Intensive Therapy

by Jeffrey Deitz

  Instead of responding immediately, Jonas stopped to look around his daughter’s room. A picture he had never paid attention to caught his eye: a just-before-dusk rendering of an abandoned barn camouflaged by unmown grass and leaves. In the upper left, a patch of sky glowed faintly with an orange tint.

  “Is this a photograph or a painting?” he said. “It looks like something I saw at MOMA.”

  “What does?”

  “Here. This is awesome.”

  “It’s my favorite,” said Gracie, rolling onto her back.

  “The color jumps out like it’s alive. Where did you get it?”

  “My chemistry teacher is also a photographer.”

  “This is better than any photograph I’ve ever seen. It looks like an impressionist painting. How he did do it?”

  “He uses digital imaging.”

  “Is this the teacher we met on back-to-school night?”

  Gracie nodded. “Mr. Flynn. He said that professional cameras have more memory. They can record images more clearly, because there are more pixels. It’s the same principle as high-definition TV.”

  “I knew you were interested in art, but I didn’t realize you had gone digital.”

  “There’s a lot of other things you don’t know about me, Dad,” Gracie japed, her tone uncannily like Jennie’s.

  “Touché,” Jonas rejoined in kind.

  Gracie stood up and, flicking away several strands of hair from her face, went over to the wall. “Have a look.” She carefully removed the picture and placed it under her desk lamp. “Mr. Flynn takes pictures like these with a high-resolution camera mounted on a tripod so it won’t move. He programs the camera to take six pictures per second, one right after the other. Then, he uses a computer to superimpose the images. This is the finished product.”

  “You mean that this is really six different photos, one on top of the other?”

  “That’s right. That’s why it looks so alive. I like Mr. Flynn; he’s a good teacher.”

  “What makes him so good?”

  She hesitated thoughtfully. “He cares about us,” she said. “Why are you interested in my teachers all of a sudden?”

  “I’m interested in what you like.”

  “Oh.”

  “What are you working on in chemistry?”

  “The first part of the year was about atoms, and now we’re covering molecules and the kinds of bonds that keep them together.”

  “Mom said you were studying at Jillian’s yesterday afternoon.”

  Gracie frowned. “That was awful.”

  “Is that why you were in such a bad mood when you got home?”

  Gracie examined Jonas’s face intently. He hoped she would open up to him.

  She said, “We started studying, but Jillian didn’t understand even the basics about atoms and atomic weights. It was like I was supposed to be her tutor, but when I explained, she said I made her feel stupid. I wanted help figuring out the difference between ionic bonds and covalent bonds, and electron clouds and orbitals.”

  “Mr. Flynn expects you to understand all that?”

  “Yes, but Jillian turned the whole thing against me. She said everyone hates me, because I treat them like idiots. That even though I act like a stuck-up Jewish-American princess, I look like a trailer-trash shiksa.”

  “She said that?”

  “Yeah. What’s a shiksa, Dad?”

  Jonas remembered seventh grade, when a girl he had a crush on sneered at him like he was some pimply nerd. “It’s not a nice word,” he said.

  “What does it mean?”

  “‘Shiksa’ is a very derogatory term for a non-Jewish girl or woman; the implication being she steals a Jewish man’s attention.”

  Gracie said, “They’ve been using me, haven’t they? I thought they liked me, but they have been talking behind my back the whole time.”

  “I was just thinking that, too. I’m sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m the stupid one. Some of this has to do with my Bat Mitzvah party next month. I couldn’t invite everyone, and this is how they’re getting back at me. Besides, there’s a boy Jillian likes who likes me more than her. That’s probably where this shiksa business is coming from.”

  “That’s very insightful.”

  Gracie sat down in front of her computer and opened a spreadsheet with a long list of friends and acquaintances down the left side. “I invented this,” she said proudly. “I know there isn’t room for everyone at my party, so this is how I’ll decide who to invite.” She pointed to the headings of the columns; each contained a personality characteristic like temperament, friendliness, or responsiveness. Every cell in the grid contained a number ranging from one to ten. “I rate people on different traits and how they make me feel. Then I program the computer to derive a composite score—some factors are weighted more than others—which I sort from highest to lowest. That’s the column farthest to the right. I’ll pick the people on the top of the list.”

  “Brilliant! What an idea. How did you come up with it?”

  “Chemistry lab. We’re constantly doing experiments and then tabulating results based on variables like temperature or the concentration of the reagents.”

  “Reagents? I didn’t learn that word until college. Are you sure you’re not a closet geek?”

  “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  “I meant it that way.”

  “Well, the popular girls don’t hang out in chemistry lab after school, that’s for sure. You know who Hermione Granger is, don’t you?”

  “Is she a friend of yours?”

  Gracie groaned like a parent going over multiplication tables with a seventh grader. “You, of all people—I thought you knew everything.”

  The conversation was getting interesting. “I guess not,” Jonas said. “Who is she?”

  “Hermione Granger is the heroine in all the Harry Potter books. She’s the smartest, hardest-working girl at Hogwarts, the school where the books take place. At first, people thought she was a showoff know-it-all, but now, everyone respects her.”

  “Really? That’s pretty sophisticated stuff for children’s books.”

  “Children’s books my ass. By the time book three came out, I had to look up new vocabulary words every other page.”

  “What is it about these books?”

  “There’s a lot to them. Everybody can find someone to identify with, a teacher they’ve had or someone they knew years ago. Each book corresponds to another year at Hogwarts, so you see Harry and his friends growing up.”

  “And Hermione?” Jonas asked.

  “The business at Jillian’s has me thinking more and more about Hermione. I’m more like her than I thought.”

  “Is being popular that important? There must be smart boys and girls who want to be friends with you.”

  “You’re right, Dad,” she said. “There’s a boy named Manny Friedman who sits in front of me in chemistry, and we usually wind up being lab partners. He’s friends with a lot of the smart kids who’re into computers and imaginary games. I know they like me. Manny lives in Brooklyn. It’s an easy subway ride, if you and Mom would let me go.”

  “I’m sure we can work something out. Is there a good place to start with the Harry Potter books?”

  “You mean you want to read them?”

  “Sure. It’ll give us something else to talk about.”

  Gracie brightened. “Okay. Honestly, book four is the best, but if you really want to get into it, start with book one. Otherwise, you’ll feel lost.”

  More interesting beach reading, Jonas thought. “As far as chemistry goes, would you like me to help you with it? I loved chemistry when I was your age.”

  Jonas and Gracie spent a delightful hour bonding over how atoms bond. “You’re a good teacher, Dad,” Gracie said.

  Jonas felt tickled. “You’re a good student.”

  She opened a thick botany book. “There’s a lot more I want to understand; like what pl
ants are made of and what happens when animals eat plants.”

  Jonas patted Gracie’s back playfully. “It’ll take a while. I never studied much about plants. Animals, I can figure out. Plants, we’ll have to learn together.”

  Gracie hugged Jonas tighter than he ever expected. She didn’t let go for a long time.

  59

  When Victoria arrived at Children’s Hospital the day before Christmas, she found a huddle of interns and residents outside Gregory’s door. The skull replacement, several days earlier, had gone well, but she worried that something terrible had happened. Instead, Drs. Bell and Breckenridge emerged from his room with smiles on their faces.

  “You’ve noticed how he’s begun to move in the last few days? Today, he’s responding to commands,” Dr. Breckenridge said. “That’s huge! We noted it on rounds this morning when I asked him to squeeze my hand, and he did. I asked him to squeeze twice, and he did that, too. Then, I asked him to squeeze both hands at once, as hard as he could. The fact that Gregory can understand and follow commands means a lot of his brain circuitry is good to go.”

  Victoria said, “I want to see him now.”

  “They’re changing his clothes and rearranging the monitors. It won’t be long,” Dr. Breckenridge said.

  “How worried were you that he wouldn’t wake up?” Victoria asked.

  “I could tell that Gregory’s a fighter.”

  “He’s such a special boy.”

  “Isn’t the brain amazing? If all goes well, he’ll be skateboarding in Love Park before you know it.”

  “Skateboarding? Are you crazy?” Victoria caught herself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just that—”

  “Don’t apologize. I like it when people treat me like a civilian instead of a doctor. Can I ask you something, Mrs. Braun? I know you’re a prominent lawyer. People must be intimidated by you. Every time a guy I meet finds out I’m a brain surgeon, he’s blown away. I have a tough time with it.”

  “You know, Dr. Breckenridge, until now, I never thought of you as anything other than Gregory’s doctor.”

  “Neurosurgeons are people, too,” she laughed. “Can you think of me as Anna?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “You should see the way you look at Gregory. The love, it’s awesome. I want to capture that look in a sculpture I’ve been working on. Until I started neurosurgery training, I was always chiseling away at a block of marble.” Anna gazed out the window at Center City’s glimmering skyline. “There’s one piece I never finished. I never knew why until now.”

  “Which is?

  “The face. I couldn’t get the expression right.” Anna eyed Victoria up and down. “Now I know. It’s the look of love on your face. That’s what I wanted to capture. Would you mind if I sketched you? It won’t take long, I promise.”

  Marble made Victoria think of cemeteries and gravestones. “I suppose so. You see death every day, don’t you?”

  Anna nodded.

  “How do you deal with it?”

  “I look for the humanity. We all have to be technically competent; that’s a given. But neurosurgery is a lot more than that. The week we started training, Dr. Liddle told us a story from when he was a first-year resident. He was called to evaluate a man with an enormous blood clot in his brain that came from falling on the pavement while he was dead drunk. Since the man had no identification, he was admitted as a John Doe. His blood alcohol was high enough to kill any nondrinker, and his blood clotting was so poor from chronic liver disease that surgery was impossible. Instead of berating the man for drinking himself to death, Dr. Liddle wrote in the consult, ‘Although I greatly regret it, I feel that any surgical intervention would only cause unnecessary suffering. Comfort measures to ease this man’s final hours are the most appropriate and humane treatment we can offer.’

  “Three months later, the man’s family identified his body, which had lain unclaimed in the local coroner’s office. Someone must have read his consultation report, because the deceased man’s mother sent Dr. Liddle a handwritten letter, which he shows to all the new trainees. It meant the world to her that her son had not been neglected in his final hours like a bum off the street.”

  Anna said, “You see, it’s not just about sawing and stapling. It’s about the brain, the seat of humanity. Unfortunately, not every doctor is like Dr. Liddle. Some surgical residents handle death with black humor. They use terms like ‘organ donor’ and say, ‘Bring in the combine,’ when they’re going to harvest organs from someone who’s brain-dead. I hate when they talk that way.”

  “Why do they do it?”

  “Because they’re afraid of recognizing how fragile life is, that the person on the other side of their retractors could just as easily be their wife or best friend. I can’t help getting attached; it’s how I’m made. Gregory gives me hope. Everyone needs hope. We do so much better now than we did a generation ago.”

  Anna lowered her voice. “When we were ten, my best friend Becky and I did something so stupid that I still can’t believe it. Becky and I decided to race our bicycles. Back then, no one wore helmets. We rode off down the sidewalk in opposite directions going as far away as we could still see each other, equidistant from a driveway in the middle, which we picked to be the finish line. We agreed that at a given signal we’d take off toward each other. The one who got to the driveway first would win.

  “Near the end I could see that the race was really close. With a hundred yards to go we were tearing down the sidewalk on course for a head-on collision. Both of us reached the driveway at the same time; we tried to peel off before it was too late, but we barreled into each other at top speed.

  “I landed on the street, elbows and knees first. I still have the scars. The wounds went down to the bones. It felt like somebody had peeled off my skin. Becky ricocheted off the hood of a parked car then slammed onto the road. ‘Get up. Get up,’ I yelled, but she was knocked out cold. I told myself she’d be all right but when she didn’t get up right away it hit me that she might be really hurt.

  “Becky was in a coma for over a week and wound up brain-damaged with a lisp and spasticity on her right side.” Anna’s face furrowed as if she were reliving the scene. “Back then, brain-injured kids were never the same.”

  “About the skateboarding …?”

  “Tell him to wear a helmet. You’ll make sure of that, won’t you?” Anna asked.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll kill him if he doesn’t.”

  Several doctors and nurses emerged from Gregory’s room. It was time for Victoria to go in.

  Anna said, “Remember, it’ll be like emerging from a thick fog. Eventually the fog will lift, but not before Gregory drifts in and out of consciousness.”

  60

  Victoria didn’t leave Gregory’s side for the next twenty-four hours. On Christmas Day, his eyelids fluttered, and his throat moved, as if he were trying to speak.

  As soon as she heard what was happening, Anna rushed in.

  Victoria’s eyes filled with tears. “You understand, Anna, no words can ever express how grateful we are for what you did for Gregory, and for us. If he had died, I’d never have recovered. Never.”

  Anna said, “It’s why I do what I do. I had a feeling about Gregory last night. They made me go home early yesterday, because I hadn’t slept in two days. I fell asleep on my couch. When I woke up, the movie Apollo 13 was on TV—the part at the end where everyone was waiting to see if the astronauts had survived reentry. It was a shared moment of hope. Right then, I saw Gregory’s face. I saw you two embracing, and I saw Gregory running in his schoolyard. Someone put me here on Thanksgiving to do that operation. I was supposed to be here.”

  “What if he doesn’t know me?”

  “He will. You’ll see.”

  Victoria touched her son’s shoulder. “Gregory?”

  Gregory opened his eyes. They twitched noticeably, then closed.

  “Gregory? It’s your mother.”

  His eyelid
s moved again. He tried to raise his head, and it inclined slightly toward Victoria.

  “Mu—Mudda?”

  “He knows it’s me!”

  “I knew he would. I knew he would,” Anna said.

  “Wha—? Wha—? Where …?” he whispered, his head drooping back down.

  “You want to know what happened and where you are. Here.” Anna placed Victoria’s hand in his. “Squeeze once for yes, twice for no.” Gregory pressed his mother’s fingers perceptibly.

  Victoria said, “Do you remember what happened? Once for yes. Twice for no.” Gregory squeezed twice.

  “You had a terrible fall and hurt your head. The doctors had to do a big operation. Do you feel any pain?” Gregory squeezed yes, this time more forcefully.

  Victoria shuddered at the thought of Gregory having his skull violated with a buzz saw and his scalp peeled back.

  “A lot?”

  No, he squeezed twice. His throat muscles contracted again. “Ith … ithuzz,” Gregory whispered.

  “Ithuzz? Oh, I understand. You mean it itches.”

  “Yeth,” he whispered. Victoria laughed and cried.

  Anna said, “That’s an excellent response. The self-dissolving stiches cause itching. That means he has sensation as well as motor control,” she enthused.

  Victoria caressed Gregory’s forehead gently. “That’s enough for now,” she said. She let him rest.

  She called Martin immediately to tell him what happened, then dialed Jonas’s cell phone, which rang through to voicemail. Next, she called Lorraine and Morris.

  “I’ll be right there,” Lorraine said on the other end of the phone. “Give me a minute to put myself together.”

  Anna said, “I can go away feeling better,” and she headed for the door.

  “Are you doing something for the holiday?” Victoria added

  “I’m going on a ski trip, my first vacation in two and a half years. I’m on duty today until I finish rounds. I’ll celebrate on the plane this evening. This is the best Christmas present I could get.”

  Martin arrived in minutes and embraced Victoria with tears of relief in his eyes. For an instant she didn’t recognize him.