of his fear dissipating.
“And one more thing. I think you should consider therapy. Working with a cognitive behavioral specialist can help you with the areas you may be struggling with and help to minimize them getting worse. It would also be good to get a baseline. And most importantly, to get support around managing your moods and recognizing any changes. It’s better than waiting for it to just happen on its own. If you know what to look for and how to manage it, it will be better for you and your family.”
Leslie nodded.Damn. What the doctor was suggesting was so reasonable. Why hadn’t he done this already? Maybe he could have avoided some of this heartache with Joe.
Man, he had really fucked up. He’d let his fear get in the way of things with Joe, and he’d really hurt him. Leslie had a lot of work to do to make amends.
He went past the handshake and scooped Dr. Taylor up in a bear hug, which made the much smaller man laugh.
“You’ve got a lot of good years left, Leslie. Use them well. Take care of yourself, and I’ll see you in a year.”
The Paytons left the office a little lighter than they’d gone in. Except for one. They decided on Black Bear Diner for lunch and as they sat waiting for their food, Leslie finally addressed the elephant in the room.
“So it seems like I won’t be needing the nursing home just yet, aren’t you glad?” he asked Sandy.
Sandy stirred his straw around in his water and stared at the table. He shrugged and Leslie was taken back to the middle-school days with the twins, the period about a year after Rick died and it had finally settled in that their dad wasn’t coming back this time. They’d been holy terrors before, but it had been hyperactivity and good trouble. But then it turned more destructive. Stink bombs in the cafeteria at school, vandalism, mean-spirited practical jokes at Leslie and Barry’s expense.
“Guess so.”
“So what’s your damage, Brother Sandy?” Randy said. “I thought you’d be just as relieved, if not more, that you’ve been saved from wiping his ass for another year.”
Sandy launched his straw at Randy’s face, hitting him in the eye.
“Ow, what the fuck?”
“Iamglad,” Sandy said, sneaking a glance at Leslie. “I’m just…whatever.”
“Sandy,” Agnes said, placing her hand over his on the table. He pulled it back and dropped it in his lap.
“What the hell?” Randy asked, but Leslie put a hand out to shush him.
“Speak freely, Brother Sandy. You’ve earned the right. What’s got you spitting fire?”
“I told Joe. Everything.”
Leslie sat up, his body tensed and ready to spring into action.
“When?”
“Last night. I was in the kitchen when he was leaving.”
“What did he say?” Agnes asked, placing her hand on Leslie’s arm as if she could keep him in his seat.
“He asked me, ‘what else?’ What wasn’t Leslie telling him. So I told him.”
“That wasn’t your place, asshole,” Randy said, but Leslie kept his mouth shut.
