by N. K. Smith
Stephen placed a hand on my shoulder. “Her brain patterns are as normal as they can be right now. She’s just sleeping.”
“It’s important for her to rest. Once she wakes again, we’ll have to find out the extent of the damage.”
The neurologist left and Stephen loosened up and explained things to me as a parent would. “You need to understand that Sophie won’t be the same, no matter how mild or severe the damage is.” He turned to Mr. Young. “Right now, just from what we know from the CT scan and observation, there was a substantial death of brain cells and she’s lost the use of her right side. At best, she’ll have some cognitive issues, possibly speech, vision, and hearing impairments, as well as some behavioral changes. She’ll definitely need physical and occupational therapy, and possibly speech therapy.”
“But she was doing so well.”
Stephen nodded at Mr. Young. “Yes, this is a major setback. I’m sorry, but I don’t have a good explanation why it happened. Sometimes no matter what patients do, diabetes gets the best of them.”
My heart hurt.
Stephen made me go home, even though he let Sophie’s father stay at the hospital. I tried to protest and he was sympathetic, but refused to change his mind. I spent most of the night worrying about her slipping back into a coma, having another stroke, or running away again.
I probably only got an hour or two of sleep and hit the coffee pot heavily as soon as I could. Robin was over and she asked how Sophie was and how I was handling it. She wasn’t being a therapist, she was being a concerned mother, but she did ask if I wanted her to call Dr. Emmanuel.
I didn’t have time for a session. I told her that I was fine, just worried about Sophie. She said it was to be expected, but the stress of the situation had the potential to become too much.
I drove myself back to the hospital. Robin and Jane would come later.
I arrived just in time to see her open her eyes. Stephen and a few nurses tended to her physical well-being while the neurologist was called. Once the other doctor got there, the assessments started. Mr. Young and I were told to remain quiet and relatively out of sight.
Stephen asked her to do a few physical tasks, such as push against his hand with her feet and squeeze an orange ball. Her left side was fine but she failed every task when it came to performing them with her right.
She hadn’t spoken.
My body was tight as her father’s knee bounced beside me. I kept my hands shoved into my pockets.
Dr. Radzinsky started a few simple assessments, showing her the ball and asking what it was. Tears welled in Sophie’s eyes and her tongue wiggled.
“Do you know what it is?”
She nodded and a tear slipped down her cheeks.
“Say what it is.”
My mind kept saying, “ball, ball, ball,” as if trying to supply the answer for her.
“Can you not say it or is it that you can’t think of the word?”
No reply from Sophie.
Dr. Radzinsky set the ball on the bed. “I want you to say the words that I say, okay? Caaaat.” She drew out the small word and then waited for a response.
“CCCCCCCCaaaaart.” Sophie’s voice was raspy and raw, but the mere sound of it sent calming chemicals through my body.
“Mouse.”
“MMMMMMoursh.”
“Dog.”
Her mouth moved, but the only thing I heard was air being pushed out. Then, “Dooooah.”
Then Dr. Radzinsky said, “Guh, guh. Dog. Guh, guh,” emphasizing the “g” sound.
“Ah, ah.”
The doctor nodded and told Sophie she’d done a good job and that they were going to take a short break while the nurse took her vitals. Dr. Radzinsky and Stephen came over to speak with Mr. Young.
“Obvious speech impairment. We’ll test her hearing and vision later, but I’d like to go back to item recognition. She indicated that she knew what the ball was, but she couldn’t say the word.”
She looked at Sophie’s father. “There are times when there’s a disruption between the impulses the brain sends and the ability to actually comply with them, and others where there is an actual void of impulses. It’s important that we discover if she can truly understand what the item is or if she’s just having trouble finding the word for it.”
When the assessments began again, the doctor used flashcards with pictures and words. She covered up the words. “Sophie, tell me what this is.”
It took a while but finally, she answered. “Brat.”
“No. Try again.”
She shook her head. “Brat.” I assumed that what she was really saying was bat, which was a logical connection to make with “ball.”
Dr. Radzinsky uncovered the written word and immediately, Sophie nodded. “Brall.”
“Good. Do you know what it is?” Again she nodded. They had gone through at least twenty cards when she asked Mr. Young to come over. “Who is this?”
I watched as her left hand curled into a fist and as she began to cry again. She was trying. It seemed like she knew, but was having issues getting it out. I understood the frustration.
It took her over a minute but, finally, she said, “DDDDaaaad.”
Mr. Young smiled widely. It was the first time I’d ever heard her call him that.
“Very good, Sophie. What’s his name?”
The left side of her face showed her frustration.
“Tom,” Stephen supplied after Dr. Radzinsky nodded to him. “Tom Young.”
Sophie nodded emphatically. “Toooooorm Yerng.”
Stephen nodded to me and I grew nervous. My feet automatically propelled me forward, my hands fisted in my pockets. I wanted her to remember me and remember how to say my name, above all else.
Another tear. “Boyfreeeeeen.”
I couldn’t help but smile. I was delighted she’d used that word. I probably felt the same as her father did when hearing her say “dad.” In Sophie’s mind, I was “boyfriend.” Suddenly my name didn’t matter.
“Do you know his name, Sophie?”
She nodded and her mouth moved, but again, no sound came out.
“Can you tell me his name?”
She looked panicked and I was growing tired of everyone just watching her fail like this. It was clear how hard she was trying.
“E-E-E-Elliott,” I said, not caring that everyone looked upset that I supplied the answer.
The left side of her mouth lifted up just slightly. “Elllliert”
We were sitting in the hospital cafeteria and Jane was asking all sorts of questions that I let Stephen and Robin answer. I didn’t know if there was some sort of clause of confidentiality they were breaking, but there was no way I would be able to give her all of the information she was requesting.
Sophie would need to relearn all of the little tasks that the rest of us took for granted.
“Like what?” she asked before taking a bite of her disgusting hospital cafeteria instant potatoes and making a face.
“We don’t know yet,” Robin answered.
Stephen looked up and sighed. “Like buttoning her shirt and holding a cup of water. She’ll have to relearn how to walk and, in some cases, talk.”
I just let them continue as I thought about seeing Sophie again. We could be together like we use to be. I hadn’t been able to touch her all day, and I was anxious to hold her hand again. Soon, she’d be able to hold my hand and run her hands through my hair, and we could go back to the stream in the woods before school started and spend all day looking at the clouds.
Then it hit me. School was about to start. If they were talking about all of this physical therapy, she might not be finished by the time school started. The thought of spending my last year at Damascus High without her made my heart thump hard in my c
hest.
“I-I-I-I c-c-c-can b-b-b-bring hhhhher ssssssschoolw-w-work t-t-to her.”
“Elliott,” Robin said softly.
“I-I kn-know ssssshe c-c-can’t gggggo rrrrrright aw-w-way, but if I b-b-bring hhhhher the lllllessons and hhhhhelp hhhhher ssssshe c-can...”
“Elliott,” Robin said again, touching my arm. I looked at her. “Sophie may need to finish her senior year at home with the help of a tutor.”
Stephen cleared his throat, looking at me, and then at the people around us. Most of them looked sad. “That’s if she’s retained the cognitive ability to learn at a normal rate.”
“But you said she did okay with the flash cards,” Jane pointed out. “She could--”
“Just because she can recognize pictures of cars, fruits, and animals doesn’t mean she’s going to have the mental faculties to be able to do Trigonometry or formulate hypotheses in Physics. She may never regain the ability to do any of those things and quite honestly, it could be a challenge for her just to relearn how to learn.”
I spent the last few days of the summer with her in that hospital room. Mostly I held her hand.
We never spoke about it, I knew her well enough to know that she was probably thinking I shouldn’t want her in my life after what happened that day, but me breaking up with her wasn’t about that day or about her. There was never a time when my love for her wavered.
She rarely spoke. I could tell her impaired speech weighed on her mind. I understood the feeling well.
Sometimes she would let me go to her physical therapy sessions with her when Mr. Young wasn’t available. The hospital staff always let someone accompany her if she wanted, but sometimes she wouldn’t let me.
Today she was working on walking for the first time. Just last week she’d been able to put weight on her right leg. The therapist guided her along, but Sophie had to do all the work. There were rails to either side of her, but with only one working arm, she struggled to just remain upright.
She fell twice, but even though the lady saved her from planting her face into the floor, Sophie still cried.
It must have been frustrating to not be able to do something most babies can do by their first birthday. It must have been even worse not being able to articulate how she felt about any of it.
My mind supplied her curse words in the appropriate places. I smiled when I thought about her foul mouth and even though I didn’t enjoy cussing, I hoped that she’d be able to say “shit” and “fuck” soon. I missed those words and I missed her voice.
During meals, she would make me leave the room. Usually a nurse had to help her. She was working on feeding herself, but I guess she was self-conscious about it. I wished she’d let me help, but I understood that it would be embarrassing. Sophie had always been independent and I was sure it was difficult to know that she could no longer be that way.
Each night after dinner I had a solid two hours before the nurses or Stephen would chase me out of the room. I did what I had done every night probably since before I could remember. I read. In my father’s house, I read the Bible aloud, trying not to stammer and avoid punishment. In Stephen’s house, I read Seuss and other books aloud to improve my fluency. Now, I read aloud to Sophie to keep her from feeling lonely and cut off.
Also, if her brain was making new pathways for her neurons to travel, I figured active listening would help the process, and as a bonus it helped me with my stutter.
We were almost done with The Return of the King the night before school started.
“Errrwyn,” she said.
“E-E-Eówyn?”
She nodded and then pointed to herself as if to ask if that’s who she was.
“Y-yes. W-warrior w-woman.” That made her smile and then she tapped my chest and said “Fermer,” meaning Faramir.
I could feel my blush at the complimentary name. Faramir and Eówyn end up together, after healing and giving up the negative thoughts that had weighed them down.
She pointed with her left hand to the book, her finger pressed to a particular passage. “Read.”
I did, smiling at the term “gentle heart.” When I finished, she repeated, “Gennle heardt.”
The light outside the window grew dark and she looked at the clock. “D-don’t wwwwworry, Sophie, I’ll c-come b-by rrrrrright after school.”
“Whert?” she said with wide eyes. She’d used her right hand to point at me, but then it flopped back down onto the bed. That was an amazing accomplishment, but I didn’t think she’d want me to point it out.
“I-I-I-I hhhhhave to ggggo to school t-tomorrow.”
She started breathing heavy as she shook her head. Dr. Radzinsky, Stephen, Robin, and her father had explained this to her. I knew she’d been told this five times, but I also knew that she would probably always have recall issues. Even if she was told time and again, there would be things she might never be able to remember.
Stephen said that she could be in the middle of a task, and have to be reminded about what she was doing. This was only one of the lasting cognitive effects of her stroke. She may never be able to think of the words she wanted to use. She may never finish projects she started. She might draw an “H” when she was trying to write a “G”, not that she could hold a pen yet.
But now I was stuck explaining to her again that she wouldn’t be attending school her senior year, at least in the beginning. Everyone seemed to agree that there was a long way to go before she could study high school course work.
As long as she resumed going to NA, no one wanted to put her in a long-term hospital. She’d get help on an outpatient basis for fighting her addictions, and get physical, speech, and occupational therapy, as well as attending smaller groups dedicated to survivors of rape and sexual abuse.
In short, a program would be tailor-made for her, and would keep her very busy.
I was just about to explain, when she started crying again. She must have remembered on her own. I felt bad for her. She couldn’t even get off the bed without help, so she was stuck there weeping and powerless, and I hated it.
“D-d-d-do you www-wwwww-want me to g-go?”
That just made her cry harder, so I set the book down and went to sit with her on the bed, then picked up her right hand and squeezed it. “I llllove you, Sophie.”
She shook her head as she stared at her lap.
“I w-w-wwwwish you c-could g-g-go w-w-with mmmme, b-but I’ll c-c-come b-by after.”
She stared at our hands and after a minute her index finger twitched. She choked back a sob and I realized that she’d been trying to pull her hand away, but couldn’t. The powerlessness she felt must have been overwhelming. I nearly felt sick from it.
I let go of her hand and smiled. “I-I-I’ll g-g-g-go.”
“No!” She still wouldn’t look at me. I didn’t think she’d looked into my eyes once since waking up.
She wouldn’t speak, so I had to interpret her actions myself. I began to realize how difficult it was for people to understand someone who was silent. I respected my adopted family that much more.
She didn’t want me to leave, but didn’t want any touching either, so I sat back down in my chair and started reading of Faramir and Eówyn again.
I could tell that she wasn’t paying attention, but I kept reading anyway.
When I knew she’d mastered taking an independent shower, which was a huge event for her, I steamed up the mirror and with my finger scrawled, “I love Sophie Young.”
I didn’t know if she’d take a shower hot enough to see it or if housekeeping would clean it before she had a chance, but it made me feel good to know it was there.
I hoped she would see it and that she would feel good, too.
The first week of school had been tough because while my body was at Damascus High, my mind was at Frederick Memorial Hospita
l. I visited every day after school and stayed until nine o’clock. The next Monday afternoon, I was in her room doing my math homework.
Monday was one of Sophie’s speech therapy days, so I knew she’d be back soon.
I looked up and smiled when she came in, aided only by a nurse. It was so great to see her out of a wheelchair and walking almost on her own again. Her gait was sloppy and she was unsteady, but it was quite an accomplishment.
The nurse set her down on the bed and Sophie fidgeted. “O-o-okay?”
She took a deep breath and then looked up at me. I held my breath. “I’mmmmmmmm soooooorry... EEEEElliott.”
My heart was about to explode. She hadn’t said my name that many times and she’d always said it wrong.
But not today.
There was more that she wanted to say, I could tell, but she was having trouble. I sat next to her and held her hand. My eyes were growing blurry with unshed tears and I could see hers do the same. I wanted to deny her apology because there was no reason for it, but I didn’t want to disrupt the momentum she was building.
Very slowly, I raised my hand to her neck and brushed my thumb lightly over her scar.
“El-li-ott,” she said, every sound and syllable slow and deliberate. “I looooooooovvvvvvvve you.”
I exhaled and felt like I could sing.
They released me from the hospital on a Tuesday. At least, my dad told me it was a Tuesday. The days of the week hadn’t held any meaning for me in a long time. The only thing Tuesday meant was that Elliott would be away until evening.
We pulled up to my house and my father opened my door. Elliott was somewhere else. School, maybe. He’d told me. He’d probably told me twice, but I forgot.
I wished he was here though.
I had to take my dad’s hand when he offered it, otherwise I’d probably have to sit in the SUV all day. It was better than having to be picked up. I could walk better now, but I wasn’t exactly steady on my feet. I used a cane, but it was no substitute for natural balance.
