Blink Once

by Cylin Busby

  Behind my parents, the older man in the suit walked in—the famous doctor.

  “How soon could you perform the surgery?” Dad asked him.

  “I would have to consult my schedule, and of course, I will need to see his test results to be sure, but I think …”

  Mom cut him off. “If we decide to go that route.”

  “Yes, of course, you can consider other options, but I would encourage you to make a decision quickly. The longer he remains in this condition, the more damage that is being done.”

  “What does that mean?” Dad asked. “They told us that he was stabilized before we even moved him here.”

  “Yes, stabilized, in this condition. But his immune system will continue to attack the foreign object pressuring his spinal column, and that can cause further damage.”

  “We have to talk this over with West, too.” Mom looked over at me and moved to the side of the bed, taking my hand.

  “He’s seventeen, we’re making this decision for him,” Dad said. “If it’s up to me, he’s having the surgery.”

  “Well it isn’t up to you, it’s our decision,” Mom said forcefully. “As a family.” She squeezed my hand.

  The doctor took in a deep breath and looked uncomfortable. “Perhaps we should take this conversation outside?”

  My parents had always made an effort not to fight in front of me. Even when stuff got really bad with the divorce, they would always take it in another room, or Mom would say, “Let’s discuss this later,” and march off. I realized they were doing the same thing now—a fight was brewing, but they would have it in the hallway. I wished they would just keep talking here because I wanted to know if this doctor could fix me, and how fast. From what he was saying, I couldn’t really tell.

  A few minutes later, Mom came back in and leaned over me. “Well, I’ve got some really good news for you. The doctor says you can sit up now and be in a wheelchair, so we can go outside and go for walks and everything. Won’t that be nice?” Mom pushed the hair back from my forehead. I blinked yes, it would be nice to feel the sun on my face, to get outside. But being in a wheelchair didn’t sound like good news. That was his advice? It made me nervous. Once they got me in one, did that mean I would ever get out of it again? She wasn’t saying and I couldn’t ask. “And you’ll be in a different type of bed, you don’t need to be rotated around anymore. Just a regular bed.”

  Dad walked into the room behind her. “Okay, big guy, I’ve got a flight to catch.” He took my other hand. It was sort of nice, having both of my parents there at once, each holding one hand. It was like I was a little kid again. I didn’t expect to see both of my parents in the same place at the same time until graduation.

  Dad let go of my hand and glanced up at Mom. “Sorry about before; it’s just that I really can’t stand to see him like this a moment longer, it’s literally killing me. The risks are all worth it, you know that.”

  “I’m not going to discuss this in front of him. I’ll call you tonight,” she said firmly.

  Dad nodded, looking sad. “Fine. That will give us both a little time to think things over. I’ll talk to you then.” He reached over and touched the back of her hand, giving it a squeeze. She looked as surprised as I was. Dad, being nice to Mom? Things were serious.

  When the door closed behind him, Mom pulled over the chair and sat next to me. “I’m sure you heard enough to understand what’s going on. There’s a surgery Dr. Louis thinks could really help you. It’s risky. And to be honest with you, I’m not even over your accident yet. I’m so happy that you’re alive, I’m not sure I want to take another chance on losing you.” Tears were quietly flowing down her cheeks, but she didn’t let go of my hand to wipe them away. “All the doctors and nurses agree that you are young and so healthy and you have so much going for you, maybe the risks are not that great, considering … well, considering the alternative.” Mom sniffled. “No reason to get ahead of ourselves; he’ll call us tonight with the results of your MRI and we’ll know more.”

  There was a quick knock at the door, and Nurse Norris walked in. “How’s he doing? Okay after that big adventure this afternoon?” Her smile changed the whole room and I felt like everything was going to be okay.

  “He’s fine; not sure about me,” Mom said.

  Norris handed her the box of tissues. “Honey, it’s going to be okay, it really is.” She picked up my chart, then glanced at Mom again. “Go home and get yourself some rest. I’ve got things under control. You know he’s my favorite patient.”

  Mom let go of my hand and kissed my forehead. “You were a brave boy today. I’m proud of you.”

  I didn’t know what was so brave about lying in a tube for a few minutes, but if Mom wanted to say something nice, I was willing to hear it.

  She lingered in the door for a second until Nurse Norris said, “Go on now, beat the traffic. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She hummed as she leaned over me and checked my respirator tube. “Well, for once the X-ray tech did not screw things up too badly.” She straightened the IV tube from one arm, then put both of my arms under their straps. “This is the last night we’re rotating you; Doctor says you’re ready for range-of-motion work starting tomorrow. That’s exciting, huh?” She pulled my sheet up across my chest and folded it down carefully like she did every night. “I’ll try to see that you get the really pretty physical therapist, okay?” She gave me a quick wink. She turned the light down on her way out, leaving the room lit with the warm glow of the setting winter sun.

  Why would they start physical therapy now, before the surgery? That didn’t make any sense, unless my mom had decided she really didn’t want me to have the surgery. I wished I could have heard everything they were talking about in the hallway with the doctor, so that I could be part of the discussion. It was my body, and my life, after all.

  But maybe there was a way to find out what they had talked out after they left my room, even the stuff they didn’t want me to hear. There was one person I was sure had heard every word and probably couldn’t wait to tell me: Olivia.

  Chapter 8

  I’m riding to Allie’s house; I know this route, this sidewalk and street by heart. It’s two miles. The section of sidewalk where the giant oak trees have buckled the pavement is my favorite. Speed plus cracked pavement equals air: a simple equation. My backpack is heavy: history book, assigned reading, notebooks. Every time I get air, my backpack goes up—weightless—then slams back down onto my shoulders, pulling on my neck. It hurts a little, but I’d rather get jumps than worry about my backpack, so I keep going—faster, higher, harder.

  We’ve got work to do, and I know Allie will make sure we do it, but I want to wrap my arms around her and just lie there on her bed with her for a minute or two.

  Then I’m there, I’m on Allie’s bed, the light-green quilt, the pillow that smells like her hair. But she’s not next to me, I’m alone.

  “Allie?” Maybe she’s in the bathroom or something. I try to roll over and check the clock by her bed but I can’t. I’m strapped in. No, this isn’t real, I tell myself. This is a bad dream. I’m okay. The room is dark. The door opens and Nurse Norris comes in. Her face looks happy, but then suddenly changes. “What are you doing in here?” she says, looking at the other side of the bed. I turn my eyes and see the guy, the bad guy, the one who attacked that girl. He’s standing next to the bed. He smiles and I can see his teeth, snarled and stained. Suddenly, he lunges over my body and grabs Norris by the throat. She turns and tries to get away from him, pulling him with her. The weight of his body is across my legs, I can feel him crawling over me to get to her. He scrambles over me, and then he’s on top of her on the floor, punching her, and she’s screaming.

  “Look at you, ready to go this morning! I like your attitude,” chirped a woman with really short blond hair, standing next to my bed. “And let’s take the left leg again, in and up, in and up.” She bent my left leg at the knee, then extended it up straight. I could see the ro
ad rash still on my shins from the accident. I guess I hadn’t looked at my legs since I woke up. They looked terrible, dark brown scabs to the knee, like hamburger had been spread over my legs. This must be physical therapy. She put my leg back down, then picked up my left arm. “Now, let’s get to work on your upper body.”

  She was pretty in an older-lady sort of way: not as old as Mom but not young enough to be hot. If this was the pretty therapist that Norris promised me, I wondered what the other ones looked like.

  She pulled my arm up and around in circles and it sort of felt awesome. I couldn’t lift my arms so to have someone else do it was good. Her hands were soft and warm and she was holding me, guiding my arm. “That’s it, perfect, keep your arm straight now, don’t bend at the elbow, nice and straight. See? You just straightened it yourself, nice job!” I had sent a signal to my arm to be straight, like she said, but I wasn’t sure if it got there. Guess it did. “Other arm now,” she said, moving over to my other side and lifting that arm. “And out now,” she said, extending my arm toward the wall. “Controlled movements, as much as you can.” She leaned in and talked really loud, close to my ear. The problem is not my hearing, I wanted to tell her. The problem is everything else.

  As she moved my limbs around, the dream came back to me. Allie’s room, Nurse Norris and the guy. What did it mean? Why did I keep dreaming about this guy? Then I had a horrifying realization: What if I was seeing the future? What if I banged my head so badly in the accident that now I could see what was about to happen? I remembered a TV movie where that happened to someone. He was hit by lightning and got psychic powers. Did that mean that Nurse Norris or Allie was going to be attacked by this guy? What color hair did the girl have in the other dream, the one where he was hurting that girl? I couldn’t remember, couldn’t focus on anything in the dream but him.

  The therapist pulled the bed up into a sitting position really slowly. “We don’t want you to get light-headed.” When I was almost sitting up straight, I did feel a little queasy. Weird what will happen if you lie down for a few weeks.

  “We’ll stay like this for a couple of minutes. This is part of your therapy. I know that sounds funny, but it’s going to take you some practice to get used to sitting up again.” She raised the bed a little higher, so that I was sitting straight up. I realized this wasn’t the bed I was in before. Sometime in the night, or early this morning, they had moved me into a different bed, one without the straps.

  “And there you go. You’re going to stay just like this for about ten minutes. I’m going to get your chair now, and we’re going for a walk, okay?” She kept talking really loud like I was a little kid. I blinked yes at her and she left to get the chair.

  She hadn’t been gone a few moments when Olivia opened the accordion wall between our rooms. “Pssssst, is your lady friend gone?” She giggled, then stopped suddenly. “Geez, you’re sitting up? Seriously?” She walked into the room, taking a quick look around and pulling her IV stand in behind her when she saw the coast was clear. “New bed, too? So, who is this miracle worker and what exactly did she do to you, huh?” She plopped into the chair and pulled it over. “Tell me everything!” She put her hand under her chin like she was really waiting for me to tell her something entertaining. I had missed her yesterday. It was just nice to see her face.

  “Blink once if physical therapy is as boring as it sounds,” she said, pulling her knees up under her robe and curling into the chair.

  I blinked once. “More boring than a sponge bath?”

  I blinked once, then twice. Undecided. I sort of liked the sponge bath.

  “We have a lot of catching up to do, mister. I’m dying to hear what your doctor said, good news?” she whispered.

  Shit, did that mean she hadn’t heard everything the doctor and my parents had said in the hallway yesterday? I had been counting on her filling in the blanks for me.

  “I was trying my best to ‘accidentally’ go down the hall when the specialist was here, but I couldn’t manage it. Believe it or not, my mom showed up yesterday, right when they took you for your MRI. She wanted to hang out forever; she’s going on a cruise so she’ll be gone for two weeks.” Olivia shrugged. “Bad timing, I missed the whole thing. So fill me in, good news? Blink once.”

  I blinked once, because I did consider it good news. I think it was.

  “And did that chick just say she was going to get you a wheelchair?”

  I blinked once.

  “Wow, okay.” Olivia was smiling and nodding her head, but she didn’t look especially happy.

  “Well, at least now I can take you on walks. We can go to the game room, watch TV. We’ll be buddies!” she said jokingly. “Seriously, it will be fun. I’ll make it fun. And before you know it, you’ll be getting out of here.” She stood up and looked down, busying herself with her IV pole so I couldn’t see her face.

  So that’s what was bothering her. It was looking like I was getting better, getting out. The thought of being in this hospital for weeks—or months—like Olivia made my stomach turn. I did want to get out of here; I didn’t look forward to playing UNO and watching TV with other sick kids. That’s how Olivia and I were totally different. Sometimes it almost seemed like Olivia liked it here, even though she said she didn’t.

  Things suddenly felt awkward between us, like there was a secret we weren’t talking about. “Well, have a nice walk with your lady friend.” Olivia gave me a weak smile. “Guess I’ll catch you later, unless you’re too fast for me.” She pointed at me, quick draw with her fingers like a gun, then dropped her hand to her side. She stood like that, looking at me like she was thinking about something for a moment before she went back into her room and closed the partition softly. I had to see Olivia’s unhappiness as a good thing. If she thought this was a step toward getting out of here, maybe it was. Maybe she knew more than she was saying.

  The physical therapist walked back in with a male orderly I’d seen before, the guy with the red hair. “He looks good, right? He’s been sitting for ten minutes, and his color is excellent. I think we can do this today,” she said, taking my arms into her hands.

  “Whatever you say,” he murmured, and moved the chair over to the end of the bed. He put his foot near the back tire, putting the brakes on, before he lowered the arm rests on both sides.

  “I’m Kim,” she said loudly, looking into my face. “You remember me, right? I’m your physical therapist.” God, she must really think I was totally gone upstairs; she was just in here a few minutes ago. I blinked yes with emphasis. “Okay, West, we’re going to move you into the chair now.” She hit a pedal by the bed and the bottom dropped away, leaving my feet dangling down so I was sitting up like I was in a chair.

  The orderly moved over to one side of me and tucked his hand under my thigh, while Kim did the same on the other side. They each had one hand on my back. “On my count,” the guy said, “one, two, and—” They lifted me and with a quick turn to the side, they were able to put me into the chair easily. The guy snapped up the side arm rails and placed my hands into my lap. “Let me know when you need help getting him back in.” The guy motioned to the bed with his head, then left the room.

  Kim moved my IV bag to a pole on the chair and unhooked my respirator tube from the large machine next to the bed, quickly plugging it into something behind the chair. “Portable ventilator,” she said, coming back around in front of me, “seems to all be working great. Your color looks good, you okay?” She looked into my face with such intensity, I blinked yes, and I really did. This felt just like sitting up in the bed, except I was lower to the ground. It did seem weird to finally be out of the bed, to be mobile. Kim crouched in front of the chair and placed my feet into the footrests on either side so they were up off the floor. I could feel her hands on my feet, on my lower leg, but it felt like I was wearing ski pants and boots, like something thick was in the way, even though I knew there wasn’t. I knew my legs were bare, my feet too.

  It was good to be loo
king out the door of my room from a different angle for the first time. This was a step in the right direction. Olivia was right to be worried; I was getting out of here. It was going to happen. I was done lying down, trapped on a bed, and I’d only been here a few weeks.

  “Let’s do this,” Kim said, standing behind the chair and clicking the brake off. Even though I knew she couldn’t see my face, I blinked yes—I was ready to go.

  Chapter 9

  I walk into Olivia’s room and see that it’s just like mine—a mirror image, except that she has a pile of magazines next to her bed and a small glass vase with pink roses. She’s sitting on the bed with her back to me. Her head is down. She turns when she hears me, and her face lights up. “Hey,” she says softly. She holds her hand out to me. I take it, and sit down next to her.

  “Do you know what I love about you?” she says, looking out the window. “We don’t have to talk and I know what you’re thinking. You don’t have to say a word.” She stops to look at me. Her dark eyes lock on mine for a second, long enough to make my chest clench up. “I can tell what you’re thinking right now.” She smiles and looks down. “And the fact that you don’t have to say it makes it true, makes it more real than anything. I know you feel it, too.” Her hand comes up to my face, she runs her thumb over my lips and whispers my name. “West, West …”

  “West,” Olivia was whispering so hard she was practically hissing. “West, can I come in?” She didn’t wait for an answer, not that I could give her one, just slid the divider open and walked in. I noticed she didn’t have her IV stand. “So that Kim girl wore you out, huh?” she whispered. “Remember, she was the one pushing you, not the other way around.” She pulled a chair close to the bed and curled up on the seat. “Oh, I saw you, cruising by my room, poppin’ wheelies. A word of advice: no one likes a show-off.” She smiled but I felt like something was wrong. Were we just kissing? Was I touching her? Was she touching me? It was so dark in my room. I looked to the clock and saw that it was close to three in the morning.