Alive on Opening Day (12 page)

By the time the company
season ended just before Memorial Day, Dan felt almost normal and
maybe even stronger with the bat than he had at the end of his high
school career. He could run for miles without wearing down, he
could play a game — or two — every day if he wanted to, and, most
importantly, he was driving the ball with authority, smacking five
home runs in the Blue Crew’s last four games.

Sure, Dan knew “beer
league” competition was not exactly Major League caliber, but you
always had to prove to yourself you had mastered one level before
you could move to the next. Dan felt he definitely had mastered the
local company circuit, and he was eager for American Legion ball to
start.

Coach Croft was eager to
get his hands on Dan again, too, and had been showing up at HBM’s
games all season long. The two had talked several times during the
company league schedule, and both were looking forward to the
Legion season.

With the promise of a
sunny summer baseball season in front of him, and the confidence of
a successful spring behind him, Dan went to bed on the night of May
28 feeling pretty good about the world. He had spent Memorial Day
with his parents, Gabbie, and Troy at Feather Falls and Lufton
Beach, and, for the first time in a long time, they had all talked
about the future. He drifted off to sleep that night with sweet
thoughts of a life full of babies, family … and baseball. He was
happy.

He was shocked the next
morning, then, when a panicked pounding on his bedroom door woke
him, and he staggered out of bed. His legs felt like jelly, and his
head felt like it was full of cotton balls. He fumbled with the
doorknob, and, when he finally managed to open the door, he found a
concerned-looking David waiting for him.

“
What’s the matter, Dad?”
Dan asked, scared by the worried look on his father’s
face.

“
Are you OK, Dan?” David
asked.

Dan looked around, and he
could feel the scowl on his face, the frazzled hair, and the matted
eyes that must have made him seem disoriented. What was worse,
he
felt
disoriented?

“
Um, yeah … yes, Dad,” Dan
stammered. “I’m fine. I’m fine. What’s wrong?”

“
It’s 7:50, Dan,” David
informed him. “We have to be at work in 10 minutes, and you’re not
even dressed. What’s going on?”

Dan spun toward his bed to
look at his clock and staggered, nearly falling sideways. David
steadied his son with a sturdy hand, and Dan looked back to his
father. He shook his head, trying to kick-start his
brain.

“
I don’t know, Dad,” Dan
said, before starting to regain his bearings. “I mean, nothing. I
guess we just had too much fun yesterday.”

Dan managed a weak grin,
but David didn’t look convinced.

“
Look, Dad,” Dan said. “I
just ate too many hot dogs, and I’m feeling kind of bloated. I also
drank a lot of pop. Maybe those Coke guys poisoned me or
something.”

David still wasn’t buying
Dan’s story, but he could see his son was coming around. “Well, OK,
but you need to get dressed. I’ve called Mr. Jenkins to let him
know we’re going to be late, but we’ve got to get a move
on.”

“
I’m on it, Dad,” Dan said
as he pushed David out of the room and closed the door behind
him.

—

That night, Dan checked
his alarm clock and found that it appeared to be functioning and
was set correctly to go off at 6:30 am, just like every other day.
Just to be safe, he rolled the setting back an hour to 5:30, then
he called Gabbie and asked to borrow her alarm clock,
too.

“
Sure, Dan,” she had said.
“Troy wakes me up every hour on the hour for feeding, anyway, so I
really don’t need my alarm clock right now.”

With his double-pronged
approach, Dan managed to pull himself out of bed by 6 am the next
morning, but he was again disoriented, and his head was even
cloudier than on Tuesday.

And so it went, day after
day, all week long. Dan would struggle to get out of bed, spend the
first few hours of the work day in a fog and only starting to feel
better after lunch. He was fine working out after work and at the
Eagles’ game on Thursday evening, but each night, he collapsed back
into bed as soon as he got out of the shower.

He took Gabbie and Troy to
an IWU game on Saturday afternoon, and they had planned to spend
the evening together. They stopped for pizza on the way home, but
by the time Dan pulled into his parents’ driveway, he was fighting
to keep his eyes open. The trio went inside and plopped down on the
couch and, within 10 minutes, Dan had passed out with his head on
Gabbie’s lap, little Troy resting on his belly.

Dan slept through the
night and until Noon on Sunday and, though he felt really good when
he finally woke up, he was exhausted again by 6 pm. This after
doing nothing all afternoon except watching the Reds on TV and
playing some cards with a couple of buddies from high
school.

Monday morning was nearly
impossible, and David decided after taking one look at his son that
a sick day was in order, So David called Tom Jenkins and, instead
of hanging up the phone, pushed the receiver down with his finger
and dialed the number to Dr. Parks’ office.

And so it was that Dan
found himself in Parks’ waiting room on Wednesday afternoon, for
the second time in three days, dreading what the doctor had to say
on his follow-up. David had wanted to drive Dan to the appointment,
but Dan insisted he could do it himself. Besides, David had already
missed parts of two days that week shuttling Dan around, and the
family couldn’t afford to jeopardize David’s job.

“
Daniel,” a soft voice
called to him, breaking his trance. Dan stood, managing a weak
smile for Rita, the middle-aged nurse who was waiting to take him
to the exam room.

“
Right this way, Daniel,”
Rita said, waving Dan through the open door with his chart,studying
it as if it had been months since she’d seen him.

“
OK, now, hop up on that
scale for me,” Rita continued when they had walked 20 feet down the
hallway.

“
But you just weighed me
yesterday, Rita,” Dan complained.

“
I know, honey, but its
protocol,” Rita explained with a sympathetic voice. “We have to
make sure you’re staying healthy, right?”

Dan sighed and shrugged
his shoulders. He knew something was not right and didn’t need a
scale to tell him that.

“
Hmm, 176,” Rita said and
pursed her lips. “See there — your down a pound. Good thing we
weighed you again, I’d say!”

Dan just nodded but rolled
his eyes when Rita looked down to write on his chart.

“
You go right in there and
wait for Dr. Parks, Daniel,” Rita instructed, pointing to a room on
their left. “He’ll be here in just a few minutes.”

“
Thanks, Rita,” Dan said
and followed her directions.

While he waited, Dan
picked up
Sports Illustrated
and was surprised by how the cover photo of Hank
Aaron pained him. Dan loved The Hammer as a player, and he loved
everything about baseball, but there was something about the
vibrant colors and flashing lights glaring off Aaron’s helmet that
made him cringe. Maybe it was the realization Dan might never play
in front of an adoring crowd, the way Aaron had for nearly three
decades. Just a couple of weeks after he seemed to be regaining his
swagger, Dan could feel despair growing from the pit of his heart
and spreading through his whole body.

What’s wrong with me? Dan
wondered to himself.

A sharp rap on the wooden
door made Dan jump in his seat on the exam table, and Dr. Parks had
to suppress a giggle as he entered the room. He tried to hide his
face by burying it in Dan’s chart, but Dan could still see the
smirk.

“
Well,
if you’re laughing at me, Doc, that must at least mean the news is
not
too
bad,” Dan said in a hopeful tone. “Right?”

In an instant, the smile
drained from Parks’ face and the gray-haired man stood up straight
to greet Dan with a somber expression.

“
I’m sorry, Dan,” Parks
said. “I really shouldn’t have laughed like that. I apologize.” The
doctor’s voice was much too sympathetic to just be apologizing for
a gentle razzing.

Dan’s stomach knotted and
his face grew taut.

“
What’s going on, Dr.
Parks?” he asked? “Did you get the results of my blood
tests?”

Parks glanced at the chart
again, as if to be sure of what he was seeing before continuing. He
looked Dan in the eye.

“
Dan,” Parks began. “I’m
afraid your endocrine levels have begun to change
again.”

Dan understood what Parks
was saying, but he couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe
it.

“
Isn’t that what happened
to me after I got hit with the ball last year?” Dan asked. “Why
would it be happening again?”

“
Now, don’t get too
excited just yet, Dan,” Parks consoled. “Your numbers are nowhere
near the levels they hit while you were hibernating … but they are
definitely changing.”

“
How bad is it,” Dan
wanted to know.

“
Well, your melatonin is
at 11, and your T4 is low,” Parks told him. “Either one by itself
is not dramatic, but, taken together, I think it’s enough to
explain the lethargy and fatigue you’ve been feeling over the last
week or so.”

“
So what do we need to
do?” Dan asked.

“
At this point, Dan, all
we can do is monitor your situation, AND I’m going to set you up to
see Dr. Eisenflower, an endocrinologist in Indianapolis. He already
knows about your case and in fact consulted in your treatment last
winter. I have made you an appointment for next Monday
morning.”

“
Can he fix me?” Dan
asked.

Parks grabbed one of Dan’s
hands in his own and moved closer. “I want you to understand, Dan
-- I don’t believe you’re in any danger. There may be nothing to
‘fix,’ as you put it, but I want to get Dr. Eisenflower’s
first-hand take on your situation. I’m confident that, between the
two of us, we can figure out what’s happening … and keep you
healthy.”

Dan exhaled harshly. “OK,
Doc, but what should I do in the meantime? I mean, it’s hard for me
to even get up — and stay up — for work!”

Parks was standing now,
and he patted Dan on the knee with his chart.

“
Lots of coffee,” my boy,
the doctor said. “Lots of coffee.”

—

The next morning, Dan
clawed his way out of bed as had become his habit, but this time he
was greeted by the smell of strong coffee. Before he even went to
the bathroom, he headed into the kitchen to fuel up on the java
that David already had brewing.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Baseball Men

“
Hey, Dan! Shake a tail
feather!”

Dan squinted his eyes
against the foggy orange sun, trying to figure out who was busting
his chops so early on the first Tuesday morning in June. As he
neared the East side of the diamond, near the home dugout, Dan
could see his verbal assaulter was Coach Croft. He could also make
out another, larger figure standing next to South Pickens’ head
man, but he couldn’t quite tell who it was.

Falling into his old habit
of snapping to attention when the coach yelled, Dan broke into a
trot and closed the 50 yards between him and the two older men in
just a few seconds.

“
What’s up, coach?” Dan
asked, panting. The last week had been rough, and he was feeling
weak again, though still stronger than when he woke up back in
April.

“
Mornin,' Princess,” Croft
teased as he looked at his watch. “Glad you decided to join us
today!”

Dan glanced at his own
watch. “C’mon, coach, it’s still just 7:55. Practice doesn’t start
until eight, right?”

Dan looked around him at
the empty diamond and spread his arms out in an expression that
said, “See? No one’s even here, yet!”.

Croft rubbed his chin and
looked thoughtful. “Well, actually, Dan,” the coach began,
“practice doesn’t start until
nine
. You think any of my players
would dare to show up in the last five minutes?”

The coach had a point, as
promptness was ingrained in all the Eagles’ athletes. But Dan was
sure Croft had told him to come to the field at eight. South
Pickens was heading into sectional play, and the coach had invited
Dan to help mentor the team during the playoffs. The idea appealed
to Dan, but he was hesitant because most of the guys had been his
teammates just a year or so before. But Croft had assured him there
wouldn’t be any hard feelings, so here Dan was, ready for
duty.