Brain Damage, page 10
part #2 of Prescription: Murder Series
Dr. Greenberg removes a folded piece of paper from his white coat pocket, and makes a notation on it. I feel bad for Jamie, because it sounds like he’s going to get another medicine. I don’t like taking medicines, and I have to take so many of them. That’s the one good part about still having the tube in my belly, because if I don’t feel like taking them in my mouth, the nurse can just put them down the tube.
Chapter 21
Three and a Half Months After
Today my occupational therapist Valerie is working with me on something called grooming. I am sitting up in bed, and there’s a tray table in front of me, with a small C-shaped tub of water. Valerie hands me a brush and I grab it with my right hand.
“Okay, Charly,” she says. “I want you to brush.”
I’m not wearing my helmet because I’m in bed, so I take the brush and I start running it through my hair, or what little is left of my hair. Valerie grabs my wrist and shakes her head.
“Charly,” she says. “Is that what you do with it?”
I take the brush and start running it over my eyebrows, which doesn’t seem to make Valerie any more pleased. Honestly, I have no idea what she wants me to do. I wish she’d be more specific.
Dr. Greenberg walks into the room, rubbing his hands together. I immediately look over at his tie. It has bats on it. I wonder if it’s Halloween.
“How is my star patient doing?” Dr. Greenberg asks.
“Well,” Valerie says, “she just tried brushing her hair and eyebrows with a toothbrush, so how do you think?”
“Maybe she thought it’s a travel-sized hairbrush?” Dr. Greenberg says, and winks at me.
I know that Valerie doesn’t seem to think I’m doing very well, and I like that Dr. Greenberg always seems to stick up for me. He always says that I’m his star patient. Although I’m beginning to think that I’m probably not.
“Are you getting anything out of her left arm?” Dr. Greenberg asks.
“Nothing.” Valerie shrugs. “See for yourself.”
Dr. Greenberg is right in front of me, but suddenly he disappears! Right into thin air. Maybe he went out the door at the other side of the room. I am certain he must be gone, but then I hear his voice say, “Charly, I’m over here, on your left. Look over here.”
I turn my head to the left and I still don’t see him. I turn a little more, then little more, then finally I can see the bats again on his tie.
“I see you!” I say.
Dr. Greenberg smiles down at me. “Now I want you to grab my hand with your hand.”
I reach over with my right hand and grasp his fingers. His hand feels very warm. I’ve always liked warm hands. There’s an expression that goes “cold hands, warm heart,” but that doesn’t make sense to me. Why would having cold hands mean that you have a warm heart? Warm hands, warm heart.
“No, Charly,” he laughs. “Not with that hand. With your other hand.”
Everyone is quiet, waiting for me to do what he wants me to do. But I don’t know how to do it. If I could, I would, believe me. He might as well tell me to wag my tail.
“I’ve seen her move the arm,” Valerie says, tucking a strand of her very short brown hair behind one ear. “But I don’t think she can do it voluntarily.”
Dr. Greenberg nods thoughtfully.
“Also,” Valerie adds, “the tone in her left arm is getting horrible. I can barely straighten out her elbow or open her fingers anymore. It’s getting harder and harder just to get her dressed.”
“Does she try to help you?” Dr. Greenberg asks.
“Sometimes,” Valerie says. “But honestly, it’s easier if she doesn’t. That arm is such a mess. She’d be better off if we just cut it off or something.”
Cut my arm off? Oh my God. I didn’t even realize that was a possibility.
I suck in a breath. “You’re going to cut off my arm?”
I really don’t think I want them to do that. Even though I can’t find my left arm, I’m glad that it’s still there. Of course, if they cut it off, would I even know?
“Of course we’re not going to cut off your arm,” Dr. Greenberg assures me, patting my right hand. “Valerie was just making a joke, but she shouldn’t make jokes like that.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
“Sorry,” Valerie mumbles. She folds her arms across her chest. “Anyway, dressing and bathing aren’t getting any easier. She’s still basically dependent for all her care. Who’s supposed to take care of her when she gets home?”
“We’ve still got some time to think about that,” Dr. Greenberg says. Although I start to wonder how much time I really have here. Where will I go after this? Sometimes it feels like I will be here forever, but I guess I won’t. This isn’t really a place people live. It’s a hospital. Nobody lives in the hospital.
“In the meantime,” he says, “maybe you can trial Charlotte with some electrical stimulation to her left arm. It might improve her awareness and help control the muscle tightness.”
Valerie mutters something that sort of sounds like “worth a shot.” Then Dr. Greenberg starts explaining to me about what electrical stimulation is, but it’s hard to listen to him when he’s all the way on my left side, and also my neck is starting to hurt from looking at him. So instead of listening, I just go to sleep.
_____
Today they are planning on electrocuting my arm. I’m not excited about it, to say the least.
Apparently, it’s a whole group of us who sit together and get electrocuted. It’s supposed to help my arm to move. I can’t even begin to imagine why electrocuting my arm would make it move. I really don’t want to do this. I told Valerie that, but as usual, she didn’t care.
There are four of us in the group, sitting around a table. There are boxes of equipment stacked in the middle. Angela, the woman from my Walking Group with the pretty blonde hair and smoky voice, is in the room with me. I feel relieved when I see her. Angela is always nice to me.
“Have you done this before?” I ask Angela.
“Sure,” she says.
I bite my lip. “What’s it like? I mean, what does it feel like?”
“Oh, you know, not that bad,” Angela says. “It’s sort of like when you’re a kid and you stick your fork into the light socket and you get a jolt? It’s like that. Makes your hair stand up just a bit.”
Oh my God.
Angela laughs her throaty laugh. “I’m just teasing you, Charly. It’s not bad at all, I promise.”
Angela volunteers to go first, to show me how it isn’t so bad. Valerie puts something on her arm that almost looks like the bionic arm that Iron Man has. I’m not into comic books or anything, but I remember Clark taking me to see that movie, Iron Man. I remember Iron Man used the device on his arm to shoot people and fly and stuff. I wonder if the device is going to give Angela special powers too. That would be pretty neat. I would like to be able to fly. It would be handy, considering I can’t walk.
Valerie flips a switch to turn the device on. I watch, expecting laser beams to shoot out of Angela’s arm. Instead, her fingers spread apart.
“Great,” Valerie says. “Now make a fist, Angela.”
Angela’s brow furrows in concentration and I see her fingers slowly start to close.
“Fantastic!” Valerie exclaims.
“No, it’s not,” I say. “You didn’t even shoot anybody with it.”
Angela and Valerie both look up at me. Angela laughs, but Valerie just shakes her head.
It’s my turn next. At least, it’s supposed to be. Instead, Valerie places another arm on the table in front of me and has me watch as she puts the device in place over the forearm and hand. Maybe she wants me to watch another demonstration. I’m not sure whose arm it is, because whomever it belongs to is to my left, but it looks like a woman’s arm. There isn’t much hair on it, it’s sort of swollen, and the fingers are curled up a bit.
“When is it going to be my turn?” I ask Valerie as she adjusts the device on the other person’s arm.
“It’s your turn now,” Valerie says.
“You mean I’m next?”
Valerie sighs impatiently. “I’m putting it on your arm right now, Charly.”
“This isn’t my arm,” I say, confused.
“Yes, it is,” Valerie says.
I look over at Angela. She still has the device on her arm, and her fingers are spreading apart. But she’s been listening in on the conversation, and she says, “It is your arm, Charly, sweetie.”
I frown, and look down at the arm again. Maybe it is mine. I follow it up, from the hands, to the elbow, to see if it is attached to my body. It’s really hard to see things on the left side. I keep trying to use Amy’s tricks, scan left, scan left.
Oh well. I guess if they tell me it’s my arm, it probably is.
Valerie flips on the control. Despite feeling skeptical about this being my arm, I definitely notice a weird sensation as soon as the control turns on. Sort of like a buzzing, like an insect is loose in my body. I watch the fingers on the arm spread apart.
“Okay, Charly,” Valerie says, “now I want you to try to make a fist.”
I try to make a fist. I really do. I try to send signals down from a brain to my fingers, but it’s very hard to make a fist with a hand that you can’t really feel, that you’re not even entirely sure belongs to you.
My fingers don’t budge.
Chapter 22
Three and a Half Months After
“Hey, Helmet Girl!”
The voice is coming from my right side. I ignore it, focusing instead on eating my dinner. I’m allowed to eat all solid foods now. Amy says that if I eat enough, they will remove the tube from my belly. I want that so badly. So I need to eat.
“Helmet Girl!”
I feel a ping against my helmet, and a pea drops down onto my dinner tray. I look up and I’m not surprised to see Jamie sitting to my right. He’s got another pea in his hand and looks like he’s about to hurl it at me. They really need to stop giving him peas.
Apparently, whatever new medication he’s been getting has perked him up again. He even did better in Walking Group this morning. He actually managed to walk with a walker, not holding onto the ballet bars, with two people supporting him. That’s progress for him. Actually, I’d be thrilled if I could do that.
I put down my fork to glare at him. “Don’t call me Helmet Girl. I don’t like it.”
I expect him to say something obnoxious, but instead he frowns. “I’m sorry,” he says. He hesitates. “Your name is Charly, right?”
“Right.”
“My name is Jamie,” he says.
I don’t know why he thinks I don’t know his name. I’ve seen him practically every day for the last two weeks or so. But strangely, there’s something really different about Jamie today. He’s calmer, less crazy—like his brain has healed itself overnight. Can that happen? I pick up my fork again and take a bite of mashed potatoes. “I know.”
“Oh,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure if… well, anyway, I won’t call you Helmet Girl again. Sorry about that.”
“Thank you.”
He looks down at his own food. He has cut-up pieces of meat and a lot of peas, none of which he’s made much progress with eating. Seriously, what is up with all the peas they keep giving him?
“You better eat,” I warn him. “Otherwise, you’ll never get the tube out of your belly.”
He makes a confused face and I almost laugh. He really is very cute. In a boy-next-door sort of way. “The what?”
“The tube in your belly,” I say again. “You have to eat at least half your meals before they’ll take it out.”
Jamie pushes his tray away from his body. Like me, he’s got an alarmed seat belt on his lap, to alert nurses if he attempts to get up. He doesn’t touch the belt though. Instead, he pulls up the hem of his worn T-shirt to reveal the thin layer of dark hair on his lean belly. He stares down at his abdomen. “I don’t think I have a tube,” he says.
He doesn’t. I guess he wasn’t hurt as badly as I was.
Jamie releases his T-shirt then gingerly touches the scar on his scalp. “I don’t have a helmet either,” he says.
“Lucky you.” I probably sound bitter. Oh well.
“No way,” he says. “The helmet is cool. It’s better than walking around with your head half shaved and a big red scar.”
“It’s really uncomfortable though,” I explain. “It’s hot, and the strap hurts my chin. Sometimes it falls over my eyes so I can’t see. And it makes my head feel really itchy and they won’t let me scratch.”
He squints at me. “Why do you need the helmet, anyway?”
“Because I got shot in the head,” I tell him. “And my skull was all cracked and broken, so they took it off. So I have to wear the helmet to protect my brain, because I don’t have a skull there anymore.”
Jamie’s brown eyes widen. “You don’t have a skull at all?”
“Nope,” I say.
Although I think actually that might be wrong. Maybe they only removed half. I think I might have some skull left. But the part that I can feel is definitely completely gone.
Jamie stares at me for another minute before he says, “Can I see?”
I glance around the hallway. There are a couple of other patients around, but I don’t see any nurses at the moment. They are probably all in patients’ rooms, giving medications or changing bedpans. Of course, it’s entirely possible they are right next to me and simply standing to my left.
But I have a feeling nobody is here. It’s always very quiet around dinnertime.
“Okay,” I agree.
I reach for the strap holding the helmet in place. It’s pretty hard to work with just my right hand. Actually, I think they’ve rigged it up to make it harder to remove one-handed because of all the times I’ve tried to get it off. Jamie watches me intently as I fiddle with it. Finally, I hear a satisfying snap, and my chin strap comes loose.
I slide the helmet off my head. Oh my God. What. A. Relief. It is like a thousand degrees under that helmet. And my head feels so light without it. I feel like I could just float away. That is, if I wasn’t seatbelted into a wheelchair.
I don’t know why I have to wear that stupid helmet in my wheelchair anyway. It’s not like I’m going to fall.
“Wow,” Jamie breathes.
“What does it look like?” I ask him.
He raises his eyebrows. “You haven’t seen it?”
I shake my head. “I’m always wearing the helmet when I’m looking at myself in the mirror.”
Jamie considers my question, stroking his chin thoughtfully. I noticed that he has at least a day’s worth of beard growth on his chin. I wonder who shaves him. Considering how shaky his hands are, I doubt he could do it himself.
“It looks like somebody took a bite out of your skull,” he says.
“A bite?” I crinkle up my nose. “A big bite or a small bite?”
Jamie grins. “Huge.”
I reach for the soft spot in my skull, trying to get a sense how big it is. Now that he mentioned it, the soft area seems massive. God, I probably look like a total freak.
Maybe that’s why they make me wear the helmet in the hall. So I don’t scare people.
Except Jamie doesn’t look scared. He looks fascinated. “So it’s just your brain under there?” he asks.
I nod.
He blinks a few times. “Can I feel it?”
I shrug. “Sure, why not?”
Jamie reaches out with his left hand. Usually his arms are all over the place like a drunk person, but I can tell he’s being really, really careful right now. Very gently, his fingers graze the soft spot on my head. I barely feel it, before I hear a nurse screaming out, “Charlotte! What are you doing?!”
Apparently, I shouldn’t have done that. The nurse makes a huge deal out of putting my helmet back on, and getting the charge nurse to come over to yell at me. Jamie is actually really nice about the whole thing, and keeps telling the nurse that it was his idea and he told me to do it, so they should yell at him. And they do.
He’s not so bad though. At least he isn’t going to call me “Helmet Girl” anymore.
Chapter 23
Four Months After
Walking Group is depressing.
Everyone in the group is doing better than me. Everyone. For some reason, I’m stuck. I can’t get past walking on the ballet bars. Everyone else seems like they can use a walker by now.
What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I do this?
I sit there feeling sorry for myself while Jamie takes his turn walking. If I’m being honest, Jamie isn’t doing so hot either. Steve is holding onto his pants and his shoulder, and even though Steve is a really big guy, I can tell it’s a lot of work for him. Jamie is maybe a couple of inches shorter and thinner, but it seems like a lot of work to catch him when he loses his balance to the right or the left. Which he does practically every fifteen seconds.
When he finishes his walk, Jamie collapses into his wheelchair next to me. He sighs and rubs his temples. “Well, that sucked,” he comments.
“Oh, stop it.” Angela rolls her eyes. “You’ve made a lot of progress just since I’ve been here.”
“Not enough,” Jamie mutters.
“Enough for what?” Angela presses him.
“Listen,” Jamie says, “you know I’ve got a kid I’ve got to take care of. I can’t do it if I’m like this.”
“Who’s taking care of him now?” Angela asks. “His mother?”
Jamie grimaces. “No, my parents are looking after him. His mother… she’s not really in the picture anymore. So I’m practically all he’s got.”
Angela looks like she’s mustering up some more inspiring words, but then Natalie comes to help her walk, breaking up the conversation. Jamie just sits there, staring into space as he absently scratches at the scar on his scalp. I bet it itches the same way mine does.
“What’s your son’s name?” I ask him.
Jamie looks at me in surprise. The distressed look fades from his eyes, and a smile touches his lips. “Sam.”
