Star player Janine leads her hockey team to victory at the provincial championships. But on the way home from the game, a car accident leaves her paralyzed from the waist down. Her best friend and teammate, Rowena, urges Janine to look into sledge hockey. Adapting to her new life, Janine meets frustration at every turn. Soon Janine begins to appreciate her new sport. Her experiences lead her to speak up about rights for the disabled, taking her cause all the way to the professional sports arena. She might be a sledge hockey rookie, but she knows she's up for any challenge.
Based on real-life experience and research, this story tracks the emotional and physical challenges of first dealing with disability.
Star player Janine leads her hockey team to victory at the provincial championships. But on the way home from the game, a car accident leaves her paralyzed from the waist down. Her best friend and teammate, Rowena, urges Janine to look into sledge hockey. Adapting to her new life, Janine meets frustration at every turn. Soon Janine begins to appreciate her new sport. Her experiences lead her to speak up about rights for the disabled, taking her cause all the way to the professional sports arena. She might be a sledge hockey rookie, but she knows she's up for any challenge.
Based on real-life experience and research, this story tracks the emotional and physical challenges of first dealing with disability.
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Overview
Star player Janine leads her hockey team to victory at the provincial championships. But on the way home from the game, a car accident leaves her paralyzed from the waist down. Her best friend and teammate, Rowena, urges Janine to look into sledge hockey. Adapting to her new life, Janine meets frustration at every turn. Soon Janine begins to appreciate her new sport. Her experiences lead her to speak up about rights for the disabled, taking her cause all the way to the professional sports arena. She might be a sledge hockey rookie, but she knows she's up for any challenge.
Based on real-life experience and research, this story tracks the emotional and physical challenges of first dealing with disability.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781459412217 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | James Lorimer & Company Ltd., Publishers |
| Publication date: | 08/15/2017 |
| Series: | Lorimer Sports Stories Series |
| Sold by: | De Marque |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 128 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
| Age Range: | 7 - 8 Years |
About the Author
STEVEN SANDOR is an award winning magazine editor, author and sports broadcaster. He edits Avenue Magazine in Edmonton. He has written the five Lorimer Sports Stories novels Called Up, Stick Pick, Trolled, Replay, and Playing for Keeps, and the teen novels Crack Coach and Spin Out. He lives in Edmonton, Alberta.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
The Overtime Winner
Janine streaks down the ice. Her skates make a shush-shush sound as she skates across the blue line.
A defender tries to cut her off. Janine passes the puck to her best friend, Rowena Khan, who is rushing down the left wing.
Excuse me, Miss? Can you hear me? Miss? She's not responsive.
Janine doesn't stop skating. She goes toward the net. She keeps her stick on the ice. She feels in her gut that Rowena is going to send her a return pass.
We have to cut her free. She's pinned. Everyone, clear!
Rowena stops at the half-boards. She fires a low, crisp pass toward the crease. Her skates flash as she stops in front of the net. She reaches her stick out and feels the puck hit the blade.
We have her free! Now, easy, easy ... get her onto the stretcher. Keep that spine straight! The helicopter is three minutes away.
With a quick flick of the wrists, Janine whips her stick forward. The puck rockets into the top corner of the net and the red goal light comes on. Janine raises her stick in the air. Then she is knocked to the ice, not by an opponent, but by her teammates. They pile on her in celebration.
Miss, can you hear us? Can you? We're going to be airlifting you to University Hospital in Edmonton. I've got a pulse of 110. She's breathing, but she's not responsive.
Janine and her teammates line up on their blue line. The tournament convener shakes Coach Sibierski's hand. Next, it's Janine's turn.
"Nice winning goal, Captain," the convener says. He places a shiny gold medal around Janine's neck. And then he says at the top of his lungs, "Our tournament champions, the Edmonton Ice Devils!"
The Ice Devils bang their sticks on the ice.
We have to get her to the OR. Are we prepped? Yes, the driver was taken to emergency. He's conscious. I don't have the status on the other passenger. I think it was her mother. Keep the father informed of our progress.
Janine and her teammates cheer loudly in their dressing room. The trophy stands in the middle of the room. Crossed golden hockey sticks sit atop a silver globe. Janine picks up the trophy and kisses it.
There's severe damage below the T6 vertebra. I don't know how much we can do. Let's clean up the wound. We'll see how much movement she has once we get her to recovery. Let's hope for the best.
Janine gets into the back seat of the SUV. She waves goodbye to her teammates in the parking lot.
Her dad pulls out of the Westlock Arena's parking lot. They drive back to Edmonton, south on Highway 44.
"What a game!" Janine's dad says. "I got that entire scoring play on my phone! Maybe I'll write an article about it for tomorrow's Sports section."
Her mom looks back at Janine from the front seat. "Wow. I mean, wow. Overtime winner! I was so, so nervous."
"That was more exciting than any pro game I've ever covered," says Janine's dad.
"Okay, Dad," Janine's eyes roll.
Headlights appear ahead of them and then disappear. Cars zip by on the two-lane highway. And, then, two sets of headlights loom in front of them. One is off in the other lane, and one is directly in the path of their SUV.
Mr. and Mrs. Burnett? Your daughter is waking up. Are you okay? We're calling for Dr. Ali right now.
* * *
Janine's eyes fluttered open. She heard beeping noises from the machine next to her bed. On the screen was a 79 next to a flashing heart symbol. Underneath, there was a display that read Oxygen: 94%. It changed to 95. Then back to 94.
There were tubes coming out of Janine's right arm, which was wrapped in white tape. Stitches went from her left elbow almost down to her wrist. Her body felt tingly, as if her legs and arms had been asleep.
A nurse in a green gown stood next to the bed. Janine looked toward the window and saw her dad sitting in a chair. His head was bandaged. His eyes were red and swollen. Next to him was her mom. She sat in a wheelchair. Bandages covered almost half of her face. Tubes ran from an IV drip into her arm.
"Dad? Mom?" Janine tried to say. But it came out as a hoarse whisper. All she could get out was a barely audible, "aaah, ommm."
Mr. Burnett pushed himself out of his chair with great effort. He was in a gown and had a hospital ID bracelet on his wrist. He shuffled toward Janine until he was close enough to take her left hand.
"I am so, so sorry," he said.
Janine's mom was silent. The one eye that Janine could see was yellow.
"Mom is sedated," her dad said. "She's in a lot of pain. But we thought it was important for her to be here with you."
"Pain?" Janine said. "Is she going to be okay?"
"The doctors say she'll be fine." Janine could tell by her dad's face that he wasn't telling her the truth. "It will be a long road back, though."
A doctor in a white coat walked into the room.
"Miss Burnett? Awake? How are you feeling?"
"Excuse me?" Janine said. "I mean, we were just driving home a minute ago, from the game." The doctor gave Janine's parents a long, serious look. Then, he whispered something into the nurse's ear.
"Janine," her dad said. "We were in an accident. A week ago."
A week? Janine thought. I just got into the car a few minutes ago! We just won the tournament!
The doctor lifted the sheet covering Janine's legs. He got a small silver instrument out of his pocket. At the end of a long handle was a wheel covered in small picks. He rolled the picked wheel against her right leg, then her left leg.
"Do you feel anything?"
"No, just a tingling in my legs."
The doctor spoke quickly to the nurse. Janine heard "spine," "vertebra," "compression" and "damage."
She looked back toward her dad. His face was covered by his right hand. Tears streamed through his fingers.
"Dad? What's wrong? Why am I here?"
CHAPTER 2Rehab
Janine wriggled. It was a struggle to get out of her bed and settle into her wheelchair. She looked at the calendar on the bedside dresser that showed how long she'd been in the hospital. It had a month's worth of Xs drawn through the boxes. On the other side, another month's worth of Xs.
As soon as Janine began moving, waves of nausea returned. The doctors had told her that was normal for anyone who had suffered a severe spinal injury. They said it would go away after a couple of months.
It's been a couple of months now, right? she thought.
She had no feeling in her legs. So, when she moved, her brain responded with hey, why do our eyes tell me we're moving when our legs aren't telling me anything? The response to the mixed messages was the sick feeling. It was like feeling carsick when she read a comic book in the back seat of a moving car.
Janine wheeled herself to the common room. It was where patients at the Glenrose Rehabilitation Hospital ate, met with friends and played games.
Janine saw Rowena walk into the common area and sit at a table near the corner. Janine rolled herself toward her best friend.
"Hi," Rowena said. She pushed a pink envelope and a small, gift-wrapped box across the table.
"I told you this wasn't a good idea," said Janine. She pushed the envelope and box away. She didn't make eye contact with Rowena.
"Why? It's been a few weeks. I missed you. I wanted to see you earlier. But you kept saying no, no, no ..."
"And I'll keep saying no!" Janine snapped. "I don't need my friends throwing me a pity party. Just give me the chance to get better. And then we can hang out like old times."
"Better?" Rowena asked. Her eyebrows curled up. "So, what does that, um ... mean? I thought you couldn't get better. Okay, I mean, how do I say this ...?"
"That's just it," Janine said. "I knew you'd come here and not know how to talk to me."
"I'm trying, Janine."
Janine rolled slightly back, then forward again, not looking up. "What I'm saying is that when I get better we'll all be back to normal. There's no need for you to be here right now. I don't want you to think of me sitting here in the hospital."
"So, you can get better?" Rowena almost smiled for half a second. "Is that what the doctors say?"
"No, the doctors, so far ... well, they say this is permanent. But my parents are going to ask for more opinions. I'm not giving up hope. The accident wasn't all that long ago, was it? Maybe I can heal. Maybe there's a doctor out there who can help me so I can walk and skate again."
"I guess, sure. Maybe?" Rowena said quietly.
Janine brought her fist down on the table. "What I'm sure of is that you're not helping. At all."
Rowena rose from her chair. "Look, I can tell you're not in the mood to talk. But, like it or not, I'm going to come here again. And again. I've been your best friend since kindergarten. No accident is going to change that."
As Rowena walked away, Janine looked down at her smartphone. There was a message on the home screen.
Dad: Got some good news! Talk to you later.
Good news, thought Janine. Like, when does that ever happen? The nerve of Rowena. She came here even though I asked her not to.
Janine looked around the common area. There were other patients in wheelchairs. They were young, old, girls, boys, men, women. In the corner was Bob. She heard he'd lost a leg in an accident on a worksite in Fort McMurray. There was Steve, who walked with canes.
Despite feeling sick, Janine thought about wheeling into the kitchen to get something to eat. It was like she was really hungry, but wanted to throw up at the same time. She decided to wheel back to her room.
On the desk next to Janine's bed was a tablet. She turned it on and opened the "Patient Diary" file.
There were more than fifty entries. As she had drifted in and out of awareness after the accident, nurses had made reports. Janine and her parents were able to look back and see how she recovered. There were medical reports. There were bits about "broken vertebrae" and "permanent damage" and "quality of life."
Now, Janine was making entries as well.
PATIENT DIARY:
Today, my best friend Rowena came to visit, even though I told her not to. She brought me a stupid gift. In the box is a championship medal from the team. Like I'd want that. There are two kinds of visits:
A visit from someone filled with bits where no one knows what to say. Super uncomfortable! (Rowena's visit)
The tragedy visit. Like when Grandma June wouldn't stop crying and crying and crying. She talked about things like "God's plan" and how I'd always need someone to look after me. Really good for the self-esteem!
Only dad tries to be normal. But I can tell by the crappy beard and his clothes all looking too big that he's pretty messed up about me and mom. But he texted me that he has good news. So, there's that.
Janine was in her bed, reading, when her dad walked in.
"Hey, there, Champ," he smiled. "What's that?" "Some stupid book I have to write an essay about," she said.
"I thought you liked to read." He pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down.
"I do," Janine rolled her eyes. "But not this stupid book."
"And what makes it so stupid?" Her dad eyed the cover. "That's a Canadian classic, you know."
"Oh, come on. I'm a hundred pages in and nothing has happened."
"Then you won't mind putting it down."
Janine slid in the bookmark, closed the book and tossed it onto the table next to the bed.
"Okay, here's the news." Her dad leaned forward, as if he was about to tell her a secret. "First, your mother is doing well. She walked more today than she has, well, since the accident. She's got the cane and she still needs to rest a bit. But the doctors say she's doing well. She pushed herself."
"That's why she's not here?"
"Yup," her dad nodded. "She's at home resting and, well, doing what she can to get the house ready."
"Ready?"
"I've been talking to Dr. Wells. And he's pleased with your progress. He wants to keep seeing you, but you don't need to be here 24-7. You can come home."
"Home?" Janine said. "But I'm not better yet."
"Well, the doctor says you're doing really well. You can get around fine. Your eating habits are improving. You're ..."
"But that's not getting better, is it?" Janine snapped. "Dad, you make me so mad sometimes! Getting better is when I can roll out of my bed ... wait, bad choice of words. Better is when I can walk to the bathroom! When I can walk to school!"
"Janine, Dr. Wells and Dr. Ali have talked to us about moving on. It is time for you to go back to school, not just do your schoolwork from a hospital bed."
"I'm not better, dad," said Janine. "Please don't make me go until I am."
CHAPTER 3Coming Home
Janine's dad steered the minivan into the driveway. Janine looked out the window, bug-eyed.
"What have you done to the house?" she asked.
There used to be three steps that led from the driveway to the front door. Now, a ramp snaked its way onto the front lawn and up to the door.
"I don't believe it," Janine said. "First you pick me up in this grandpa van. I mean, I thought you'd get something better with the insurance money. And now, the house ..."
"Wait until you get inside," her dad said. He walked around to the van's sliding side door. Once the door was open, a ramp lowered. Janine unlocked the anchor that secured her wheelchair to the floor of the van. Then she rolled down. She moved off the driveway and onto the walkway that led to her house, working her way up the incline. She felt her dad's hands on the wheelchair handles, so she put up her hand.
"Don't, Dad. I need to do this myself."
The door was new, with the handle placed lower than it had been. The doorway was wider.
"This should make it easier for you," her dad said.
"Seems to me you went to a lot of expense," Janine smiled. "Are we gonna keep the house like this when I get better? Everything is going to seem too wide or low. I'll have to crouch to open the door."
Her dad didn't reply. He just turned a key in the lock and opened the door.
Inside were more changes. The beat-up living room carpet was gone. Polished hardwood shone in its place.
"Dad, was the accident the thing that finally convinced you and mom to get rid of that brown carpet? I guess every cloud does have a silver lining."
"Hi, Janine," her mom's voice called from the dining room. Her mom sat at the table. A cane was placed across her lap. On the table were piles of papers and newspaper clippings and an open laptop.
Should I tell Mom how much older she looks, now? Janine wondered. I mean, she had a few grey hairs on her head before the accident. But now she's got a full head of grey. Wow. I can see how much she looks like Grandma June, now.
"We have a cake in the fridge." Janine's mom turned to look at her daughter. "Sorry, I lost track of the time! I've been busy writing letters to MPs and MLAs and the Crown Prosecutor."
"I think they all are pretty caught up on the case," said Janine. "I mean, we were front-page news for awhile. I could Google 'accident' and 'Edmonton' and we were, like, the top ten hits."
Janine's comeback didn't stop her mom. She started talking about the last thing her daughter wanted to hear — the accident. Janine tried to tune it out. She tried to think about any thing else. What kind of cake is in the fridge? Chocolate? Does it have cherry filling?
"He was on his cell phone," her mom said.
Janine tried to think of every player who was on Canada's 2012 Olympic gold medal team.
Her mom said, "we need better laws" and "victim-impact statement." Janine thought about how she'd rather have Dr. Ali dragging the picked wheel all over her legs.
Finally, her mom's voice stopped.
"Okay, great!" Janine said.
"Great? Great?!" her mom cried. "Janine Burnett, have you heard a word I've said?"
"Yeah, about the victim needing to have rights and laws against cell phones ..."
"That victim is you! Now that you're home, you need to meet with the Crown Prosecutor. She's going to collect a victim-impact statement from you. You can read it in court. Or have it read for you."
"Okay," Janine's dad said, throwing up his hands. "I think we can give our daughter a bit of time, now. She's got a lot to process."
"We're also going to need to talk about getting you to school, and your dad getting back to work." Janine's mom tapped her fingernails against the metal shaft of her cane. It was like she was trying to send a coded message.
"School? Work?" Janine asked. It was all coming so fast. How long had she been in the house? Five minutes?
"Look, Janine," her dad said as he sat at the table across from her mom. "I wasn't going to talk about this until after the cake. But your mom has been edgy. A reporter like me, well, sooner or later we will run out of money. I've exhausted all my leave days."
"And we're almost out of benefit money for this year," said her mom. "We spent almost all our savings renovating this house."
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Stick Pick"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Steven Sandor.
Excerpted by permission of James Lorimer & Company Ltd..
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