The first thing he heard when he came to was a series of muffled whispers outside the door. A heart monitor was next to his bed. Beep. Beep. Beep. The sound was in even increments in time with his breathing. He tried to push himself up but something was stopping him-- a hard cast that encased the entirety of his right arm from the bottom of his fingers to a few inches past his elbow.

"What the…?" His words came out slurred and his mouth felt like it was filled with sawdust.

Adam felt groggy and his vision was distorted. He could make out the blurry outlines of the machines that were sending considerable amounts of painkillers and sedatives pulsing through the tubes connected to his wrist and into his veins.

In the corner of the room there was a cushioned metal folding chair next to a small wooden end table. On the opposite side, just above the door, there was a medium-sized flat screen TV. The door swung open and a tall, bespectacled man in a crisp white lab coat with a stethoscope around his neck entered the room.

"Ah, Adam, I see you're awake," he boomed. Adam nodded and felt a sharp pain in his neck; he winced. "I'm Dr. Collins," the man continued. "You're pretty banged up, son. That was a bad accident. You're lucky to be alive." Adam's eyes widened.

"A… an accident?"

"You don't remember anything, do you?" Adam shook his head and felt the pain again. He was confused, but the doctor appeared unphased. "Doesn't surprise me. You hit your head on the steering wheel. Memory loss is common with head trauma patients. Your memories should start coming back within the week, but some may be lost forever." He finished the sentence with an ominous tone in his voice. Adam closed his eyes, now more confused than ever. He could remember his name, age, even his football number-- 26, but he had no idea what happened to him that caused him to be where he was now.

Football. The thought shot through his mind.

"Um… excuse me, Dr. Collins, will I… will I still be able to play football?" His voice shook as the words tumbled off his tongue. The doctor looked solemn as he took a deep breath.

"I thought it would be a while before I had to tell you this…" He trailed off.

"Doctor?"

"Son, your chances of a full recovery are slim. You're arm's broken in three places and we had to put in four screws earlier. In time, and with physical therapy, you should be able to use it again, but I highly doubt you'll ever have the same ability as you did before. I'm sorry." The hopeful expression drained from Adam's face. Dr. Collins met his gaze for a moment before he turned on his heel and walked toward the door. "Get some rest now, son," he said with the slightest hint of sympathy before he shut the heavy door behind him.