Broken: A story of hope and forgiveness

by Kevin Mark Smith

  Chapter 11

  Understanding the Pain

  Jessie gently stroked the matted bangs that were once her firstborn’s blond, silky-smooth, flowing yet conservatively cropped locks as she stood at the side of the slightly elevated hospital bed and considered how helpless she was. You were always such a beautiful boy, she thought, as she softly spoke soothing words to her struggling child, the only thing she knew to do, or could do, at the moment. “It’ll be okay,” she whispered. “Mommy’s here to take care of you.”

  The Johnson family army had arrived at the hospital about two hours earlier, and the “troops” were dispersed on their special assignments. Nancy was in the cafeteria getting coffee and pastries for the girls—the timing of the news had given them no time for brunch. Max, Charles, and Nolan had left the hospital to find hotel rooms for the family to sleep in that night and possibly longer, as well as find a quieter, less distracting place for the immediate purpose of Charles making telephone calls to the law enforcement authorities in Darkwell. The plan was to make arrangements for the boys to travel to Darkwell on Monday so Charles could get some answers to the cause of their recent tragedy in the event that no substantial answers were gleaned over the telephone.

  “Cops won’t tell you squat long distance,” Charles had remarked to Max and Nolan as he drove them to a nearby Holiday Inn. He had tried to use his lawyer credentials to pry more information from the detective over the telephone earlier in the day, but that only made the detective clam up even more. The only thing it did was confirm the old truism he’d shared with them on the drive to the hotel. Long-distance, telephonic investigations suck. It was even more applicable to their situation. The local police department was well aware of Charles’s reputation as a criminal defense attorney, and no one was about to make his task easier, even if he was—for once—on their side of the law.

  In the three hours that had passed since they received the news, Jessie had aged a good ten years. Her vibrant, youthful skin seemed more wrinkled than before, the once firm, olive brown complexion now interrupted by dark and slightly swollen pockets under her eyes. As she caught a glance of her weary face in the room’s wall mirror, she reflected, this is what nonstop crying will do to a mom’s looks. As Jessie stood by Robert’s side, she felt very alone and desperate for an answer to the most important question in her life: Will her baby boy ever wake up? She avoided the even more horrendous thought: he might actually die.

  In mid-thought, she didn’t notice the door open as Robert’s nurse, Kristen, walked in. “Can I get you anything?” she asked as she checked Robert’s IV to make sure the medication was flowing unabated.

  Startled, Jessie glanced up, looking disheveled and slightly perturbed. “No, thanks,” she said with a slight frown on her face. Now recovered from her initial surprise, she added, “When can we talk to the doctor?”

  When the shift ends and a more human doctor arrives, Kristin thought, catching her smirk and replacing it with a more compassionate, concerned expression as her nurse’s instinct reminded her that a patient’s mother was standing in front of her praying for hope. Prayer is good. Regrettably, Kristen knew what would happen if Blankenship talked to the grieving mom. He would also notice the praying, and then roll his eyes at the very moment the mom looked up to him pleadingly for an answer to the question. Knowing him as she did, she actually believed the man timed his body language and comments to coincide to the moment when the recipient or observer would be the most offended. The mom would feel like just another mom of a total stranger on a chart. Kristen had seen it happen that way before; she had no reason to believe Blankenship had changed his stripes, regardless of her newest revelation as to the source of his pain. More questions would result, and there would be far less hope at the end of the consult than before. How can I delay for just a little while longer? She considered.

  Kristen looked at her watch, which was on her right wrist instead of the usual left, making it easier for her to perform her nursing duties such as checking blood pressure—she was left-handed. It was 3:55 P.M., only five minutes to shift change.

  “Hold on a second,” she said as she walked to the door, opened it, and glanced toward the nurses’ station just three rooms down the hallway. Seeing a welcomed sight, she fully opened the door and glanced back to Jessie, smiling, before leaving. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she left the room and walked to the station.

  A counter separated the nurses from the doctors, the latter standing on the other side as they reviewed the myriad of patient charts organized according to room numbers. At that moment Dr. Ann Cooper, the next shift’s attending physician, was standing there, engaged in a professional conversation with Dr. Blankenship, which everyone on the floor knew was the only type of conversation she ever had with him, since he was as friendly to her as with most patients and nurses. The briefing was a regular routine wherein the departing doctor would briefly advise the arriving one of the problem cases that might need special attention. Kristen walked behind the station and waited for the briefing to end. The last thing she wanted was for Blankenship to discover her true intention: to rob him of the opportunity to break bad news to a grieving family. Despite the information shared with her by Jackson, she was still convinced that Blankenship reveled in breaking bad news to loved ones—he always seemed disappointed and angry when robbed of the opportunity. No matter what he had been through, such callousness was to be avoided at all costs, she believed. So she waited, pretending to review files that were on the nurses’ side of the counter with her incoming replacement.

  As soon as Blankenship finished and began walking to the elevators, she motioned Dr. Cooper to the side, away from Blankenship’s eye and earshot. “Dr. Cooper,” she almost whispered. “We have a sensitive situation in Room 220.”

  “How’s that?” Dr. Cooper replied a little louder than a whisper.

  “The patient’s in a coma. His mom and grandmother are with him—” She considered what would accurately describe their predicament. “The prognosis isn’t good.”

  Dr. Cooper wagged her head side to side, a pained expression spreading across her face as she processed the news. Kristen was thankful that she didn’t tell Blankenship that the family was standing vigil in the young man’s room. Dr. Cooper always seemed to care, and that meant a world of difference to the families of those facing such a grim diagnosis, she believed. The doctor glanced in the elevator’s general direction, heard the chime indicating that Blankenship’s ride had left the floor, and grabbed the unconscious patient’s chart. She was just as certain as Kristen that Blankenship would have been disappointed if he knew he had missed an opportunity to break the heart of a grieving family. She walked toward the room with Kristen trailing behind, opening the file and briefly scanning the pertinent information she would need to know before introducing herself to whomever was waiting in the room.

  They arrived at Robert’s room. Dr. Cooper closed the file and gently knocked on the door to announce their presence and slowly pushed it open.

  “Anyone in here?” she asked soothingly as they walked into the room together, her first, Kristen close behind, careful not to make too much noise, as if the unconscious patient could actually hear anything at all.

  Somehow Nancy had slipped by the nurses’ station with the coffee and donuts, so the room was a little more crowded than before, with Jessie still at Robert’s side and Nancy standing by the window, picking up a donut to munch on as she observed what was happening.

  Dr. Cooper and Nurse Kristen walked to the foot of the bed, careful to not disturb the grieving mom’s bedside vigil. She had her head nodded and eyes closed, as if in prayer. Nancy walked toward them, clearly disturbed and still trying to process the terrible news that her oldest grandchild was struggling for life right in front of her. She guardedly permitted a smile to appear on her face, praying that the doctor’s pleasant tone meant that hope had entered the room, that for the first time that day they would receive good news, not ba
d.

  “Hi,” Nancy said as she extended a hand toward Dr. Cooper. She had already met Kristen, whom she already viewed in a very positive light. She even smiled as she approached Cooper. “I’m Robert’s grandmother, Nancy.”

  Dr. Cooper took Nancy’s hand with her right one, the other grasping the patient file, and gave it a gentle squeeze, then broke the handshake as she flipped open the file to review its contents. She already knew what it said, but procedure somehow gave her comfort in such situations. Looking down at the file, now avoiding eye contact as she silently rehearsed the words she needed to say, she replied, “Nice to meet you.” She then rethought her words, realizing that the circumstances were anything but nice. “I just wish it could have been under different circumstances.”

  She looked up at them and dared to smile, albeit an understated one.

  Nancy nodded in agreement, while Jessie remained seated in the chair on the right side of Robert’s bed, gently stroking his forehead.

  “He feels a little warm,” Jessie said.

  Cooper didn’t reply to Jessie’s comment, but turned to Robert’s most important chart, the one that told her whether Robert’s brain was still functioning. The lines were jagged, which gave her something positive to say. She smiled as the words formed in her mind, this time with more empathy. “Hmm. That’s good.”

  Nancy perked up, and Jessie turned her attention away from Robert and toward Cooper. “What’s good?” she begged, hoping against hope that the situation would improve, that they would soon have something to be thankful for.

  “His brain waves are fairly normal for someone in deep sleep, in a coma, that is,” she replied. “I’ve seen much worse cases turn out great, as if nothing had happened at all, at least after lots of therapy and time.”

  “That is good,” Nancy said, smiling in Jessie’s direction, as she nodded her head and did her best to encourage her grieving daughter.

  Feeling skeptical, Jessie replied, now looking at Cooper. “When will he come out of the coma?”

  Cooper hated the question. She could sew up a person’s guts and make him whole even after the most devastating of injuries, with or without the benefits of the most modern medical facilities. She had done so during two tours of duty in Iraq and one in Kosovo. But brains were different. The mysteries of the human mind perplexed even the most skilled neurosurgeons, even if few admitted it, given their enormous egos. And she knew that her general internal medicine surgical experience and training did not prepare her for such a complex issue.

  Your guess is as good as mine, she thought then answered, “It’s hard to say.”

  Nancy’s enthusiasm deflated slightly.

  Jessie sighed, turned back toward Robert, and resumed stroking his forehead.

  “That,” Dr. Cooper said, motioning toward Jessie’s gentle touch, “your voice, and lots of prayer are probably the best medicine at this point.”

  “I’m sorry?” Jessie replied, not sure what Dr. Cooper meant, as she continued caressing her boy and looked back up.

  “The chart tells me that he knows you’re here,” she smiled. “Everything you say and do can be sensed by him, I think. And if I may be so bold.” She paused as she realized that she was about to say something that might be taken as offensive. Nancy and Jessie waited, their bodies leaning toward Dr. Cooper as if anticipating some profound thought to pour forth. “Miracles can happen, and the best source of those miracles is God. Pray without ceasing. Love him. Talk to him. Pray for him. And have confidence that we will do our part, too.”

  Jessie smiled. She hoped that Dr. Cooper would be with them 24-7. Nancy was still skeptical. She wanted more, and a fresh frown on her face showed it without any words as all. But she was not the type to not share her thoughts. “There’s got to be something else you can do,” she begged, glancing back at Robert.

  Turning toward her, a grim-faced expression replacing the more encouraging, almost happy demeanor, the doctor replied, “The charts look promising, but the mind is still the last great mystery to medicine. We know when it’s working, but not what exactly is going on in there. Comas are often more perplexing. Some hang on for years, some just a few hours or days. I suggest you do what you’re doing.” She paused for a moment. She knew she’s already done too much by telling them to pray for a miracle, but something inside wouldn’t let her stop. “Especially the prayer part.”

  Beads of sweat started to form on Dr. Cooper’s brow as what seemed like an eternal pause between her extra emphasis on prayer and a response from her patient’s mother and grandmother. The women seemed to glare at her, or so it seemed to the doctor. The glares told her that maybe she shouldn’t have brought her faith into the room, or at least made it the focus of her counsel. “There’s power in prayer,” she answered, partly to support her position but mostly to cut through the tenseness that had settled in on the room. “If you want,” she nervously added, “I’ll even pray with you.”

  Jessie and Nancy smiled, and Nancy walked from the foot of the bed to Jessie’s side and placed her hand reassuringly on her shoulder. Looking down at Jessie, Nancy said, “That would be nice.”

  Dr. Cooper let out a silent sigh of relief. Kristen had remained silent throughout the consultation. Now she walked around the bed and stood on one side next to Jessie and Nancy with the doctor on the other. Kristen and Dr. Cooper placed their hands on the grieving mother’s and grandmother’s shoulders. They all nodded and closed their eyes.

  “Dear Jesus,” Dr. Cooper began. “Please show this family your awesome grace. Spare them further pain by healing young Robert. Let your Holy Spirit fill this place and embrace him with your healing touch. You are the Great Physician, and we know that you give what is asked if it is your will. Lord, let it be your will to totally heal Robert.”

  She stopped for a moment. All were beginning to lose their composure as tears began to flow, not only from Jessie and Nancy, but also from the doctor and nurse. She continued, “Jesus, please show this family, and Robert, your purpose in this tragedy. Amen.”