Dr. Cohen took them and peered at them, squinting through black horn-rimmed glasses. 'You see,' he was pointing at something on the tapes. They muttered and murmured, studying the tapes. Then Dr. Cohen put one of those little lights in my eyes and studied my eyeballs.
'Um,' he said, and snapped off the light. 'Difficult to say. Um. Possible, of course. Better try a karotid angiogram.'
'What the hell are you looking for?' I asked. 'Possible subdural hematoma,' said Dr. Nolen.
'In plain English?'
'Blood clot.'
'Can't you tell?'
'Nothing really conclusive.'
'Well, let's get on with it.'
'First thing in the morning.'
'Why not this afternoon?'
'What's your hurry?'
'I have to make a living.'
Both doctors shook their heads.
'If there's the slightest subdural hematoma you might as well face the fact, you won't be playing any more football this year.'
I knew what they were getting at. I'd seen other players like this. They simply opened up your skull and stopped the bleeding and you could either play again the following year or not at all. I don't remember anybody coming back to play after the skull was opened. Goddamn it, and just when I was going well. That bastard Leighton. Somebody ought to lay his head open with an axe. Leighton, you bastard, if I ever get the chance again I'm going to run right over your skull in practice.
'Could I talk to the team doctor?'
'Dr. Cohen is an excellent doctor.'
Dr. Cohen smiled and laced his thin fingers together.
'You're really gong-ho to play as soon as possible?'
'That's what I get paid for:'
'I'll see what we can do.'
They both left me lying in bed watching a soap opera.
Just before dinner, the team doctor came in. Dr. Harold Steinbuch. He was handsome, black-haired. He had played for Bierman back in the Thirties at Minnesota on two national Golden Gopher championship football teams. He played a lot of tennis and his face was tanned. He came in wearing a big smile.
'Why didn't you duck your head and eat the ball?' he asked. 'Yes, I've seen your tapes. Nothing shows really. A few crinkles in your brain, but they've probably been there a long time. Sorry I haven't been in. Very busy. How's your head? Any headaches? Nausea? You got kicked around pretty good. I saw the game. Yes, I know Miss Cassidy. That'll give you brain waves that will kick up your chart. Quite a piece. I should be twenty years younger. She's too solemn, though.
'What about sex?' I asked.
'What about it? I certainly could use some myself.'
'I mean with this head.'
'My God, are you screwing Miss Cassidy here?'
'No, I hardly know her.'
'How do you get laid in this hospital?'
'Doc, I just want to know if I should or shouldn't.'
'More power to you, Matt. I've never been able to get laid in this hospital.'
'Is it dangerous? I mean, blood pressure, that sort of thing?'
'If you've got a minor sub -'
'- blood on the brain.'
'Take it easy, Matt. Save yourself. Screwing will give you a headache.'
He was right. Mary Beth had left me with a slight headache and a little dizziness, but it had certainly been worth it.
'I get horny lying here,' I said.
'I'll send in Miss Cassidy.'
'Thanks a lot.'
'Take it easy. See you first thing in the morning. Get some sleep. I think everything is going to be okay. But we want to make sure.'
'What's the deal?'
'Angiogram. Quite simple. We'll put a little dye into your karotid artery. Right and left.' He touched the back of my neck. 'Then take some quick pictures. If it shows dark anywhere in the brain, you're bleeding. We have to make sure.'
'If it's okay, how soon can I get out of here?' 'Quickly. Sleep well. Take it easy.'
He smiled and went out. He was wearing a three-hundred-dollar suit, just like Rodger Binks'.
Chapter 8
That night there were a couple of good movies on television, but I knew I was going to have a tough time getting to sleep. I kept thinking about how long I might be out of action. If I were out of action another two weeks, Vakos would be ready, but that wasn't too bad. It would mean we'd start about dead even for the first-string quarterback slot. I knew I had a stronger arm and more experience, but I had to be right on because they were building this kid. He needed at least three more years experience and even then he wouldn't really be seasoned. You needed about seven years quarterbacking in the pros to really be sharp and old warrior. Unless you were Namath. But how many Namaths are there with a wrist snap like this? I knew they wouldn't give me a sleeping pill, not with an alleged head injury, but things turned out better than I thought they would. I fell asleep watching the ten o'clock news. The trouble was I woke an hour later. The television was still on, showing some western. I felt nervous and started worrying about football and how soon I would get back to the team. In the night the worry seemed worse than it should be, but I couldn't turn my thoughts off; the worry got worse until I was sore at myself for being such a damn fool to worry this hard, but it was always like that waking in the middle of the night before a game, which is why I always take a sleeping pill the night before a big game. So do most of the other players except when we were using those big sloppy, fat guards in the old days. Those lard buckets never worried about any game. Hell, they didn't have to move laterally in those days. Anyway, I could not sleep. I was lying there wide awake when the door opened softly and shut just as softly. It was dark in the room and I wondered if it was Miss Cassidy who had come to take my temperature. I couldn't see her in the dark, but I could hear her and she sat down on the edge of the bed and touched my leg.
'I couldn't get to, sleep thinking about you,' Mary Beth said.
'How did you get in?'
'Waited until the nurse left the hall station.'
I felt her hand go under the sheet and move up my leg.
'God, you get me so hot,' she said.
'Don't say anything,' I said. 'The hall has ears.'
I couldn't move. I wondered what the hell I was getting into with this hot-boxed chick. What the hell was I going to do with her once I got out of the hospital? Very handy now. But later I might have her on my hands. No thanks.
'You're going to do it this time,' she said.
'No harm in trying.'
'I'm going to really milk you.'
She drew back the sheets. I felt her hovering over me.in the darkness. Why couldn't I come with her? It had
