Taylor's Gift by Tara Storch Page B

she’s going to want to know, so, how long do you think it will take her to be back on the court?” Todd asked.
    â€œI’ve already done the surgery on her leg and that should heal fine,” the surgeon said. “We can fix the collarbone, broken ribs, and her jaw. Under normal circumstances, if I do everything I can, it would take six months to a year, and with rehab, she would be ready to play in eighteen months, but—”
    At the time, the words “normal circumstances” just whizzed right past me. “Eighteen months? That’s too long!” I said, looking at Todd.
    â€œHigh school . . .” he said. “She’s going to be devastated!”
    High school volleyball tryouts were just a few months away, and it was all Taylor and her friends talked about. Making the high school team meant everything to her.
    But I couldn’t think about it then; the surgeon was still talking.
    â€œ. . . that’s the least of your worries; broken bones aren’t life-threatening. Before we can even begin to worry about that, we need to focus on her head injuries . Her C7 is fractured, and her brain is swelling. The neurosurgeon and her team are still in surgery trying to relieve the pressure. That’s where our attention needs to be focused right now. Until we get the swelling under control, we can’t worry about the rest of her injuries.”
    I felt my heart racing as I tried to comprehend his words. Fractured C7? Was that the spine? Brain swelling? What did that mean? The doctor shifted uncomfortably in his seat and then stood to leave. “The neurosurgeon will be out to talk to you as soon as she finishes. Do you have any questions?”
    Todd looked at me; his eyes were red-rimmed and watery. After eighteen years of marriage, I knew he had the same question I did. His voice cracked when he asked it. “Are you saying we need to be prepared for a life or death situation?”
    The doctor took a deep breath and slowly exhaled before he spoke. “You’re going to need to speak to the neurosurgeon, but you need to prepare yourselves for that.”
    Somewhere deep inside me a scream bubbled up and exploded into the back of my throat in a burst of bile. I jumped up and ran for the restroom.
    Peyton and Ryan had gone with a chaplain to get some food, so they weren’t present when the doctor gave us the news. But they heard me retching when they returned. When I came out of the bathroom, I saw them searching my tearstained face for an answer, and I knew that they knew something was terribly wrong.
    The kids were exhausted. We’d had two days of travel and a big day on the slopes before the accident. After the doctors at Vail had decided to life-flight Taylor, we’d rushed back to the condo and in just minutes thrown everything we’d brought with us back into our suitcases and piled it all into the Beaver Creek shuttle van that had driven us to St. Mary’s. After we arrived, we’d taken up residence in the hospital lobby—our weary bodies, our suitcases, and the kind shuttle driver who just wanted to make sure we were doing okay. How am I going to take care of these kids and be there for Taylor too? I can barely take care of myself , I thought, looking into my children’s tired and sad little faces.
    The elevator door opened. The chaplain and a woman wearing black pants and a khaki overcoat walked toward us.
    â€œThey’re bringing in a counselor!” I whispered to Todd as I started to panic. But the woman held out her arms to me, and I looked at her face. “Kristin!” I said, jumping off the loveseat in the lobby and running to her.
    â€œI’m here,” she said.
    Kristin Balko was a sorority sister of mine from college. We’d lost touch several years earlier when she and her physician husband, Greg, had moved to Colorado. I hadn’t seen her in fifteen years. “What are you doing