by Rice, Luanne
Martin let the words sink in. He heard May let out a small cry; her hand was so slippery, it almost slid out of his. Martin cleared his throat, tried to keep his heart from pounding out of his chest. “We knew that. Even the optometrist up in LaSalle told us that. Luckily, I can see with my right eye. I can see with both—just not with my left alone.”
“Martin,” Teddy said. “Your right eye is being affected as well.”
“But I wasn’t hit in my right eye.”
“Never?”
“Nothing bad,” he said. “Nothing that needed surgery.”
“Did you ever receive high-dose cortisone treatment in your right eye?”
“In both eyes, yes. Cortisone,” Martin said. “I remember getting injections way back then. Right next to my eyes…it wasn’t fun.”
“He’s taken it for inflammation of his knees and ankles,” May said. “For his hips and shoulders…”
Martin listened to her voice and wished he could see her better. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry.
“What I see in your right eye,” Teddy began.
“My good eye.”
“Yes, your good eye. What I see there is a condition known as sympathetic ophthalmia.”
“Sympathetic…” May said, and Martin knew she was seizing on a word that sounded gentle and kind.
“Sympathetic ophthalmia,” Teddy said. “It is a rare inflammation of the eye that sometimes develops after penetrating injuries in the fellow eye. Its symptoms include severe light sensitivity, difficulty in focusing, and marked swelling—in the eye opposite the one that sustained the injury.”
“But it happened years ago,” Martin said. “Jorgensen hit me in Vancouver almost four years ago….”
“The condition can occur within one or two weeks, or it might lie dormant for years.”
“But how?” May asked, holding Martin’s hand. “It sounds impossible.”
“Exposure of some of the internal contents of the injured eye initiates a sympathetic, immunologic process which adversely affects the same type of tissue in the opposite eye. The fellow eye.”
“But cortisone helps?” Martin asked. “That’s why you wanted to know whether I’ve had it?”
“Corticosteriods can sometimes work. But prolonged use can inhibit the body from producing its own, and, in some cases, build up a resistance.”
“Then what?” Martin asked.
He could feel Teddy staring at him, and he could hear the small sobs coming from May. She sounded so hurt and afraid, and Martin wanted to take her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right. But he couldn’t move, and the only thing he could say was directed at Teddy.
“Am I going blind?” Martin Cartier asked.
“Yes,” she said.
Chapter 25
THE DIAGNOSIS WAS NOT WITHOUT HOPE. Teddy had given Martin a periocular injection of cortisone, numbing the area next to his eye before giving him the shot. Then she had prescribed a short course of high-dose Prednisone. After one week, she would check the inflammation and determine what to do next.
Surgery would most likely be indicated. Teddy described a “scleral buckling” procedure, in which she would suture a silicone material to the white of the eye behind the lids. Another option was intraocular gas injections: a minuscule inflatable balloon would take the place of the silicone buckle. If successful, the balloon would be removed after the retina had reattached.
May and Martin had listened, completely numb. Martin’s hand was ice cold, and the look on his face was far away, as if he had escaped from the room. As Teddy talked, May knew she should take notes. She should pull her wedding-planner notebook from her straw purse and write it all down.
“The success rate for anatomic reattachment of the retina is quite high,” Teddy said. “But regarding the macula, we’ll have to see.”
“The macula?” May asked dully. Hadn’t Teddy just explained what that was? If she’d been writing everything down, she would understand, not make Teddy repeat herself.
“The retina’s most sensitive, central section,” Teddy said, not seeming to mind going over it again. “If the macula has been detached for too long, the prognosis for good central vision may be poor.”
“Then what’s not poor?” Martin said. “Forget that, and tell me what will work.”
“For complicated detachments like yours,” Teddy said, “we have multiple procedures, such as vitrectomy—removal of the vitreous. I need to study your case a bit longer before I can say for sure. Let’s see how you do on the Prednisone, and when you come back in a week—”
“A week!” Martin exploded. “I don’t have a week. Training starts soon, and I need to be on the road to recovery by then.”
“Martin, I know this comes as a shock to you. But try to realize, we’re trying to save as much of your sight as we can. We’re not talking about restoration of your sight, but rather, stemming the deterioration and—”
“You’re telling me I’m not going to play hockey? Ever?”
“Yes,” Teddy said. Her arms were folded on her desk, her gaze direct and compassionate. May shivered as the word penetrated her bones, her very being, and she felt Martin rip his hand out of hers.
“Come on, May,” he said, jumping up. “Let’s go.”
“Martin,” May said, trying to calm him down. “Listen to her.”
“I’ve heard all I need to hear. Let’s go.”
“Treatment needs to begin right away,” Teddy said quietly, as if Martin was still sitting there, not poised to leap. “We shouldn’t waste any time.”
“Exactly,” Martin snapped. “That’s why I’m getting out of here.” He grabbed his jacket, dropped it, picked it up again. Heading for the door, he went in the wrong direction and crashed into a bookcase. He turned himself around, strode to the exit. “May?”
“Sit down, Martin,” she pleaded. “Please, we’re talking about your eyes!”
“They’re fine enough. I read the chart in LaSalle, didn’t I? Are you coming?”
“Listen to me, Martin,” May said sharply, tears filling her eyes. “I’ve done it your way all along. Your timetable, not mine. We can’t pretend anymore. I won’t let you. I love you too much.”
“I’ll meet you at the car,” Martin said coldly, slamming the door behind him.
May buried her head in her hands and sobbed. Coming from behind the desk, Teddy patted her back.
“This reaction is normal for him,” Teddy told her. “It is exactly what I would expect from Martin. Acceptance comes very hard after news like this.”
“Hockey is his life,” May cried.
“I have no medical answers for that,” Teddy said. “I’ll do everything possible to save what I can of his sight.”
“He’ll really never play hockey again?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
Teddy paused, taking so long to consider that May dried her eyes and looked up. The elderly woman looked beautiful, thoughtful in the lamplight. She had a light of warmth and humor in her eyes; there was nothing tragic in her expression at all.
“I would never presume to say ‘never’ about Martin Cartier,” she said. “As his doctor, I will say that I advise against it, that it would be harmful to his eyes, that, frankly, I don’t believe he is able to see the ice. But you saw him, and you know him better than I do. He’s something else, that man.”
“Yes, he is,” May said.
“William was like that,” Teddy went on. “He was an inventor, and we used to travel the world in search of ideas. Everywhere we went, he found things that he became passionate about. That lighthouse on the Isle de Ré,” she said, pointing. “And that one on Corfu. The afternoon light on Block Island, in Brittany. And then one day, his cardiologist told him the risks of travel made it advisable for him to stay home.”
“Did he listen?” May asked.
Teddy shook her head. “No, he didn’t. He went straight home from the doctor’s office and
booked us passage on the Queen Elizabeth. A transatlantic crossing and two weeks in the Mediterranean.”
“Did you try to stop him?”
“I tried,” Teddy said. “But not for long.”
“Why?”
“Because I loved William for who he was. Even the obstinate, stubborn side of him.” She bowed her head, then gave a half-smile. “At least that’s what I tell myself now. At the time…well, it wasn’t easy.”
“Did you go on the cruise with him?”
“I did,” Teddy said.
May took a deep breath. She knew that when she reached the car, Martin would be furious about the diagnosis. He would want to see another doctor, someone who would tell him what he wanted to hear.
“He wants to win the Stanley Cup,” May said. “More than anything. He says it’s for him, but I think—”
Teddy waited.
“It’s for his father,” May said, the words tearing from her throat. “I think he wants to win the Cup for Serge.”
“He’s going to need your support, no matter what. I’ve worked with professional athletes before. The loss of control they feel associated with vision loss is terrible. He’ll feel his entire identity at question, so be patient if you can. But keep in mind: There’s no time to waste. He needs treatment immediately.”
“I know.” May wiped her eyes.
“It’s a tall order for you,” Teddy said. “But I know you’re up to it.”
“Did you have a good time together?” May asked.
“Excuse me?”
“On the cruise you took. The one William booked…”
“He died on it, dear,” Teddy said gently. “Our third night aboard.”
Martin had left Teddy’s office without the keys, so he was leaning on the car when May came walking out. The night was hot and sticky, and the parking garage smelled like oil and exhaust. Down below, horns blared on the southeast expressway. The Fleet Center was just a few blocks away, and Martin imagined the team gearing up for the season.
“I’m sorry I took so long,” May said.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, waiting for her to unlock the door. They were both careful not to look at each other or brush hands. Once she got into the driver’s seat, she fumbled the keys and dropped them onto the floor. She picked them up, stuck one in the ignition, couldn’t get it turned. Martin just reached over and started the car.
“I’m nervous,” she said.
“Don’t be,” he told her. “There won’t be any traffic at this hour.”
“Not about driving,” she said, and he heard her voice catch.
Martin put his seat back and reached for a baseball cap over the visor. He stuck it on his head. Except for that Blue Jays game in Toronto, they hadn’t seen much baseball that year. Usually he took in a few Expos games, and on his rare summer visits to Boston, he’d go watch the Red Sox play.
“You know what I love about summer?” he asked.
“No,” she said, turning onto Storrow Drive.
“Baseball and fishing. I was just thinking, we haven’t done enough of either.”
“You and Kylie have fished a few times,” she said carefully, holding her voice very steady to keep from screaming. “And we saw that game with the Gardners.”
“Ahh, that’s nothing. We should be up at dawn every day, rowing up the lake and giving Kylie her chance at the great-granddaddy. The hook filed down, just to say hello and let him go.”
“She’ll have plenty of chances,” May told him. “It’s you I’m thinking about right now.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Martin said. “I’m fine.”
“You heard Teddy,” May said. “You’re not fine.”
As they drove along the Charles River, Martin rolled down his window. The breeze felt cool on his face, and he wondered whether the college teams had started training for the crew season yet. One of his great pleasures last year had been driving in for practice from the Barn and seeing the Harvard, MIT, and Boston University crews out on the lazy river, their sleek white shells gliding through the water.
“Hockey season starts—”
“I don’t give a damn about hockey season!” May yelled.
“I do,” Martin said.
“Listen to me!” May screamed. “I care about you. I love you! You have the chance to do something right now, to save your eyes. Your eyes, Martin. What are you telling me, that you’re going out there on the ice to get run over and hurt by every—”
“No one runs me over,” he said.
“You can’t see! I know you want to play, but you can’t see, Martin.”
“I have one eye doing the work of two,” Martin insisted, hanging onto the words of Maurice Pilote.
“Didn’t you listen?” May cried. “Teddy said you’re losing even that! You’ll be blind….”
Martin gritted his teeth, refusing to hear the word. Blind. If he didn’t hear it, he could go on as before. “Shut up.”
“Martin—”
“You wanted to force me to see my father, and now you’re forcing me to accept a lie.”
“You can’t even hear me!” she said. “Seeing your father would be the best thing for you, but that’s beside the point. Teddy says—”
“I won’t be one of those cripples with a white cane and dark glasses,” he ranted. “Sitting in the dark for the rest of my life. Do you think I’m like that? You think I could ever live that way? I’m a hockey player, and I’m not going fucking blind!” He smashed his fist into the dashboard, ripping the glove compartment off its hinges. He roared so loud, his own voice was ringing in his ears.
May sobbed, swerving across the highway. Horns blared. Martin’s heart was pounding. He felt like jumping out of the car. He estimated they were going sixty, and he wondered if hitting the pavement would be that much worse than catching some two-hundred-sixty-pound player’s stick hard in the head.
“Pull over,” he said.
“No, I want to get you home.”
“Being blind would be worse than going to prison,” he said. “I’m not an invalid.”
“I know!” she screamed.
She gripped the wheel with both hands, tears streaming down her face. He saw them as he squinted through the bright highway lights. Reaching over, he touched her cheek.
“May.”
“I don’t want you to go blind,” she sobbed.
“Pull over,” he said, his throat closing as the feelings welled up from his heart. “Please. I need to hold you. Please, May. I’m sorry I yelled, scared you. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“We’re going home to the lake,” Martin said the next morning. They had held each other all night, not letting go for a minute. May had lost count of how many times they had made love, fallen asleep, started all over again. It was as if they were afraid of the dark, fearful of drifting off into their dreams.
“Teddy’s the best,” she told him. “We can’t leave. She wants to see you in a week, after you’ve taken the Prednisone.”
“I’ll take it,” he said. “And I’ll come back. But I need the lake.”
“You promise?” she asked doubtfully.
“Yeah.”
She didn’t know whether to believe him or not. He was looking away from her as if he might be lying.
“I’m supposed to be patient,” she said. “And get you to treatment right away. How can I do both at the same time?”
“It’s summer,” he said. “Fishing and swimming. We’re going home.”
“Okay,” May agreed, giving in again. “As long as we come back.”
The lake and mountains welcomed them home, and May knew that Lac Vert was the place they should be. The water was still and mysterious; she stared at it for hours, wondering what the future would bring. The sun rose and set behind the mountains, and the afternoons were filled with that wonderful hazy light, that yellow light sparkling with moisture and pollen, that made May believe that everything would be all right, that miracles could happen, that l
ove could heal everything.
She, Martin, and Kylie swam every day, and May thought of the waters of Lac Vert curing Martin’s eyes. She found her mother-in-law’s Bible, and she found the story of Jesus healing the blind man. She rehung Agnes’s cross-stitch picture on the living room wall. While Martin and Kylie played in the water, she sat gazing through the summer light, wishing this time could go on forever.
At night, Martin held her. They had made a silent pact to pretend nothing was happening. They had one week to see how the cortisone worked, and then they would return to Teddy and discuss further options. When Martin talked about the NHL, about recent player trades, who was coming back and who was leaving, what he believed about the Bruins’ prospects for another championship season, she listened patiently.
When he lay on his back, drawing plays in the air, telling her stories of how he had scored his best goals, won his hardest games, she laughed and nodded and tried to see the plays in her mind.
Genny and Ray invited them to a barbeque, but Martin told May to make excuses. She thought Genny was beginning to suspect something—they had hardly seen each other all summer. May found that she liked it that way; denial worked best when secrets were kept, when fears were left unspoken, when the world didn’t know what was going on. Only one other person knew—Tobin—but she was all the way down in Black Hall.
When Kylie came running in to tell May that Martin wanted to take her out fishing, to catch the big trout who lived in the hole near the island, her blood ran cold and denial ran out. Her husband couldn’t see ten yards in front of him; there was no way May was letting her daughter out on the lake alone with him.
“I’m coming too,” she said.
They packed a picnic lunch and started out before the sun had risen over the crest. May loved this time of day. The lake was sapphire blue, and the air was so clear she could see eagles circling a mile up. Kylie sat in the bow, staring into the water for fish swimming under the boat. Martin and May faced each other—her in the stern, him rowing in the center seat.
