Chapter Twenty Amanda
Chapter Twenty
Amanda
“She’s stable now,” Dr. Malik tells us. “But she had a depressed skull fracture near her temple, which caused damage to the superficial temporal artery. There was also a tear in the dura mater, the tough membrane that encases the brain. We were able to repair the tear and drain the pooled blood, and we’re hopeful that will help. ”
This is all Greek to me.
“Will she be okay?” Connor asks.
“I wish I could answer that,” Dr. Malik replies, “but I don’t know yet. We need to wait and see how she does over the next twenty-four hours.”
I hate hearing this, but I’m glad he isn’t sugarcoating anything, as adults often do with teenagers.
“Will she have brain damage?” Connor asks. “Or never come out of the coma?”
I recognize sympathy in Dr. Malik’s eyes as he speaks.
“It’s possible that she could never regain consciousness, and if she does, she could have some long-term disabilities like lost motor skills or speech impediments.
But it’s also possible that she could wake up in the next hour and make a full recovery. We just don’t know.”
Tears well up in my eyes, and Becky squeezes my hand.
“Right now,” the doctor continues, “the best thing you can do for her is let her know that you’re here and you want her to keep fighting. Talk to her.”
“We can do that,” I say, relieved to be given a specific, concrete task. For me, the worst has been feeling as if there’s nothing I can do to help Mom wake up.
Needing to move on to his next patient, Dr. Malik backs away. “We’ll keep a close eye on her and do everything we can.”
“Thank you.” I watch him go. Then I thank God for giving us the miracle of modern medicine. A hundred years ago, my mother would be dead.
Though I’m shaken by the sight of the bloody bandage around Mom’s shaved head, I try to sound positive when I say hello to her. I bend and kiss her on the cheek, but a tear spills from my eye as I take in all the bruises and lacerations.
“You’re doing great, Mom,” I say shakily. “I love you so much. Please come back to us, because we need you. You’re everything.”
Connor, on the other side of the bed, grasps her hand. “Hi, Mom. I’m here too. We’re both here. And Becky.”
Becky approaches and gives Mom a kiss on the cheek. She speaks loving words in her ear.
I remain at Mom’s side and stroke her arm. She’s deathly pale, and if it weren’t for the respirator and the IV fluids pumping medications into her system, she wouldn’t be alive. Her body is so badly damaged she’s not strong enough to survive on her own.
“Mom, we love you. Please keep fighting. We need you to wake up. We’ll be here for you, no matter what.”
I can scarcely stomach the smells of antiseptic and blood, and tears start pouring down my cheeks. I become aware of Connor’s hand on my back, rubbing in slow circles because I’m crying again.
At least I have my brother. I’m grateful for his strength, even though he’s only thirteen, and I’m thankful we have each other.
“She made it this far,” he says. “She’ll make it the rest of the way.”
His optimism refills me with hope. I turn in my chair and hug him tight.
Later in the day, Becky returns to our house to pick up Oscar and take him to her house for the night.
Connor leaves the hospital to get some food on Spring Garden Road.
I stay in the ICU because I want some time alone with Mom.
I have so many questions, and part of me believes that if she hears me asking them, she might fight harder to wake up and tell me the truth.
“Mom, they’re saying terrible things about Dad.
” I sit forward in the stiff chair and clasp her hand.
It feels cold and bony, not like normal.
I’m distracted by this, but I focus my thinking and push on.
“Becky told me that you talked to a lawyer about a divorce, and that you and Dad were arguing about money for the restaurant. Is it true? Were you arguing before you were swept off the rocks? Or did he push you?” I fight to keep my voice from breaking.
“I think he might be in trouble. The police took him to the station. They said they’d bring him back, but it’s been hours, and he hasn’t answered my texts. ”
I stare at Mom, but in her coma, there’s no life in her, no response whatsoever. I feel alone and abandoned, but I don’t want to give up hope that she can hear me. I need to believe that she can. I want to have some effect, so I keep talking.
“Is it true?” I ask again. “Did he push you? I don’t want to believe it, I really don’t, but after what Becky told me, I’m confused.
I feel like I don’t know either of you, because I had no idea any of this was happening—that you were arguing about money and talking to a lawyer about a divorce.
So please, Mom, wake up so you can tell me what’s happening and take care of us if Dad goes to jail. ”
I sound desperate, and I know it. I’m begging and pleading.
I’m borderline hysterical, but it makes no difference because she isn’t listening.
I don’t even know if her soul is still in there.
Maybe she’s just a shell of the mother I love, and it’s only the machines keeping her alive. Where are you, Mom? Where did you go?
I can’t take it. Even though she’s lying right here in front of me, I miss her terribly, and I can’t imagine my life without her.
I break down again, and hot, stinging tears stream down my face.