funnel. I watch some crumpled leaves and flower petals get swept up in its trail. They spin across my yard and then the wind has moved on, leaving the debris strewn across the gravel. I can’t help thinking that HCM is like that dust devil. It’s whipped through my life, spun me around, and left me flat.
It’s Jen’s turn to let out a long breath. But with her, it’s justa breath. With me, will it ever be just a breath? The thought scares me. How can anyone live like that—worrying about every sigh? I shrug off the thought, but I’m already trying to even out my breaths. Unconsciously conscious.
How can I live this way?
I bump Jen’s arm, and I’m comforted by the solid feel of her—so strong in every way. I’ve been through so much with her. I have this sudden certainty that I’ll get through this, too. “Nothing is for sure yet. Dad’s going to arrange for a second opinion. I won’t even have to go in for a retest—the doctor’s office can forward all my results.”
“That sounds good,” she says. “What did Coach say?”
“He was mad. But he’ll get over it. I’m going to take some medicine so I don’t drop dead in the pool.”
“Don’t joke. I can’t handle it.”
“But I need you to.”
She meets my eyes. Nods. “What kind of medicine?”
“It’s a beta-blocker. Mom picked up the prescription last night, but it’s better if I take them in the morning, so I’ll start tomorrow. They’re tiny white pills. They look like mints.”
“What about the meet on Saturday?”
“Coach wants me there to cheer for the team, but he won’t let me swim until I’m on the meds and everyone is done freaking out. I’ll be back in the pool by next week.”
“And if the second doctor says the same thing? Will you give it up?”
I swallow, not sure what to say. The truth is, I don’t think I can stop. I’ve tried to picture my life without swimming. Just the thought makes my chest so tight it hurts.
Yeah, there’s school. I’m a decent student and if I worked atit, I could be slightly better than decent at drawing. I like messing around in the kitchen if chocolate chips are involved and I never say no to a movie. But so what? I mean, maybe those are the things that make me normal, but they’re not what makes me special. In the pool is where I become
me
. I’m fearless in the pool. I’m strong.
It’s the only place that I am.
How can I give that up because I
might
faint? It just doesn’t make sense. But I don’t say any of this to Jen. I guess I don’t need to, because she leans into me, her shoulder a warm pressure.
“Never mind. Let’s not go there. Not yet. Because the second doctor could just as easily say something different.”
We’re quiet for a minute, both of us trying not to think too much.
“This sucks,” she finally says.
“Yeah, it does.” But another thought is working its way through my mind. It’s down deep in the part of me that’s all about winning. The part that drives me to be the best. And that part is thinking that it doesn’t completely suck for Jen. If I can’t swim, she moves up at Horizon. She has a better chance to win medals. To be the star.
To be me.
20
T oday’s meet is at a high school about twenty minutes away. It’s a district competition with four schools, but none that we can’t easily beat. If I have to sit out, I’m not missing much. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
It’s a beautiful Saturday morning—the kind that makes Phoenix summers worth suffering through. Halloween is only a week away and I could get a suntan today. The winter grass is in, and there’s a nice area set aside for Horizon swimmers to get ready. Technically, I’m not supposed to be in the swimmers’ area, but let someone try and move me. I lay out my towel next to Jen, but that’s about the only thing I’ve done this morning that feels normal.
Instead of my suit, I’m wearing my gold Horizon shirt and maroon shorts. My pre-meet breakfast
It’s Jen’s turn to let out a long breath. But with her, it’s justa breath. With me, will it ever be just a breath? The thought scares me. How can anyone live like that—worrying about every sigh? I shrug off the thought, but I’m already trying to even out my breaths. Unconsciously conscious.
How can I live this way?
I bump Jen’s arm, and I’m comforted by the solid feel of her—so strong in every way. I’ve been through so much with her. I have this sudden certainty that I’ll get through this, too. “Nothing is for sure yet. Dad’s going to arrange for a second opinion. I won’t even have to go in for a retest—the doctor’s office can forward all my results.”
“That sounds good,” she says. “What did Coach say?”
“He was mad. But he’ll get over it. I’m going to take some medicine so I don’t drop dead in the pool.”
“Don’t joke. I can’t handle it.”
“But I need you to.”
She meets my eyes. Nods. “What kind of medicine?”
“It’s a beta-blocker. Mom picked up the prescription last night, but it’s better if I take them in the morning, so I’ll start tomorrow. They’re tiny white pills. They look like mints.”
“What about the meet on Saturday?”
“Coach wants me there to cheer for the team, but he won’t let me swim until I’m on the meds and everyone is done freaking out. I’ll be back in the pool by next week.”
“And if the second doctor says the same thing? Will you give it up?”
I swallow, not sure what to say. The truth is, I don’t think I can stop. I’ve tried to picture my life without swimming. Just the thought makes my chest so tight it hurts.
Yeah, there’s school. I’m a decent student and if I worked atit, I could be slightly better than decent at drawing. I like messing around in the kitchen if chocolate chips are involved and I never say no to a movie. But so what? I mean, maybe those are the things that make me normal, but they’re not what makes me special. In the pool is where I become
me
. I’m fearless in the pool. I’m strong.
It’s the only place that I am.
How can I give that up because I
might
faint? It just doesn’t make sense. But I don’t say any of this to Jen. I guess I don’t need to, because she leans into me, her shoulder a warm pressure.
“Never mind. Let’s not go there. Not yet. Because the second doctor could just as easily say something different.”
We’re quiet for a minute, both of us trying not to think too much.
“This sucks,” she finally says.
“Yeah, it does.” But another thought is working its way through my mind. It’s down deep in the part of me that’s all about winning. The part that drives me to be the best. And that part is thinking that it doesn’t completely suck for Jen. If I can’t swim, she moves up at Horizon. She has a better chance to win medals. To be the star.
To be me.
20
T oday’s meet is at a high school about twenty minutes away. It’s a district competition with four schools, but none that we can’t easily beat. If I have to sit out, I’m not missing much. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
It’s a beautiful Saturday morning—the kind that makes Phoenix summers worth suffering through. Halloween is only a week away and I could get a suntan today. The winter grass is in, and there’s a nice area set aside for Horizon swimmers to get ready. Technically, I’m not supposed to be in the swimmers’ area, but let someone try and move me. I lay out my towel next to Jen, but that’s about the only thing I’ve done this morning that feels normal.
Instead of my suit, I’m wearing my gold Horizon shirt and maroon shorts. My pre-meet breakfast
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