On the Edge of Tomorrow, page 9
Around and around we go, a dizzying carousel to try and determine why my brain suddenly freaked out after all these years.
The doctor takes a few more notes on his clipboard and then puts his hairy hand on my shoulder. “Thank you, Ali. I know you don’t feel very well, but the information that you gave will help us,” he explains before stepping back and whispering something to a nearby nurse.
He then turns to my mom and describes the next step to get me better again. “I think I want to start her on 500 mg of Trilean. I see on your chart, left by Dr. Matthews, that she was on Keppra before, Well, Trilean is the generic brand but essentially does the same thing and is much less expensive,” he tells her.
My mom rises out of the chair by my bed and starts to shake her head.
“No, I don’t want her to be put on the generic brand. Dr. Matthews gave her the Keppra, and she was seizure free for five years. I want her to be put on the exact same medication as before,” she states strongly.
The doctor tilts his head and sighs. “Here, if you’ll please follow me to my office, Mrs. Rose, we can discuss it more there. I would like Ali to get some rest.” He eyes me like I’m a problem.
At first it looks like my mom is going to put up a fight but then she exhales, and I see her shoulders relax. Not in defeat but in preparation. She leans over and kisses my forehead.
“I’ll be right back, sweetie. Try to get some sleep,” she whispers and then steps away. Following Dr. Klein into the hallway, she glances over her shoulder at me one more time.
Finally, I have the room to myself, and I let out the pent-up breath I have been holding in since I awoke.
All of the progress that I made is gone, the clock resets to zero.
I can feel my eyes tearing up, but I bite my lip to keep them back. Crying won’t help anything right now.
I pull the covers up to my chin and snuggle down into the thick warmth of the multiple blankets. As I pull them up toward my nose, I catch the sterile scent of the hospital rather than the comforting scent of home. I wish I was in my own bed with my own blankets, not here in this white room with only a flimsy screen to give me privacy.
I try to picture how my night would have gone if my brain had just cooperated.
I would have probably watched the few episodes of Sons of Anarchy that I recorded, played with the dogs, ate some snacks, and then headed up to bed around eleven o’clock and waited for Amy to get back. Then tomorrow, we’d laugh about all the dumb, drunk guys who tried to hit on her, eat pumpkin spiced muffins and drink coffee over the news.
But no, I get to sleep here tonight, alone and away from my family.
I sniffle and allow myself a few minutes of self-pity, my eyes barely able to remain open. I want to wait for my mom to return and kiss me goodbye, but I’m exhausted and I know I won’t last much longer.
The machines that monitor my head and heart rate beep monotonously, creating an eerie lullaby. I find a comfortable place against the mattress and sigh. Only one last thought is in my mind before I drift off to sleep.
Why me?
3
BURDEN
THE NEXT MORNING, I awake to bright sunshine pouring in through the open curtains. My head feels a little better, but my tongue is definitely swollen.
I try to swallow dryly and look around for a glass of water. My search reveals nothing to quench my thirst. In the corner, I see my mom curled up in a very uncomfortable looking position in the small chair. My heart aches while I watch her even breathing, touched that she stayed the night with me.
Gently, I pull the covers away and shiver at the crisp chill that touches my exposed calves. I look down and place my socked feet on the cold tile. The happy yellow ducks dotting my left sock make me smile and the blue and green polka dots on the other relax me.
Usually I hate wearing two different colored socks, but that package of socks my dad had bought me long ago had no matching pair for either design—an issue that drove my OCD into overdrive. But right now, I am glad for the mix-match.
“Mom?” I whisper, softly tapping her arm.
She shifts and sighs, either lost in a dream or trying to hold onto the last few seconds of sleep before it’s impossible to return.
“Mom, it’s morning.” I try again.
“What? Ali, are you okay?” she answers, blinking and squinting against the unwelcomed bright light.
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m okay,” I whisper again, taking a few steps back to allow her room to get off the chair.
My mom stretches and squeezes her eyes tight one last time before opening them fully. Clumsily, she reaches for her glasses on the short table beside her and puts them on upside down before getting it right.
“Ah, good morning,” my mom says with a groan. “How did you sleep?”
“Fine,” I reply, looking around the room for my clothes. “Uneventful thankfully.”
My mom snorts and rises to her feet, stretching out all of the kinks in her back she endured during the night.
“Mom, you didn’t have to stay overnight with me…” I start to say and then stop, unsure what else to say. I don’t want to appear weak, but I love that she’s here.
She takes a step toward me and gently places her palm on my cheek. “Of course I did, Ali. You’re my baby. I’ll always stay with you even if that means twisting and turning in that blasted chair all night.” She laughs, lightening the mood.
“Thanks, Mom.” I smile and give her a big hug.
“You’re very welcome. Now, get dressed, and I’ll go see if I can find that doctor so we can go home,” she says, her eyes rolling upwards.
I think back to last night, wishing that I could have heard the conversation reserved for his office. I laugh just thinking about the tall doctor cowering under my mother’s glare.
She kisses my head once more and then slips out behind the blue curtain, and I hear the door open and close. Shaking my head, I turn back toward the bed to pull the covers up, the habit of always making the bed deeply ingrained in me.
As I pull back the covers to straighten them, I see my tattered and well-loved stuffed blue elephant half-hidden. My eyes widen, and I pull the elephant toward me and hold it to my chest. My mom must have asked Nick to go home and get it for me. I press my nose against the soft fur and inhale, catching the familiar scent of home that I had been missing.
Just then, I hear voices and footsteps in the hall and immediately place the stuffed animal on the chair my mom slept in and get back to work fixing the covers. Once the bed is made, I find a fresh stack of clothes sitting on another table and quickly get dressed. I’ll have to remember to thank Nick when I see him.
Running my fingers through my tangled hair, I shake out my arms and tie my hair back in a ponytail. A few minutes later, my mom returns with Dr. Klein, his face freshly shaved and free of stubble. I guess he didn’t have to sleep here last night.
“Good morning, Ali,” he greets. “Are you feeling better today?”
I nod and block the elephant from his view.
“Great! Well, I talked to your mom, and I gave her your prescription and hopefully you’ll do just as well on the Trilean as you did on the Keppra,” he says a little too enthusiastically.
Confused, I glance toward my mom and see her standing there with her arms crossed and her lips pressed into a thin line. Probably not the best time to ask her about it.
I nod again and look around the room. “So, can I go home now?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.
“Yes, you can,” Dr. Klein says, handing my mom the promised prescription. “Any pharmacy should carry that,” he says to her. “Well, take your medication and get lots of rest. No chores, school work, or physical activity for at least a week, okay?”
I swallow roughly, the end of my freedom and independence ebbing away.
“See you later, kiddo,” Dr. Klein finishes and then leaves.
What a strange thing to say. This is a hospital; I hope I don’t see him for a very long time.
“Come on, Ali. Let’s go,” my mom orders gently, picking up my dirty clothes and my elephant.
We walk out into the hall and mesh with the other few patients that stayed the night and all head toward the front of the building, but dictated by hospital policy, all patients must leave in a wheelchair.
Groaning inwardly, I look around from side to side and try to appear invisible as my mom grabs the chair from the wall. I hate sitting in wheelchairs, they’re so embarrassing.
Quietly, my mom unfolds the humiliation device and waves me forward.
I sit down quickly and wait for her to push me through the automatic front doors. Because she needs both hands, I have to hold onto my elephant too. Thankfully, the lobby isn’t too busy yet, and I’m able to escape with only a few spectators watching.
A nurse accompanies us out, and I instantly get out of the wheelchair and step closer to the curb while my mom thanks the nurse.
Nick pulls up in his Toyota Camry and my mom helps me into the back seat, guiding me in as if I’m made of china and can shatter at any moment. I know she’s concerned and just trying to help but it annoys me anyway.
Once we’re both inside, Nick turns around, a sad smile on his face. “Hey, how are you feeling?” he asks.
I pretend to still be tired and just grunt in response but then I remember he brought me fresh clothes and my special stuffie. “I’m all right. And thanks. I really appreciate what you brought me,” I say, feeling my cheeks burn now that he knows I like to sleep with a stuffed animal.
“Hey, no problem at all.” He smiles back at me in the rearview mirror. “I’m just glad you’re feeling better. Did you have any scary dreams about the nurses?”
“The nurses?” I repeat. “No, why would I?”
“Well, when you first got here, the nurses came running to help us. But they were all dressed in Halloween costumes. You looked freaked out.” Nick said with a chuckle, pausing for a moment at the stop sign.
Briefly, I remember fearing strangers running at me. There was a clown and something dressed in black but I can’t remember the details. “Well, I didn’t know what was going on and they looked weird!” I reply, laughing too. I look over at Nick and see his smiling profile, glad to have his light humor to cheer me up.
Whenever you have a seizure or something bad happens, everyone always stands over you like you’re a wounded animal about to die. It was nice to have Nick treating me the same as he did every day, like my annoying, big brother.
A few minutes later, we pull into the driveway. I get out and head to the house. My mom walks behind me just in case my brain wants to act up again and I fall and smack my head on the concrete sidewalk.
“Don’t walk so fast, Ali. Just wait for us,” my mom scolds, trying to carry all of my clothes and hers and the paperwork the doctor gave us.
“I’m not walking fast,” I mumble, but grudgingly slow down my pace. I step across the threshold into the kitchen where I’m greeted by our three mastiffs.
Emma bounces excitedly, careful not to jump up and take her front paws off the floor. All three tails wag furiously as they greet my mom, Nick, and I, their powerful noses sniffing wildly as they try to determine where we have been all night.
“Hey girls, hello,” my mom calls out, bending down and giving each of them a kiss. They have missed us and are not shy in letting us know.
Heavy footsteps, followed by lighter ones, pound down the stairs above and greet us as well. My dad walks in and yells at the dogs to settle down and let us through.
“How you doing, Ali?” Dad smiles, wrapping me in a hug. “Good to have you home.”
My two brothers, Michael and Patrick, wave to me and welcome me home too. But before I can say hi back, my mom’s voice rings out loudly. “All right, that’s enough everyone! Ali needs to lie down and rest, so no one bother her,” my mom commands and everyone immediately starts to find something else to do.
I sit down at the kitchen island and Nala, our largest dog, jumps up next to me, looking to be rubbed. I indulge her for a minute or so before my mom comes in and yells at her to get down.
“Now, Ali, I want you to rest. No school work for the next few days,” she says over the rim of her glasses.
A knot forms in my stomach as I think about falling behind. That’s one of the perks of home schooling though, I guess. Your teacher can’t yell at you for turning in work late if she tells you not to do it.
“Can I read?” I ask, picturing the thick book I’ve been working through about the Civil War. My mom shakes her head and hands me two blankets off a nearby chair in the next room.
“No reading, no school work, just relax, okay?” she tells me, knowing exactly how hard that is for me to do.
I nod and take the blanket from her and shuffle into the living room, plopping down on the couch. My brothers file in behind me and take a seat as well, one on the loveseat and the other in the recliner.
“Do you want me to put something on? I can turn on country music or a movie,” Mom offers quietly.
“Yeah, we just got Captain America: The Winter Soldier if you want to watch that, Ali?” Patrick says his eagerness almost tangible.
“Okay, sure, let’s watch that,” I reply, smiling at the excitement in Patrick’s eyes.
“I’ll put it in,” he volunteers and walks into the kitchen to grab it from the pile of movies they recently rented.
“Ali, can I get you anything? Do you want something to eat? Some yogurt or something?” Mom asks.
I press my swollen tongue against the back of my teeth and feel a sharp prick of pain. “Do we have any ice pops? My tongue still hurts from yesterday,” I say.
She nods and starts to turn. “Do you want a certain color?”
I shake my head no, ready to close my eyes. She disappears back to the kitchen and returns a moment later with a grape ice pop. I gratefully accept it and place it on my tongue.
Immediately, the cold pressure eases the pain, and I sit quietly for the next few minutes enjoying the flavor as Patrick gets the movie started.
“Okay, I need to go to the pharmacy and fill your prescription. Dad is going to be here and Nick and I will be right back, okay? You call me if you need me or if anything happens,” she tells the boys.
Yeah, if anything happens, meaning me having another seizure
All three of us nod as the Captain America theme song begins to play.
Mom smiles and then enters the kitchen where my dad and Nick are talking. I can’t hear what’s being said, but by my mom’s body language, I can tell that she’s angry about me having to take the generic brand of medicine.
“So, I take it we won’t be opening up the daycare today?” my dad says, grabbing a Powerade from the fridge.
“No,” my mom answers flatly. “Nick is taking me to Walgreens to fill this and then I’ll be back. Please watch her. Don’t let the boys leave her alone.” My dad nods and without another word, she and Nick leave.
I avert my attention back to the movie and listen as the boys discuss the differences between it and the comic. In three short bites, I finish the ice pop and ask Michael to get me another one.
For the next few hours, we sit quietly and watch as Captain America fights and saves his old friend who becomes the brainwashed villain. It’s actually pretty good as far as superhero movies go.
My mom returns sometime in the middle of the movie, mumbling angrily that they were late because Walgreens didn’t carry the medicine and they had to drive all the way out to Walmart to pick it up. She counts out the appropriate dosage and gives it to me before setting the rest of her bags down.
With a wince, I swallow the few pills and take a sip of my Sprite as Patrick cues up the next movie, Maleficent.
“Nick and Jenny are coming over to watch this one so guys don’t start it until they get here,” Dad instructs while he and mom go back out into the other room.
Patrick nods and picks up his Nintendo DS instead while Michael watches something funny on the computer.
“Michael, did you feed the cats yet?” Mom’s voice rings out.
His eyes go wide. Michael stops what he’s watching and pushes back in the chair, eager to do his chore before Mom can ground him. I look over at Patrick and smile. Michael is always procrastinating.
While we wait for Nick and Jenny to arrive, I close my eyes and pretend there’s nothing wrong with me. Pretend that I’m just tired from a late night hanging out with friends rather than a night filled with giant, blank gaps and hundreds of questions.
Sleep starts to make my eyes heavy again and from far away I hear the dogs bark to signal that Nick and Jenny are here.
I’m almost asleep when I hear a loud thump from the side of the room. My eyes flutter open, and I see Patrick looking down at the floor where a large book dropped off the table.
A chorus of stampeding feet rumble in the other room and everyone, including the dogs, rush in.
“Ali, are you okay?” my mom cries, her eyes frantically glancing around the room for any sign that I fell or hit my head.
“I’m sorry,” Patrick starts to say, his high voice breaking as our parents glare at him. “I was trying to get to the bookshelf, but I knocked the table and it fell.” He points to the large encyclopedia.
My family lets out a collective sigh. Everyone’s relieved that they won’t have to spend another night running back and forth from the hospital.
“Pick it up.” My dad points to Patrick and then retreats to the kitchen as Nick and Jenny come around with Michael.
My cheeks burn red as I feel multiple pairs of eyes still on me. When I look up, I see Jenny for the first time since I went to the hospital.
Her bright blue eyes are hesitant, guarded, staring at me like I might shatter into a thousand pieces at any second. I look back down at the worn blanket cocooning me, but I can still feel the weight of her stare as she searches my face for the mark the seizure left on me.
I want to say something, tell her that I’m no different than I was two days ago but my words get stuck in my throat, and I keep my eyes down.
