by Alice Ward
“We’ve already thought of that, Worth. We sent Bernie to get him. They should be here any moment.”
As if summoned by the mere words, there was a knock on the door and Bernie walked in, peering around the corner at the bed. “Hello?”
“Is Ford with you?” I barked anxiously.
“He’s right here,” he said. He turned and motioned with his hand. “Come on in, son, your dad is right here.”
Several moments passed before I saw Ford’s face. He didn’t approach the bed, just stood next to Bernie. I held out my hand toward him. “Ford, son, come here. Let me hug you.”
Ford stood his ground, his military hat in his hands. Everyone turned to look at him, concerned that he would be afraid for me. That, however, was not the case.
Ford raised his chin and said, “Why did you try to kill my mother?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Worth
I played the scenario over and over in my head. One moment, we were waking up sweetly warm from a night of love-making and the next, she lay in the weeds and I feared her dead. Now, our son believed I’d intentionally put her there. I couldn’t lie still. Eventually, I rang for a nurse and asked for something to help me sleep. I needed my strength back before I could sort this out and get to Auggie. They brought me a tiny paper cup with two pills and that was the last I remembered until the next morning.
They rolled in the cart to check my pressure and take my pulse. An aid followed with a plate of soupy eggs and plain coffee. I sipped the coffee and asked to see the doctor on duty. My credentials did get me a little express treatment, I will admit, and as long as I promised to not drive and to keep a cane with me in case I got dizzy, they released me.
Bernie appeared, having left Ford with Mother for the time being. We felt he would be safest there and Mother welcomed his company. Bernie found a wheelchair and we went to the ICU to see Auggie.
I thought I would stop breathing when I saw her. She was lying so still in that big, white bed. She was intubated and there was tape over her eyelids. A bank of blinking monitors hugged her bed and the nurses’ station was barely ten feet away through the observation window. I nodded to them and a tall young nurse in green scrubs came in and greeted me. “Dr. LaViere,” she acknowledged.
“I want to see her chart,” I ordered and though she hesitated, she obliged. Evidently she knew that to resist would be useless. She brought an iPad and reviewed Auggie’s information. I looked at the scans and the neurological exam that had included poking her feet and limbs to determine whether she suffered from any numbness. The CT scan showed swelling of her brain and although it was not substantial, they had effectively put her brain on pause until the swelling would go down. I had enough training to see that she was in serious, but stable condition and unless something unforeseen occurred, they would probably bring her out of the coma in forty-eight hours.
“Go get yourself something to eat, Bernie. I’m staying here.”
“Can I bring you something?” he asked quietly even though the loudest noise in the world wouldn’t rouse Auggie right then.
“Bring me back my wife,” I said and he bowed his head, patted my shoulder and quietly left the room.
***
The hospital arranged for a room for me on the same floor as the ICU. I stayed there and Bernie brought me clean clothing and edible food. He had seen to the boat and removed our possessions. All that remained was to get Auggie better and reunite our family.
I couldn’t see Ford at that time. I needed him to see his mother smile and healthy again so she would tell him what had happened. Nothing I could say would make a difference in the meantime. I kept in touch with Mother, who watched him and said he spent most of his time staring at the television. He was obedient and polite but said little.
The doctors monitored Auggie’s swelling and finally decided to bring her out of the coma. I sat in the corner of the room and watched as they adjusted her IV solution and she gradually began muscle movement. As she surfaced, she tried to move her hands to pull the tube from her throat, but they’d already been secured. Two doctors stood by and once she was conscious, they removed the intubation and she started breathing calmly on her own. She had yet to open her eyes although the tape had been removed. My heart was hammering in my chest as we all waited to see if she responded normally.
She was still sleepy when I walked over to her bed and took her hand in mine. Her eyes fluttered open and I was rewarded with a flash of green diamonds. Her pulse raised as she looked about, trying to figure out where she was. There was no obvious reaction to anything she looked at, including me.
“Let her sleep some more,” the doctors said and left instructions at the nurse’s station to be called when she appeared more alert. I maintained my vigil by her bedside and with the help of Bernie, she was never left alone. Gradually, she stayed awake for longer and longer periods but didn’t speak and avoided looking anyone straight in the eyes. The doctors spent time with her and ultimately took me to the side.
“Dr. LaViere, in our opinion, your wife has some sustained damage from her accident. While it appears she’s fully cognizant and has complete use of her body, she does appear to have some residual memory loss. She knows she’s in a hospital but cannot tell us her name or any personal details whatsoever. In our opinion, this is a temporary condition that should resolve itself over time. It’s most likely due to the swelling, which is now contained. We’re prepared to release her as long as she has full-time supervision in your home. Can you arrange for that, Dr. LaViere?”
They had just so matter-of-factly taken my breath away. My Auggie was missing. In her place was a woman of equal beauty and spirit, but she had no idea who I was, or that we had a son. I nodded. “Of course,” I said hoarsely, tears streaming down my cheeks.
Auggie came home two days later. She was speaking, but her voice was impersonal and cold. I hired a full time nursing staff, a physical therapist and made appointments with specialists who dealt with memory loss. I knew she would not share a bed with me. In fact, she had been reluctant to get into our car for the ride home. I put her in our bedroom and took the guest room next door for myself.
Ford was completely confused. He could see his mother and that she was whole and uninjured, and yet she didn’t speak to him. She watched him move around but never spoke to him directly and there was a vacant look in her eyes if anyone mentioned his name.
“Mother?” he called to her as she sat on the patio, looking out over the barns. Auggie didn’t budge. He tried again, coming up beside her and touching her arm. She drew her arm back quickly and looked frightened. “Mother, it’s me, Ford.” She relaxed a bit, realizing it was only a child and gave a half smile.
“Hello, Ford, how are you?” she answered him quietly.
Ford was encouraged, but I could see that she was only being nice to him because he was a child. I could immediately recognize that as much as he might want to be near her, it was not a healthy thing for him.
I came out onto the patio and asked Ford to come inside so we could talk. I took him into my study and closed the door.
“Son, your mother has some problem remembering people, as you can see. The doctors feel it will eventually go away, but for right now, we need to be patient with her.”
“This is your fault,” he spat at me, his eyes flashing. “You took her out on a boat in a storm and she didn’t know how to do anything. It’s your fault she almost drowned. I will never forgive you for this.”
I took a deep breath. “Ford, first of all, I love your mother and would never do anything to harm her. You know that.”
“You didn’t keep her safe. That’s the same thing as hurting her.” His back was rigid and he was being defiant. I tried to figure out whether he truly believed I would let Auggie get hurt, or whether this was a fixation of his rebellion. Either way, he had to be separated from her.
“I won’t argue that point, son. You’re right in that it is always my responsibility to keep
those I love and depend on me safe. That includes you. The difference is that this was an accident and those I have no control over. But what I do have control over is how many people I will let get hurt. That includes you. Your mother needs time to recover and to remember. She’s still in there, but it will take time for that to happen.”
“What if it never happens? What if my mother is gone forever?” he rasped and began to cry. I hurried toward him, and he put his face against my chest and cried heartbreakenly hoarse sobs.
“Son, I can’t make any promises and I won’t insult you by treating you as a child. Not in this case. You’re facing a man’s kind of hurt and there’s nothing I can do about that. I want you to go back to school this afternoon, get back to your life. Give your mother the time she needs to heal completely. If it happens that she never remembers, then we’ll give her new memories beginning today. If, on the other hand, she gets it back, she will still know that you are where you need to be. She won’t feel guilty for having you put your life on hold.”
He stopped crying and straightened up, wiping his eyes. He nodded. He understood. “I’ll have Bernie drive you back. Go and tell your mother goodbye and pack up your things. I promise I won’t travel out of town and will stay here and look after her. I’ll get the best doctors and do everything they say to do. We’ll get her back, Ford. I give you my word that I’ll do my best to get her back.”
He gave me the quickest hug allowed for a child who is becoming a man. Then he was gone.
***
I hired a nursing staff but requested that they impact the household in the least hospital-looking way. I asked that they wear casual clothing, keep medical trappings in one of the guest rooms and use first names when talking with Auggie. She really had no idea who was family and who wasn’t, so why not give her the best foundation of “belonging” I could manage?
I transferred my business world to my study at home. I wanted to stay close by without smothering her. She had so much to absorb. It only seemed to be the personal memories that she’d lost. She still walked and spoke as she always had, although her personality was blander. I suspected that was due to the lack of memories that colored everything we do and who we are. At the same time, she was building new memories and they were blending in to create a new person. The sights and scents of the farm held particular pleasure for her.
Although this really wasn’t within my field, I began researching it and spoke to colleagues who gave me referrals. Brain injuries were, if anything, unpredictable. Each patient was unique in how it affected their abilities. There was no magic pill or treatment that guaranteed anything beyond what you had from that day forward. The overwhelming opinion seemed to be to give her time. So, we began a life that resembled a puzzle. From my vantage, I had my wife, except she didn’t respond to me as a wife, but simply as a woman.
So began our new routine. With Ford back at school and me at work in my study, Auggie was left to a life where strangers became her friends. Betsy asked her help in doing some routine cooking. It was her attempt to try and trigger the memories to come back. We all had our individual theories and used different approaches.
Mine was love. While I had to restrain myself, I gradually re-acquainted her with the idea that I was her husband and that my greatest pleasure in life was to spend time with her. I asked her opinions on different business matters, and these she had no problem giving. However, when I touched her hand while it lay on my desk, I could tell she wanted to pull away, and it took abject concentration for her to let it lie. As the days passed, I tried this gentle physicality more and more often. She resisted less and the day finally came when she placed her hand over mine. I wanted to rejoice, to scream and hug her. Instead, I held my hand still and celebrated internally that we were making some headway.
Ford called three times a week and spoke to Auggie, telling her what was going on at school. He shared his triumphs when he scored well on a test and asked for her nurturing when he did poorly. She offered these, but more as a stranger and less like a mother. I know it hurt him, but in his own way he was trying to trigger the return of the person she had been.
Auggie’s dad visited regularly and he would encourage her to sit out on the patio as he talked about old times, especially things they’d shared together. She laughed at the appropriate times when he told of funny escapades and eventually he got around to talking about her mother, although in a kind voice. She seemed unmoved.
It was fall and becoming too cool to sit outdoors so I ordered outdoor heating radiators. She seemed at her best when in the fresh air. Walter had come over and they were enjoying hot cider spiced with cinnamon and a platter of fresh cookies from the oven. I had been drawn from my study by the scents and joined them.
“Auggie, I remember the first time you climbed up on Carlos,” Walter was saying.
Auggie started as though an electric shot had gone through her. Walter stopped instantly and I put my hand up to keep him quiet.
“Auggie, do you remember Carlos?” I asked in a gentle voice and we held our breath. Her profile had been turned toward us and now she turned away completely. It was subtle at first, but her shoulders began to quiver and then shook, hard. She turned to look at me and tears were streaming out of her eyes and down the pink sweatshirt she was wearing.
She nodded.
“You do? Who was he, Auggie? Who was Carlos?”
She was sobbing now and I fought the impulse to hold her. This was a major breakthrough and I didn’t want to do anything at all that would interfere with the stream of recovered memory that was once again filling her head.
“We rode Steeplechase,” she whispered between the sobs.
I nodded, “Yes, that’s right. Do you know where he is now?”
“You shot him,” she rasped and the dam broke open. I knew we had reached a breakthrough. “Oh, Worth, you had to shoot him and it was all my fault!” she cried.
I went to her then and held her, kneeling beside her chair as she quivered and cried into my shoulder. I looked up at Walter and saw that he was crying as well, his hand patting his thigh. He had tears of joy as well as sorrow. Our girl was coming back.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Worth
I don’t know why I hadn’t seen it before. It was my profession and I would have seen it had it been someone other than Auggie. It all made sense, then. I’d taken Auggie on that outing, hoping to cheer her up. She had been bearing the burden of guilt for Carlos’ death. I’d questioned her wisdom in letting the horses out to pasture and her rebellion had led her to disregard my words. Carlos paid the price.
When she’d suffered the injury, that conscience was blocking her memories. It had been a sort of combined effort between her swollen tissues and her conscience; something of which she had not been aware. I should have seen it and although this did little to help, it did illustrate that Auggie and I were two of a kind and always had been.
We were both rebellious to the extent of hurting ourselves, and often, others. This was what we were seeing rise in Ford, as well. The question was whether we could keep him from becoming like us. How could parents with the same weakness reach out and help their child who had inherited that pre-disposition? It would be like reverse engineering of his DNA. Was it possible in therapy? Did brain plasticity extend to innate personality traits?
***
Once the initial breakthrough had taken place, Auggie began to remember in spurts. I never pressured her but welcomed her back gently. She needed to remain in control of the process. It couldn’t be forced. We cut back the nurses to just one who came three times a week and only because she and Auggie had become friends. Betsy smiled more often and I caught myself whistling a time or two.
I telephoned Ford ahead of his normal call. He was concerned when he came on the phone. I should have anticipated this, but didn’t, so I quickly said, “She’s coming back.” It was enough. He understood. We talked a bit more about the process and that she needed more time, but he was at ease
knowing that there was a future ahead.
As I watched Auggie return, there were many times when I wanted to give her some kind of a memory block to avoid thinking about the things that were unpleasant. I wanted her not to remember Linc, the cruelty of her mother and the loss of friends like Mrs. Jessup. I realized then that life has no texture, no contrast unless the good and the bad are allowed to co-exist. I could not manipulate her brain any more than I could life and there was a lesson in this for me. In time, when Auggie was herself again, perhaps we could talk about that and give some thought to how we might help our son.
Auggie
I felt suspended between two worlds. I was told that there were things I had yet to remember and yet I wondered whether I wanted to. I knew that before I remembered Carlos, my life seemed soft and lined with warm, pastel quilts that kept me from being harmed. Every day, more of the grays and even blacks began to enter from the periphery. There was a certain comfort in not knowing what you do not know.
I’d begun to remember the events of the day when I was injured at the lake. I hadn’t confessed this to Worth yet, for I don’t know what role he might have played. I wanted to remember it all before I judged. Remembering had taught me that there were perspectives we may never see. It’s unfair to anyone to judge without that full view. I would never judge again.
I knew Worth was my husband, and Ford, my son. I felt a resistance in opening myself to either one, as though there was a latent hurt that I was still trying to block. But having resolved not to judge, I had to give them both a clean slate, as they had given me. I felt a mother’s love toward Ford; it grew within me every morning when I woke. I was beginning to recall him lying in the nursery and the sweet smell of his baby breath as I took him to nurse at my breast. I remembered my pride in the fact that he resembled me and hoped we would share a spirit that would keep us lifelong companions.