Married To Baseball

Functionality.

Jailyn~

Using my good arm, I yank my suitcase off the carousel, trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone. As grateful as I am to be back home in Milwaukee, it's a little hard to be inconspicuous when you mix my Hall of Fame status with my Husband's MVP status. Even with the hood of my grey sweatshirt over my head and the baggy pair of sweats I'm wearing, I still feel like one wrong glance, and I'll have a line of people with a million questions for me. Being home due to an injury rather than finishing out my season with another gold medal makes it a little harder to want to deal with the fanfare.

Opting for the less flashy Prada suitcase over the Louis Vuitton probably helped my case a reasonable amount. As opposed to the baggage with the branding scrawled across every inch, the single logo that blends into the face of the bag doesn't pull the attention unless you're close enough to notice. Taking a breath, I roll the case along with me as I head towards the exit, hoping Tyler is close.

Seeing my best friend grinning at me as I approach, I can't help but smile in return. Embracing Tyler the best I can, given my incapacitated right arm, he holds me for a moment, knowing how much I need this right now. Even if we haven't gotten to see as much of each other in the last couple of years, he's always going to know me better than anyone else. Even though I refuse to show it, he knows how much this sucks for me right now.

After letting go of one another, he takes my bag and loads it into the car. He apparently thinks I'm a little more helpless than I actually am, as he continues assisting in opening the door for me and then shutting it once I'm in. "You know," I start once Tyler is in the car, "I am capable of using my left arm."

"Damn, bitch, I guess I'll stop helping," He says, laughing with me as he rolls his eyes. "I'm taking you straight to Froedert, right?"

"Yeah, Dr.Collins said he could squeeze me in right away," Glancing at the digital clock in the middle of Tyler's dash, I add, "I mean, we do have time to grab Culver's." Tyler's snort makes me laugh, "It's been like six months."

"You've only been gone for like four," He rebuttals, still laughing.

"Yeah, but I was training for my season for the two before that," I point out, "I also had to make sure my wedding dress fit."

Tyler scoffs, "I suppose I don't have a rebuttal, those are both valid enough points. Even if I know that one butter burger wouldn't change anything."

Wincing as Dr.Collins assists me in trying to gauge my range of motion, his furrowed brow makes me think it's a little worse than I'd anticipated. Maybe it's just worse than he was hoping for. When he lets me rest again, he nods to himself before going into his computer, charting his observations. His pensive demeanor is a little more annoying than if he'd tell me straight up that he was planning to chop my arm off. 

"So, you're not going to have to chop my arm off, or something, are you?" I ask, his near-silence getting to me.

"No," He replies, shaking his head quickly, "The tear is a little more extensive than I would've thought. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised after how you handled your Achilles. Until we get through the MRI, I won't know the degree of the tear. However, given your range of motion, the slight protrusion of your clavicle, and the pain you're experiencing, I'm confident that there's a separation of your acromioclavicular, or AC joint." 

"Super," I reply, the sigh pushing itself through my word. "What's that entail in terms of recovery?"

"It's all dependant on the degree of your tear," He informs me, "If it is a first or second degree, it's about eight weeks until you can throw again. Third-degree would depend on what route you decided to go with."