OCTOBER 5: FRIDAY MORNING DOCTOR’S APPOINTMENT
The appointment was at 11 a.m. Mom gave me the choice, and I chose not to go to school before. I stayed in bed for as long as I could.
In bed, I made a plan. I’d tell the doctor I hadn’t had a symptom since Monday. I’d tell him I sprinted (by accident) and rode my bike for ten miles the night before. I’d tell him I felt great, good to go, ready to get back to playing my game. I repeated this over and over in my head. I wouldn’t just sit there and let Mom do the talking about the decision we’d made. I’d made no decision at all.
Dad was already in the parking lot when we arrived at the doctor. He diverted all attention.
“Did you make Isaiah commit to Bluffton for college?” he barked the moment Mom shut the car door behind her.
“I didn’t make him do anything. We had a conversation. We came to the same conclusion. He won’t have to pay tuition because you’re a professor here. He won’t run up loans. He’ll get a wonderful education. He’ll put himself ahead of the game.”
“Thirty-two on his ACT,” Dad said. “Nobody told me thirty-two! Do you even register the opportunities you’re taking away from him?”
Mom glared. Mom inhaled. “We have a doctor’s appointment. Now is not the time.”
“If I hadn’t asked Isaiah over last night I might never have known about his ACT. Clearly you weren’t going to tell me!” Dad shouted.
Mom swung her intense gaze to me. “You went to your dad’s last night? Why is that? Didn’t you go out for pizza with your friends?”
“I’m going inside.” I turned and walked in. My parents didn’t immediately follow. Both were red-faced when they finally got to the waiting room. They sparred. I pulled out earbuds and listened to nothing. I just wanted them to know I didn’t care about their conversation.
The trouble continued after we got in front of the doctor.
He looked into my eyes. Had me do a balance test. Asked me a bunch of questions about my memory, my sensitivity to light and sound, and my dizziness. I told him I felt normal, which was true, physically speaking.
“I rode my bike last night. A couple of days ago, I took off running before I remembered I was supposed to avoid doing that kind of thing. I feel totally fine,” I said.
He took a couple of notes on his clipboard. “You look good, Isaiah. If you’re feeling normal and have already engaged in exercise, there’s no reason not to return to your normal activities.”
“What?” Mom asked. “Return? Do you mean return to football?”
“He’s not suffering from symptoms. There’s no reason for him to hold back, unless symptoms crop up again,” the doctor said. “If you have any dizziness or sudden loss of energy, you need to pull yourself out, do you understand?”
I didn’t respond.
“Good. Good to hear,” Dad said.
Mom pointed her pen at the doctor. “You told us last week that Isaiah shouldn’t play football anymore.”
“I said no such thing,” the doctor said.
Mom turned the page back in her notebook, which she’d taken out to take notes. “Six days ago you warned us about second impact syndrome. You said he shouldn’t play.”
“No, I said if Isaiah were my child I’d pull him. I’m not his parent. I’m treating him. Isaiah has cleared protocol. As his doctor, I’m telling you he’s clear to go back to his regular activities.”
“I’m ready,” I said.
Mom stood up from her chair. “Oh, no you don’t. I’m your parent. There will be no second impact syndrome. You’ve already notified the team.”
“Have I?” I said.
“You better have,” Mom said.
“I’m his parent, too,” Dad said. He stayed seated in his chair. “You seem to have forgotten this inconvenient truth, Tammy.”
Mom swiveled on him. “Oh, you’re interested now?” she said. “Now that you have an opportunity to put Isaiah in harm’s way, you’re ready to jump in, give him permission?”
“Isaiah does not belong to you,” Dad said. “It’s time for you to step back and let him make choices about his future. He got a thirty-two on his ACT, for God’s sake!” Dad shouted.
For a moment there was silence.
“Wow. That’s a good score,” the doctor said. “Are you looking at any tier-one schools?”
“Tier one?” I asked.
“Ivies,” Dad said. “Or heavy-hitting liberal arts colleges.”
Mom slowly sank back into her chair.
There was another moment of silence.
Then I said, “I’ve been talking to a coach at Cornell University.”
“You have?” Dad asked, surprised.
“Yes. I have,” I said.
Mom sat forward. “What are you talking about, Isaiah? When?”
I pulled out my phone and showed them the last text from Coach Conti.
How about tonight? Are your parents home? Let’s get you set up for your visit!
“That’s really from Cornell?” Mom asked.
I nodded.
“Great school!” the doctor said.
“Stay out of this,” Dad said to him.