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“Yes, Nick, I do,” she says with a nod. “I know you want to get back to skiing, back to the team, but your knee isn’t stable enough yet. If you reinjure it now, you risk further damage that could prolong your return even longer.”
I glance over at the coach who is scrolling through his phone like he doesn’t give a shit what Mandy is saying. “But you do think I’ll be able to ski again?” I ask, turning back to my PT. “One day?”
“One day, yes,” she says with a nod. “But like I and your surgeon have said, aerial jumps might not be an option for you anymore, Nick. This, it’s…it’s a big risk, even at your age and fitness level.”
I turn to the team doctor now, the guy who also disagreed with my surgeon when he told me it would take nine months for a full recovery. “What do you think, doc?” I ask.
The doctor picks up my file, flicking through it as though to remind himself of what he’s just read, or maybe to actually look at it for the first time. “I think some scans would be good, but yes, it’s possible we can get you back out on the slopes sooner than we expected.”
Mandy huffs out a breath beside me. “Once again, I do not agree with this and neither does your surgeon.” She turns to me again. “I spoke with him yesterday, Nick, in preparation for this meeting. He thinks it’s far too soon for you to risk getting on skis again.”
Sitting back in my chair, I shove a rough hand through my hair, more confused than ever. I thought today’s meeting with my coach was going to be a positive thing. An idea at least of where I stand in terms of skiing and coming back to the team. But right now, it feels anything but.
“So hang on, let me get this straight,” I start. “On one hand, I have my surgeon and my PT telling me my recovery is going to take longer and that I shouldn’t ski yet, and possibly not jump ever. And on the other hand, my coach and the team doc are telling me it’s going well, and I can ski again. Who do I believe here?”
The coach smiles, leaning forward as he rests his elbows on his knees. “We all want the same thing here, Nick,” he says. “A full recovery and for you to return to competitive skiing.”
“Jumping,” Mandy mutters beside me.
“It’s not going to happen overnight,” the coach continues, clearly ignoring Mandy’s comment. “But we do think it can and as a result, we’d like you to come back to Park City. Start working your way up to the aerial stuff again.”
“What?” I shout, not expecting him to say that. I always knew, or at least hoped, my time in Badger Creek would be temporary. That as soon as I got my knee taken care of, I’d be back with the team, competing and training for the Olympics again. Only this time with Lis.
But as Mandy has constantly been reminding me, this kind of injury is major, and I should expect nine months of rehab before I am considered fully recovered. And even then, she didn’t want me jumping. Not then, not ever.
Yet here’s my coach and the team doctor, two people who should have my best interests at heart, telling me to ignore that advice and get back on some skis now. Who the hell am I supposed to believe?
“Look, Nick,” the coach says, as though somehow sensing my confusion. “I know this is fast and I know this is a lot, but you know we only want what’s best for you. You’re one of the best jumpers we have, and we know you’ve got it in you to get back to that form. We just want to help you get there.”
I sink back in my chair, having no clue who is telling me the truth and who is bullshitting me. Beside me, I can feel the anger radiating from Mandy as she listens to the coach but is that anger justified or is she just pissed that someone’s going over her head and calling the shots on my recovery.
“So, what do you think?” the coach asks, a huge grin on his face.
Blowing out a breath, I scrub a hand down my face, knowing he’s expecting me to make a pretty major decision right now, but having no clue as to what that decision should be. I know deep down that I really want to get back to skiing, especially now Lis has told me she will come with me, that we won’t have to be apart.
But on the flipside, this is all happening way faster than I expected. Too fast for Lis and I to get anything organized and maybe too fast for my knee to be able to withstand it if Mandy and my surgeon are telling me the truth.
“I think…” I pause, pulling my phone from my pocket as I contemplate calling Lis to see what she thinks. But like whatever it is she wants to talk to me about, I know this isn’t a conversation we can have over the phone. It’s far too serious and it’s something that affects both of us. “Yeah, look, I think I need a couple of days to think about it. Is that cool?”
The coach gives me a smile, his hands up as he says, “Of course, Nick, take a day or so and we can chat some more. We’re in town for the rest of the week, so there’s no rush. Well, not too much anyway,” he adds with a wink.
I don’t geta chance to speak with Mandy in private, both the coach and my team doctor staying in the room when I stand to say goodbye.
So I head out and catch an Uber back home, the conversation with my coach running on a continuous loop in my head the whole way.
When I walk inside, I feel even more confused than when I walked out of the PT’s office, unsure about who to believe and what I should do. Maybe I need to get another opinion, I think to myself, as I walk into my bedroom, the laundry still sitting on my bed.
Grabbing the pile of dirty clothes, I head to the laundry to put them in to wash. Dumping them on the counter beside the machine, I start throwing clothes in, only occasionally leaving out something of Lis’ that looks like maybe it shouldn’t go in.
Just as I pick up the last of her t-shirts, something falls to the floor, clattering on the tile at my feet. Chucking the t-shirt in the machine, I throw in a detergent pod, close the lid, and start the cycle, before bending down to grab whatever it is.
Some sort of white plastic stick thing lies at my feet, but when I straighten, turning it over in my hands, it feels like every single part of me all grinds to a screeching halt as my heart stops in my chest and the blood freezes in my veins and the whole meeting with my coach this morning suddenly becomes really fucking unimportant.
Because in my hand is a pregnancy test.
A pregnancy test that says whoever took it is pregnant.
I look up. Then back down. Turning it over in my hands as though that’s going to change anything. But as I stare at that single word, my heart is no longer frozen in my chest. Instead, it’s pounding out a hard rhythm against my rib cage, smashing against it as the reality of what I’m looking at sinks in.
