“You come back next week for that check up, you hear. Now, before you get up off that bed, remember: Your legs are very weak, you haven’t used those muscles in quite a while, so go easy at first.” The doctor said to Colby.
Colby swung his body up into sitting position, his legs dangled freely below, almost touching the floor. They were a pasty white where the rest of his body had been charred by the northern summer sun; they looked like chicken legs.
But they were moving. They were no longer in that itchy, smelly, retarded cast. They were free, and so was Colby. Free to drive. Free to walk out the doors. Colby was free for the first time since his accident in January, only 7 months ago.
His toes touched the cold tiles and the feeling made him jitter and smile. His leg muscles flexed as he pushed himself forward to stand. He wobbled for a second, but could keep his balance.
“Wow, I never thought walking would feel so good!” Colby’s grin was as if he was the second-grade birthday boy ready to open a table full of wrapped presents. He walked in short strides on wobbly muscles, shaking to the pressure and the weight that they had received such a long break from.
Minutes later, he was driving his mother home. “I am proud of you, Colby.” Avery started to tear up as she brushed his stubble-laden cheek.
“I’m your kid, you ought to be! I can’t wait to get to the house, my clubs are all polished, and I only got one month to get ready!”
He pulled into the golf course an hour later. He remembered he had to take it easy until his legs grew a little more accustomed to supporting his weight. His bones felt great, but those muscles just weren’t strong enough to do anything.
“Give me a bucket of range balls, Pete.”
“Good to see you walking again, man. What have you been up to?” Peter asked as he fished out a token from the register for the machine outside.
“Rolling around on twenty-inch wheelchair rims all summer! Hey I’m sure I will see you again soon, gotta go get that swing back.”
“Take ‘er easy!”
The wind blew hard as Colby walked up to the range. He set his golf bag down and bent over for a ball. He dropped it on the green earth and pulled out a wedge from his bag.
Nice and easy, he thought.
Follow through, he thought.
Head down, he thought.
He pulled the club back and made some nice, smooth practice swings. He heard the whoosh of the club as it touched the grass below. The blur of the club head made him smile and respect what he had even more, now that he was out of the wheelchair.
He addressed the ball lying on that patch of ground. He gently placed the thin blade-like head behind the ball, thinking those same three thoughts. As he drew his club back, he caught and held his breath, as he always did.
The hesitation at the top of his swing was there, his body was coiled and poised for as much potential energy as he could muster. He let the club down its path, striking the ball. The ball took off, but instead of floating on the breeze, it shot straight forward and beat itself into the grass a few yards ahead of Colby.
“Caught thin. Can’t expect everything, I guess.” Colby said, reaching for another ball.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Part 10
“Hey Cappy! how have you been?” Colby said over the phone. The summer sun was beaming into his bedroom window and was baking his arm. The brown carpet seemed to have a platinum-plated shine to it.
“I’ve been well. You know me. So how are the legs treating you?”
“Funniest thing, actually. I might not have to play the U.S. Amateur in the wheelchair!”
“You can’t play golf in a wheelchair. Plus, usually, it’s me that needs the wheelchair by the end of the round. Wait – won’t be playing in a wheelchair? I thought yer legs were all broke and shit?”
“Well, they are. But they are healing really well, the doctor even said so. I want to know that if there was a chance that I could play in the amateur, would you be my caddie?” Colby asked. Cappy laughed in the phone so loud Colby had to hold the phone away from his ear and wince.
“Of course I would, but don’t get your hopes up, now. Those damn doctors never get their shit right. I’ll tell you what. You get out of that cast, you give me a call and we will work on your swing, ok?”
“Sounds good. Hey it was good hearing from you.” Colby hit the end button on the phone and set it in the armrest of the wheelchair. I will get out of this chair. I will get out of the casts, he thought.
The June sun warmed the outside air as Colby wheeled his way onto the deck and down the new ramp that his uncle built. The ramp was crooked now, the snow and the cold dwarfed his uncle’s ability to build the ramp to the quality he wanted and when the frost left, the posts sunk into the ground. Now, the ramp was tilted more towards the side than down and Colby had to watch out or the chair would roll off the side and send him flat on his ass in the driveway.
“Are the keys in the ignition, Colby?” Bruce asked. He was home for the next few days and wanted to give Avery a break from trucking Colby around the town.
“Yep.” Colby said as he hit the remote button for the side door. The contraption flung itself out and he wheeled himself up on.
When they got to Amanda’s therapy place, Bruce shut the van off. “Hey, kiddo. You behave in there.” Bruce smiled and his large hands rubbed against Colby’s hair, messing it all up.
“Yea, I know. Hey dad, do you think I can get better by the end of summer?”
Bruce looked at his boy. “Kid, you got the potential to do whatever you want. I have seen you do it. Remember that tournament in New Hampshire a few years back? I watched you play a shot on the 16th hole from the woods and on the green. By all rights, you should have lost, even Cappy said that afterwards, but you decided to take the shot through the trees and cut it around the bunker. When it landed on the green, nobody believed it. That birdie turned the tournament around, then you won the next two holes to win. It takes more than some cuts and bruises and even broken bones to stop drive like that.” Bruce didn’t answer the question, but he knew that Colby needed to hear that anything was possible.
“Ok. Come August, I will be in Washington County, swinging my clubs, listening to my caddie.”
Colby opened the door again and listened to the motors whizzing as the metal under him sent him back into the 80 degree weather and the beaming sun hitting the blacktop driveway with enough force to make it feel like the wheels were going to melt off the chair.
“Hey Amanda! How is my sweetheart?” Colby asked, smiling as the air conditioning hit him in the face while he rolled into the building.
“Same old things. Helping people with life, are you ready for today? I thought we might try something new.” Amanda said as she walked around the counter. Her baby-blue tank-top paired with her white shorts made each curve on her body the perfect accent, and they were in all the right places.
“Always ready to try new things,” Colby said with a smile. Today they were going to start working on his torso and moving his toes constantly. Colby placed himself under a bar and lifted himself off the chair. The exercises from there were strenuous, and very tough for Colby, but Amanda was beside him, coaching him all along the way. Soon, they stopped for their first break.
“So how did the doctor’s visit go yesterday?” Amanda asked.
“Well, I didn’t get any dates, but he did say that my leg re-alligned itself and was making more bone, or something.” Colby said as if he were trying to translate some foreign language.
“Oh? The bones must be aligned to where they should be then. That is very good, and they said they have already started connecting back together, huh? That’s way ahead of schedule!” Excitedly, Amanda raised her hand up and gave Colby the sign for a high-five.
“We gotta work hard now, though. I can’t be giving up on this one, not yet!” Colby said.
“I’ve been well. You know me. So how are the legs treating you?”
“Funniest thing, actually. I might not have to play the U.S. Amateur in the wheelchair!”
“You can’t play golf in a wheelchair. Plus, usually, it’s me that needs the wheelchair by the end of the round. Wait – won’t be playing in a wheelchair? I thought yer legs were all broke and shit?”
“Well, they are. But they are healing really well, the doctor even said so. I want to know that if there was a chance that I could play in the amateur, would you be my caddie?” Colby asked. Cappy laughed in the phone so loud Colby had to hold the phone away from his ear and wince.
“Of course I would, but don’t get your hopes up, now. Those damn doctors never get their shit right. I’ll tell you what. You get out of that cast, you give me a call and we will work on your swing, ok?”
“Sounds good. Hey it was good hearing from you.” Colby hit the end button on the phone and set it in the armrest of the wheelchair. I will get out of this chair. I will get out of the casts, he thought.
The June sun warmed the outside air as Colby wheeled his way onto the deck and down the new ramp that his uncle built. The ramp was crooked now, the snow and the cold dwarfed his uncle’s ability to build the ramp to the quality he wanted and when the frost left, the posts sunk into the ground. Now, the ramp was tilted more towards the side than down and Colby had to watch out or the chair would roll off the side and send him flat on his ass in the driveway.
“Are the keys in the ignition, Colby?” Bruce asked. He was home for the next few days and wanted to give Avery a break from trucking Colby around the town.
“Yep.” Colby said as he hit the remote button for the side door. The contraption flung itself out and he wheeled himself up on.
When they got to Amanda’s therapy place, Bruce shut the van off. “Hey, kiddo. You behave in there.” Bruce smiled and his large hands rubbed against Colby’s hair, messing it all up.
“Yea, I know. Hey dad, do you think I can get better by the end of summer?”
Bruce looked at his boy. “Kid, you got the potential to do whatever you want. I have seen you do it. Remember that tournament in New Hampshire a few years back? I watched you play a shot on the 16th hole from the woods and on the green. By all rights, you should have lost, even Cappy said that afterwards, but you decided to take the shot through the trees and cut it around the bunker. When it landed on the green, nobody believed it. That birdie turned the tournament around, then you won the next two holes to win. It takes more than some cuts and bruises and even broken bones to stop drive like that.” Bruce didn’t answer the question, but he knew that Colby needed to hear that anything was possible.
“Ok. Come August, I will be in Washington County, swinging my clubs, listening to my caddie.”
Colby opened the door again and listened to the motors whizzing as the metal under him sent him back into the 80 degree weather and the beaming sun hitting the blacktop driveway with enough force to make it feel like the wheels were going to melt off the chair.
“Hey Amanda! How is my sweetheart?” Colby asked, smiling as the air conditioning hit him in the face while he rolled into the building.
“Same old things. Helping people with life, are you ready for today? I thought we might try something new.” Amanda said as she walked around the counter. Her baby-blue tank-top paired with her white shorts made each curve on her body the perfect accent, and they were in all the right places.
“Always ready to try new things,” Colby said with a smile. Today they were going to start working on his torso and moving his toes constantly. Colby placed himself under a bar and lifted himself off the chair. The exercises from there were strenuous, and very tough for Colby, but Amanda was beside him, coaching him all along the way. Soon, they stopped for their first break.
“So how did the doctor’s visit go yesterday?” Amanda asked.
“Well, I didn’t get any dates, but he did say that my leg re-alligned itself and was making more bone, or something.” Colby said as if he were trying to translate some foreign language.
“Oh? The bones must be aligned to where they should be then. That is very good, and they said they have already started connecting back together, huh? That’s way ahead of schedule!” Excitedly, Amanda raised her hand up and gave Colby the sign for a high-five.
“We gotta work hard now, though. I can’t be giving up on this one, not yet!” Colby said.
Part 9: The first promising doc's visit
“What has he done in the past two months?” Colby’s doctor asked his mother.
“Well, he has been burning the midnight oil, working harder than – well, even I have wanted him to. He wants to get that cast off as soon as possible, and he hasn’t liked what you have said about how long his leg will be in that cast.” Avery said, partially proud of her hard-working son and partially worried that what the doctor was going to tell her was that Colby had thwarted the healing process of his leg.
“He has been doing a very good job. I haven’t seen bones heal at this rate in a long time. Apparently, he has been dedicating himself in every aspect to getting better. His bones have already realigned themselves into the correct position and, to make it even more amazing, they have already begun building new bone and reconnecting the pieces. What has his diet been like?”
“Milk all the time, doubling his dairy intake and craving meat, but I think that last part is because he has been training so hard too. Do you think he has a chance to get out of his cast this summer?”
“At this rate, it is tough to say. What I can say is this: my first determination was based on normal circumstances, and there was a chance that Colby might not ever walk – or walk easily again. Now, the circumstances suggest that it wasn’t a matter of if or how hard it would be for Colby to walk again as it is a question of when he will. If he keeps doing whatever he is doing, it’s tough to say, but he might be out of that cast by the end of August.
“End… of August?” Avery said, knowing that the U.S. Amateur was scheduled for the end of August. Colby was going to need at least some time to work with his caddy, work on his swing, and work on the mental game. Colby wasn’t going to do well hearing that. “Can you do me a favor?” Avery asked the doctor.
“That depends on what it is.”
“Don’t tell Colby that. It would break his heart if he couldn’t play in a golf event, scheduled for the end of August. He needs as much hope and prayer as he can get.” Avery’s soft eyes were full of concern, but the doctor nodded, turned, then walked a few steps, then disappeared behind the corner in the white hall of the hospital. It was almost as if the doctors around here were trained to blend in and disappear in the blink of an eye like that.
“I need to call Cappy, let him in on the news, not to excite him or anything, just to let him know we aren’t completely lost of hope for playing in the U.S. Amateur!” Colby said as Avery started up the van. It had been fitted to suit and load up Colby in his wheelchair, at a very expensive cost. Fancy metal and motors surrounded the old back seats of the van, the same van that played ‘Golf mom’ for Avery when Colby was in his teens and ripping up the turf all around Maine. People said it wasn’t a matter of when he would play against professional golfers as much as it was a question of when. Avery immediately recalled her visit with the doctor.
“We don’t need to call him yet, why don’t we wait a few weeks, maybe after the next doctor visit?” Avery said, trying to calm Colby down. It would break his heart if he knew that the doctor didn’t think it was possible for him to have his leg out of that cast by August. It would further break Avery’s heart to see Colby in such low spirits when he has been so high in hopes for the past few months.
“Whatever, it doesn’t matter, really. I am playing in the tournament, wheelchair or not. I would just play better if I could stand up to take the shots!” Colby said sarcastically. “So either way, I will need Cappy for my caddy!”
“Well, he has been burning the midnight oil, working harder than – well, even I have wanted him to. He wants to get that cast off as soon as possible, and he hasn’t liked what you have said about how long his leg will be in that cast.” Avery said, partially proud of her hard-working son and partially worried that what the doctor was going to tell her was that Colby had thwarted the healing process of his leg.
“He has been doing a very good job. I haven’t seen bones heal at this rate in a long time. Apparently, he has been dedicating himself in every aspect to getting better. His bones have already realigned themselves into the correct position and, to make it even more amazing, they have already begun building new bone and reconnecting the pieces. What has his diet been like?”
“Milk all the time, doubling his dairy intake and craving meat, but I think that last part is because he has been training so hard too. Do you think he has a chance to get out of his cast this summer?”
“At this rate, it is tough to say. What I can say is this: my first determination was based on normal circumstances, and there was a chance that Colby might not ever walk – or walk easily again. Now, the circumstances suggest that it wasn’t a matter of if or how hard it would be for Colby to walk again as it is a question of when he will. If he keeps doing whatever he is doing, it’s tough to say, but he might be out of that cast by the end of August.
“End… of August?” Avery said, knowing that the U.S. Amateur was scheduled for the end of August. Colby was going to need at least some time to work with his caddy, work on his swing, and work on the mental game. Colby wasn’t going to do well hearing that. “Can you do me a favor?” Avery asked the doctor.
“That depends on what it is.”
“Don’t tell Colby that. It would break his heart if he couldn’t play in a golf event, scheduled for the end of August. He needs as much hope and prayer as he can get.” Avery’s soft eyes were full of concern, but the doctor nodded, turned, then walked a few steps, then disappeared behind the corner in the white hall of the hospital. It was almost as if the doctors around here were trained to blend in and disappear in the blink of an eye like that.
“I need to call Cappy, let him in on the news, not to excite him or anything, just to let him know we aren’t completely lost of hope for playing in the U.S. Amateur!” Colby said as Avery started up the van. It had been fitted to suit and load up Colby in his wheelchair, at a very expensive cost. Fancy metal and motors surrounded the old back seats of the van, the same van that played ‘Golf mom’ for Avery when Colby was in his teens and ripping up the turf all around Maine. People said it wasn’t a matter of when he would play against professional golfers as much as it was a question of when. Avery immediately recalled her visit with the doctor.
“We don’t need to call him yet, why don’t we wait a few weeks, maybe after the next doctor visit?” Avery said, trying to calm Colby down. It would break his heart if he knew that the doctor didn’t think it was possible for him to have his leg out of that cast by August. It would further break Avery’s heart to see Colby in such low spirits when he has been so high in hopes for the past few months.
“Whatever, it doesn’t matter, really. I am playing in the tournament, wheelchair or not. I would just play better if I could stand up to take the shots!” Colby said sarcastically. “So either way, I will need Cappy for my caddy!”
Part 8: The slow Weeks
There wasn’t much that Colby could do as the snow melted away. He was so used to going golfing every chance he got, or even having to work that he had forgotten how boring it was – how scary it was to be confined to the restraints of a life that had no responsibilities or any abilities, for that matter. He stayed at his parents’ house with nowhere to go, other than the days that he got to spend with Amanda. That’s what kept his sanity, when he got to go there, see her, and do something. The doctor visits weren’t nearly as fun, but again, it kept him from absolute boredom, and lately, the doctor was bringing only the best of news as to how his body was healing so rapidly.
“The doctor says I might be able to get out of this wheelchair by next winter,” Colby said, lacking enthusiasm.
“You know, sometimes, a person can change their stars. Sometimes, if a person works hard enough, they get rewarded by finally getting what they have worked so hard for. If you want to, I know I can help you get back on your feet, you have inspiration, you have that want to get out of this wheelchair and get back to living.” Amanda said as Colby continued to work his upper-body with free-weights. She was sitting on the weight bench beside him, clipboard in hand, but she was looking at Colby with eyes full of all the enthusiasm that he had been lacking ever since the doctor gave him an idea of how long he was going to be in that cursed wheelchair.
Colby put the weights down and looked back. “Do you really think that? I mean, a doctor ought to know when I am going to get out of this damn thing.”
“A doctor can make a hypothesis based on the circumstances. If your circumstances improve, the doctor’s hypothesis will change.”
“Yea. So what’s next?” Colby asked, tired of being on break. The rest of the afternoon of therapy marked the change in behavior, from relaxing physical therapy to aggressive. Colby pushed harder, tried harder. He was still limited by the cast running down his full leg, but he hadn’t resigned from the U.S. Amateur competition yet, and he didn’t plan on doing so. If there was so much as a chance that he could play.
Days ran into weeks. Weeks ran into a couple of months. Each day, Colby worked hard, hard enough so that he was exhausted every night. Amanda was by his side all the while, sweating with him, working hard with him, and pushing him until he couldn’t push any harder. For a while, it was hard to tell who wanted Colby to get better more, Colby, or Amanda.
“The doctor says I might be able to get out of this wheelchair by next winter,” Colby said, lacking enthusiasm.
“You know, sometimes, a person can change their stars. Sometimes, if a person works hard enough, they get rewarded by finally getting what they have worked so hard for. If you want to, I know I can help you get back on your feet, you have inspiration, you have that want to get out of this wheelchair and get back to living.” Amanda said as Colby continued to work his upper-body with free-weights. She was sitting on the weight bench beside him, clipboard in hand, but she was looking at Colby with eyes full of all the enthusiasm that he had been lacking ever since the doctor gave him an idea of how long he was going to be in that cursed wheelchair.
Colby put the weights down and looked back. “Do you really think that? I mean, a doctor ought to know when I am going to get out of this damn thing.”
“A doctor can make a hypothesis based on the circumstances. If your circumstances improve, the doctor’s hypothesis will change.”
“Yea. So what’s next?” Colby asked, tired of being on break. The rest of the afternoon of therapy marked the change in behavior, from relaxing physical therapy to aggressive. Colby pushed harder, tried harder. He was still limited by the cast running down his full leg, but he hadn’t resigned from the U.S. Amateur competition yet, and he didn’t plan on doing so. If there was so much as a chance that he could play.
Days ran into weeks. Weeks ran into a couple of months. Each day, Colby worked hard, hard enough so that he was exhausted every night. Amanda was by his side all the while, sweating with him, working hard with him, and pushing him until he couldn’t push any harder. For a while, it was hard to tell who wanted Colby to get better more, Colby, or Amanda.
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