Page 63 of The Battery
“Well, he’s stable,” she said. Ronda—I think she wore the blue?—nearly fainted. “He experienced something called commotio cordis…”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Cody
“Commotio cordis,” theintensivist named Dr. V told me. He gave his full last name, something lyrical and beautiful, but there was no way in hell I would be able to pronounce it again. He assured me people called him Dr. V and that I could as well. I must have made a face.
I made an attempt at saying the name of the condition. Failed. Tried again. “Commotio cordis,” I enunciated. “What is that?”
“It’s a type of sudden cardiac arrest triggered by blunt impact,” Dr. V told me. “The heart has cycles, right? There’s a moment in each cycle when, essentially, a hard knock can disrupt the cycle completely and the heart just stops.”
I blinked. Tried to work through the logic. My eyes scanned the ICU. “So… like… a millisecond earlier or later and I wouldn’t have dropped?”
Dr. V laughed and adjusted his glasses. “More or less. Just some nasty bruising across the chest.”
I shook my head. “Talk about bad timing.”
“Bad timing, sure, but the stadium had an excellently trained crew and the right equipment ready to go,” Dr. V assured me. “They saved your life, Mr. Hill.”
I hadn’t taken the time to appreciate my circumstance. The evening passed in a haze. We arrived at the ER first to undergo an assessment for vitals, neurological eval, a pain check because of my ribs. They hooked up an ECG to assess my heart rhythm. Then it was off to get a CT scan to ensure I didn’t have any significant internal injuries. I was wheeled into the ICU for anechocardiogram, blood tests galore, and hooked up to enough machines to make me feel like I was a cyborg.
Now I sat in my curtained cage in the ICU listening to ticks and beeps and whooshes from the surrounding patients in whatever state of wellness they lie.
They had me rolling on something wonderful for the pain in my chest. Two cracked ribs and enough bruising to keep me blue for months. I’d stay in the ICU for the next two days for monitoring and then likely be discharged. The heaviness of everything hadn’t quite caught up to my brain yet and the drugs kept the worst of the mental hurdles at bay.
Dr. V finished up with another laundry list of actions they would take and then told me to rest as he left. Sure. Like I could simply ignore the implication of no longer playing baseball for the season and head off to sleep.
I put it out of mind as best I could, the way Leo did.
Leo. The last memory I had was throwing the fastball and the uncanny straight line on which it returned. Leo, popping up from his squat. I couldn’t see his eyes on me, but I felt them just before everything went black. Then a slow opening of my eyes beneath the harsh glare of hospital lights. I think his name was the first from my lips. Someone—no idea who—assured me he was waiting for me and that I needed to be strong.
I wondered when I would see him again. A nurse informed me he was in the waiting room and that he’d have a chance to see me soon.
He’s waiting for me, I thought as the drugs help push me toward bliss.
*
I awoke to a visitor. The nurse excused himself as someonewalked into my little curtained stall of machines.
“Lawson?” I said.
The Diamonds player, the one who technically hit me. He was at my beside, right hand extended for a bro-hug, which he did as delicately as if I were made of paper.
“Hill, brother,” he was shaking his head. “I am so, so sorry, man.”
I scoffed. “Aw, that’s very kind of you to say.” My head was still swimming. They must have kept up with the pain meds throughout the night. Only a dull ache persisted in my chest instead of the sharp pains I was told to expect. “It really isn’t your fault.”
“Feels like it is. How you holdin’ up? They got you on the good stuff?”
My eyes were half lidded, and I gave a satisfied smile. “Oh yeah.Goodstuff.”
He shot me with a contemplative look. “So technically, am I a killer now?”
I cackled out a bray of laughter that hurt my chest. I recovered and learned my lesson there. “The doctor said I didn’t die. So… I guess you’re a semi-killer?”
Lawson nodded, still in feigned contemplation. “Yeah. Okay. I like it. New title: Semi-Killer. I dig it. Anyway, the Spartan is in the waiting room and he’s basically giving death glares to everyone who walks by. Take it easy man, all right? I promise not to try and kill you the next time we’re on the field together.”
“Aw, shucks, what a kind thing to say.” We both laughed. I did not learn my lesson and was hit with a blinding wave of pain that he apologized for. Another delicate bro-hug and he was gone.
