“They were, but not because they were afraid I wouldn’t wake up. It was a medically induced coma. I broke sixteen bones, one of my legs was shattered, and the other wasn’t much better. My hand was basically reduced to pulp, all the skin shredded like hamburger meat. I lost the two fingers—” I raised my right hand up to wiggle it. “And I was lucky not to lose more. My hand was nearly severed across the palm. And this was all besides the biggest concern—that I’d taken a terrible blow to the head. By the time I got to the hospital, I’d completely lost consciousness. They put me under, and I went into surgery right away to relievethe pressure in my brain. According to my parents, it was touch and go for three days, and I even flatlined once on the table. While I was in the coma, I had multiple surgeries. Pins in my leg, skin grafts. I still have a little soft spot where they had to remove a piece of my skull.
“But what my parents were truly scared of was what might happen once the doctors brought me out of it. They spent those six weeks wondering if I would be the son they remembered. Would I have brain function? According to my mother, the doctors had been confident I wouldn’t be in a vegetative state, but they weren’t sure how severe the cognitive damage would be. Or how long-lasting.”
I relayed my disjointed recollection of waking up with aphasia, losing my words, unable to always speak coherently. How I couldn’t walk on my own for months. Countless hours spent working with speech therapists, occupational therapists, and physical therapists. Days and weeks with minimal progress, where my mother and father waited with haunted eyes, terrified my recovery had stalled.
“My parents had enough money to afford the specialists and legal help I needed. Besides making me square with the bike lady, they also fought for my right to start college with an aide. As my reading and writing skills returned, I needed less help, but they were there every step of the way, trying to make sure this wouldn’t be the end of my life.”Although they’d eventually over-corrected.
“I can’t believe you went through all that and I didn’t know.” James shook his head, genuinely upset with himself.
“It’s okay, bud. There’s nothing you could have done, anyway, other than feel sorry for me.” I smiled at him. “And believe me when I say you’re lucky you weren’t there for the years after when I had to figure out how to use my hand again. Who knew your pinky and ring fingers could be so important?All these things we take for granted—holding a steering wheel, going to the bathroom, putting on clothes—I had to relearn it all, especially with the injury being to my dominant side. Honestly, you dodged a bullet not having to watch me use a fork those first few months.” I chuckled.
“I guess it’s good you can laugh about it now.” Maureen came into the room, scooting past her sister to sit on the mattress next to me. She grabbed my scarred hand and clasped it between her own. “But I’m trying to wrap my mind around how awful it must have been to require doctors to put you in a coma.”
Marley and James glanced pointedly at where Maureen held my hand, but she didn’t seem to care.
Finally, James said, “It makes a lot more sense now why the doctors here were so concerned, even though they said your concussion was relatively minor. Thank god you could tell them your history. We wouldn’t have known.”
Frowning, I thought of the superficial friendships I’d made during the years after my accident, the business acquaintances and people I ran into at fundraisers. None of them knew the story. They’d all seen my hand, all pretended not to notice.
Accepting that level of isolation was a side effect of my accident. I hadn’t been able to make friends in college since no one wanted to be friends with the weird dude who needed a personal health aide with him in class until junior year. I’d shut down, gotten good at being alone, being assisted, needing less, demanding nothing.
Until, one day, something woke me up. Someone, rather. Made me want more. I ran my thumb along Maureen’s hand.
“I’m glad you know now, James,” I said. “Glad you all do. I’m thankful for your friendship, and that you’re letting me stay here.”
“Of course! You’re always welcome, even when you’re not recovering from an injury.” Marley patted my calf. “You’re family.”
I smiled as my eyelids grew heavy again, even as my mind felt remarkably unburdened. But I hadn’t completely fallen asleep when I heard Maureen whisper next to me.
“That’s right. You’re family.”
Her lips ghosted over my forehead.
I slept through the eveningand into the early morning.
Around five a.m., I felt completely lucid for the first time since my fall. With effort, I propped myself up against the pillows. Maureen must have heard me thumping against the wall because she came in to check on me.
“Sorry I disturbed you,” I said, trying not to ogle her in her silky tank top and pajama pants.
“No problem. I’m a light sleeper. Do you need anything?”
“My duffel?”
“It’s in my room,” she answered. “Since yours is so cramped. I can bring it in if you want. Did you want different pajamas or something?”
“I was hoping I could use my drawing stuff. I don’t think I’m up for playing on my phone or watching TV yet, but something analog sounds doable.”
“Sure. I noticed your sketch pads yesterday when I grabbed your boxers. I didn’t peek, but I really, really wanted to.”
“They’re nothing special.” I shrugged. “Just basic stuff. Mostly street scenes. I’ve been drawing more lately, but inspiration doesn’t always strike.”
“I’d still like to see, but since it’s ass o’clock in the morning, I’m going to go back to bed for an hour or two first if that’s okay. You’ll be alright?”
“Uh-huh. It’s nice to think clearly. I don’t mind waiting for the rest of the house to wake up.”
Maureen left and returned with my sketch pads and pencils, depositing them on the nightstand. She yawned and nodded, shoulders sagging as she backed sleepily out of the room. After she left, I hobbled to the bathroom. It felt good to do it myself—although I still peed sitting down as a precaution—but it was mildly disappointing there was no more excuse for Maureen to help me in the shower again.
I returned to the bedroom, and Bambi met me in the doorway. Once I’d gotten back under the covers and positioned myself against the wall, he laid down next to me on the bed, placing his snout on my knee. Not to be outdone, Oscar arrived a minute later with his favorite Elf on the Shelf stuffy in his mouth, tossing it onto the pillow like an offering.
