“I hope she wants to come back to the show,” he said with quiet determination as it became clear to Whitney how single-focused these people were. Paige would have been happy to hear it. Whitney wasn’t. All Whitney wanted was for Emma to survive and come out of the coma as undamaged as possible. Her TV career was the least of their worries. But the producer had a hit show to protect. “We’d like to give a statement to the press today. Entertainment Tonight, People, Us Weekly, the major fan magazines, the network affiliates.”
“What are you planning to tell them?” Whitney asked, feeling anxious about what he was saying.
“That Emma Watts was in an accident three days ago, in which her mother was tragically killed, and Emma is resting comfortably at Cedars-Sinai and will come back as soon as she can. Hopefully, right after the hiatus this summer. We’re covered until then and for several episodes in the fall season. We’ve got some margin here before it becomes crucial for us to have her taping.” He had thought of everything since the first call from the police.
“And if she’s still in a coma when you run out of episodes she’s already taped?” Whitney was shaken by the heartlessness of the business, and what mattered to them.
“Hopefully, she won’t be in a coma by then,” he said, as though wishing would make it true. “We could write the accident into the new season and even tape her in bed if we have to. We’re willing to work around it, just not have her disappear off the air. Do you suppose we could get a shot of her today? It could look like she’s just sleeping. It might reassure the fans to see her.” He was thinking out loud, trying to work with what they had.
“She has a bandage on her head with EEG pads sticking out, her face is bruised, she has two black eyes and a breathing tube taped across her face. Is that the shot you had in mind?” Whitney was getting angry. She didn’t want Emma exploited, or seen in the condition she was in. She was determined to protect her, no matter what Paige would have done. She didn’t want to think about that now.
“Not really,” he said, sounding embarrassed. “I guess she’s not ready for a photo op.” He tried to make light of it, but Whitney didn’t laugh. She had just lost her sister, and might still lose her niece. “Well, let’s stay in touch. We’ll get the statement out to the press today about the accident and minimize the damage to her. We’ll focus on her mother’s death. Do you have a funeral planned?”
“Not yet,” Whitney said softly.
“I’m sure there will be a tremendous amount of sympathy for Emma and her mom. This is really a tough break, for all of you.” Whitney nodded as tears sprang to her eyes again. She couldn’t answer. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do.”
“Pray,” Whitney said in a choked voice.
“Of course…I’m sorry for your loss, Miss…er…Dr. Watts. We’re going to miss your sister too. She was a trouper and a real pro.” The truth was that Paige hadn’t been a pro at anything except being a stage mother. She was a pro at that, but nothing else.
She drove over to Paige’s house after the call and let herself in with the key Paige had given her. The house was slightly messy, as always, and there was a note under the door, signed Marty, saying he had waited half an hour for them, they were late, and to give him a call when they got home. She wondered if that was what they had been rushing home for when the truck hit them. Whitney wandered into Emma’s bedroom and saw on her bed the teddy bear that she slept with every night. Whitney had given it to her when she was born. It was well-worn, and looked well-loved. Whitney picked it up and took it with her, to put next to Emma in her hospital bed. She wandered around the house feeling lost, missing her sister. The silence was oppressive, and she couldn’t stand it after a few minutes. It was just too sad, and would be even more so if Emma died too. She didn’t want to think about it.
Then she locked the house up again and drove back to Cedars-Sinai. She hurried to the pediatric ICU to make sure Emma was still alive, and the nurse at the desk told her nothing had changed. Whitney tucked the little teddy bear in next to Emma, and sat down to watch her, stroked her hand, and started talking to her again. Even seeing her in a coma was a relief, at least she was still there.
Three hours later, the nurse at the desk beckoned to her, and there was a security guard standing next to her in the hall outside Emma’s cubicle. He explained that they were having a “situation” in the lobby. Throngs of people were leaving flowers and toys and balloons for Emma, and several of them were trying to force their way upstairs. It had just been on the news about the accident, and the reaction had been immediate. The hospital wanted to place a guard outside the ICU, and another near Emma’s bed, and he asked if Whitney had any objection. She said on the contrary, she’d be grateful for it. It suddenly reminded her of her childhood, when she and Paige had to be spirited out of restaurants, hotels, and stores through a back entrance while photographers with flashing lights tried to take their pictures. That was what Paige had wanted for Emma and what she had left her with.
When Whitney tried to walk through the lobby to see how bad it was, the paparazzi recognized her, leapt at her with their flashes in her face and questions about how Emma was. She rushed out without answering any questions, and got lost running through the basement of the hospital, trying to find her way to the right elevator bank to get back to the ICU, to make sure that Emma was all right. The security guard at the door was checking IDs before he let anyone through.
The accident was all over the news that night, with photographs of Emma beaming at them from her birthday party on the show when she’d turned nine a few months before. Reporters were adding a layer of angst and tragedy to the situation, and fans were reacting to it and leaving carloads of gifts in the lobby that had to be removed. Whitney requested that they be sent to be distributed in the children’s ward and a homeless shelter across town.
Through it all, Emma remained in the coma, as doctors came and went to examine her, and study the scans of her brain that added no further information to what they already knew.
Chad called her a few days later, and she told him there had been no change. He hadn’t wanted to disturb her before that and asked Whitney when she thought she could come back to the boat. She was startled by the question, given Emma’s condition, and said she had absolutely no idea. She didn’t see how she could come back at all. He seemed surprised and disappointed to hear it and ended the call quickly.
Her office knew she was back in town by then, but she told them she wouldn’t be returning to work any earlier than planned. Her life was on hold until something changed with Emma.
Two weeks after the accident, nothing had. Whitney felt like she was on a never-ending treadmill. She only went back to her house every day to shower and change clothes and pick up her mail. She was sleeping in Emma’s cubicle in the ICU. The hospital was letting her come and go through the staff entrance, so she could avoid the paparazzi permanently camped out in the lobby, lying in wait for her, and begging for news.
It was beginning to look to Whitney like Emma was never going to come out of the coma, and the MRIs and CT scans hadn’t changed in weeks.
Whitney had been sitting in Emma’s room, thinking about Paige. She had decided not to plan a funeral for her. She could have a memorial service for her later, and the funeral home was holding her ashes. She couldn’t handle a funeral for Paige and being with Emma day and night. Whitney just hoped it wouldn’t be a service for both of them. She was wondering what to do about Emma if she remained in the coma, when she heard a slight stirring next to her and glanced at her niece to make sure she was all right. They had lightened the sedation they were giving her a few days before, but that had had no effect either, and when Whitney turned to look at her, she saw Emma open her eyes and stare at her. Whitney could feel her heart pounding in her chest. There was no recognition in Emma’s eyes, but they were definitely open, and she looked as though she was trying to guess
where she was. Emma reached for the breathing tube, and Whitney stopped her and rang for the nurse, who came immediately and saw what had happened. They sent for the doctor, and Whitney and the ICU nurse spoke soothingly to Emma as tears rolled slowly down her bruised cheeks and she made a grunting noise as they held her hands so she didn’t try to remove the tube. She obviously wanted it out so she could talk.
“They’re going to come and take it out in a minute,” Whitney reassured her, and showed her that her teddy bear was next to her. Emma’s eyes were full of questions, and Whitney was sure she wanted her mother. She was dreading having to tell her what had happened. It was a moment of truth that neither of them was ready for but would have to be faced now that she was awake. They had waited nearly three weeks for this since the accident, and now that it had come, Whitney was terrified about what to say to her. It was going to be the worst news of Emma’s life. But at least she was finally awake!
The doctor removed the breathing tube when he arrived and examined Emma as her eyes drifted closed again. She didn’t speak once the tube was out. She slept for a few minutes as Whitney wondered if she would slip back into the coma, but she didn’t. She opened her eyes again with a vague look, and no apparent recognition of Whitney. She looked around the room and seemed confused.
“Let her get oriented for a while,” the doctor said gently. He spoke to Emma for a few minutes and told her she was in a hospital. The tube was out, but she hadn’t spoken or voiced any of the questions that Whitney was sure were plaguing her. When she woke again, she made a series of unintelligible sounds, as though she was trying to speak to them but couldn’t remember the right words. Whitney glanced at the doctor and he nodded. “Her speech center is affected,” he explained. “That’s not unusual with frontal lobe trauma. She’ll get the hang of it again.” He asked Emma if she remembered her name, and she shook her head and then said something in her own language again. It sounded like the garbled gurgling of a two-year-old. He asked her then if anything hurt, and she nodded, and then pointed to her head and said the word “Ow,” which made sense. He asked her several more questions, and she didn’t answer, and then, looking exhausted, she went back to sleep. It was two hours later when she woke again, and Whitney was alone with her. She bent down to kiss her cheek, and Emma looked surprised. Whitney had the feeling that Emma didn’t remember her, and then she made the garbled sounds again, as though she had returned from the coma with her own language. She looked irritated when Whitney didn’t understand.
“It’s going to take a while to get used to things again,” Whitney said, trying to reassure her, as Emma turned her head away and cried. The nurse tried speaking to her when she came in with some juice and a straw. Emma took it from her and drank it, and then threw the plastic cup on the floor. The doctor came back later and told Whitney that everything Emma was experiencing was to be expected with a traumatic brain injury. She was liable to be confused and frustrated for a while, and even hostile at times.
“I don’t think she recognizes me,” Whitney said, looking worried.
“She may not. It’s going to take her time to sort things out. Like language, for instance. So far, from what I can see, her speech center has been the most affected.”
“How long is that going to take to return to normal?” Whitney asked him.
“She may have to learn everything all over again, or some of it may come back gradually. For now, she seems to have lost speech.” He had already made note of it on the chart, and Whitney tried not to look panicked. Now they were beginning to face the results of the accident and Emma’s brain injury. She could no longer speak to them, which was going to make communication difficult. Her large motor skills seemed unaffected, the doctor thought she could walk, sit, and stand when she was strong enough. But her ability to speak coherently was gone.
“Do you remember who I am, Em?” Whitney asked when she was back in the room with her again, and Emma looked blank, with no response.
“I’m Whitney. I’m your aunt. And you’re Emma.” She pointed to herself as she said her own name, and then pointed to her niece, while Emma looked at her with no comprehension, and then shook her head. She said a few more words in her own language, which sounded like nothing to any of them. It bore no resemblance to normal speech, and sounded like caveman grunts or animal sounds, and then she let out a screech as though she was in pain. The nurse asked if she could hear them talking to her, and Emma gave no sign of it. Her hearing had been affected too, which was also not unusual, given the nature of her injury. It was frightening to realize how many of her faculties had been impacted.
The nurse offered to take her for a stroll in the wheelchair and pointed to it, and Emma fought them not to get into it and looked terrified. She didn’t understand what they were trying to do. Everything was suddenly new to her, nothing was familiar or made sense. Not their words or their actions, or her own words when she spoke to them, or even the sight of her aunt’s face. By the end of the day, Emma was exhausted and fell asleep clutching her teddy bear as Whitney watched her sleep and wondered how they would communicate with her, and if it would last forever. She was like a feral child who had returned from the wild into the midst of strangers. She hadn’t asked for her mother, at least not in a language anyone understood.
For the next week, Whitney and the nurses fought to understand what Emma was saying and got nowhere. Her small motor skills had been affected, her speech, her vision, and her hearing. The doctor had done some simple vision tests on her and was certain her vision was blurred. And from some equally simple tests with loud noises, he determined that Emma was deaf. She was living in isolation, and the language she was speaking made no sense except to her. She had only said one intelligible word so far when she first woke up, “ow.”
The attending neurologist suggested bringing in two specialists he frequently worked with on brain injury cases, Drs. Bailey Turner and Amy Clarke. He said that none of what Emma was experiencing was unusual or unexpected, but they needed to make a plan as to how to deal with it, especially once Emma went home. She wasn’t there yet, but the day would come, and for now, she was severely brain damaged from the physical trauma of the accident. The emotional trauma was impossible to measure, but was an important factor too. He told Whitney that Dr. Bailey Turner was an experienced pediatric neurologist, and Dr. Amy Clarke was better with adults but made creative suggestions, and the two often worked as a team.
Melvin Levy called Whitney, wanting to set up a photo op and even an interview with Emma, which was unimaginable in the condition she was in. Whitney didn’t want to admit the details to him of how damaged she was, but said that an interview was unthinkable. Emma was out of the coma, but she bore no resemblance to the child she had been before the accident. They would have been terrified if they’d seen her, and there was no way she could return to the show in her current state, which Whitney chose not to explain to him. She didn’t want it appearing on the news that Emma Watts was now severely brain damaged, possibly forever. She didn’t want anyone saying that about her, and it was too soon to know how much of the damage would last, and for how long.
The two specialists who came to see her, Drs. Turner and Clarke, were slightly older than Whitney, serious clinicians who shared a practice. They were gentle and sympathetic and explained the effects of the accident in detail. As the referring neurologist had said, Whitney found Bailey Turner warm and easy to talk to, Amy Clarke more matter of fact, but both were intelligent, kind, and helpful. Bailey Turner was more optimistic and hopeful, and particularly nice to Whitney. They reassured her that everything Emma was experiencing was normal, even if upsetting. Whitney’s big question was how long it was likely to stay that way, and if Emma would eventually recover normal speech and hearing. There were no answers to those questions. Only time would tell, Emma was constantly frustrated when no one understood her, and often would throw things and have tantrums as a result.
<
br /> “Can we teach her to speak again?” Whitney asked Dr. Turner after his initial evaluation. She was looking desperate, and he tried to reassure her. He was impressed by her devotion to her niece.
“Yes, but not this soon. We need to give her brain a chance to settle down, before we begin stimulating it. If we start too soon, we’ll only confuse her more.” He was a smart, sensible person with a kind manner. Nothing presenting in the case surprised him or indicated to him that Emma could not improve over time. How much time no one knew. He tried to break the news as gently as he could, while Whitney ignored how attractive he was. She couldn’t think about that now. He was a fellow physician and she needed his help. He was tall and athletic looking, with dark brown eyes and hair as dark as hers. Amy Clarke was a pretty, petite blonde.
“Do you think she can read?” Whitney wanted to know. They tried some experiments with paper and pen, and Emma had no idea what they were doing. Another eye exam confirmed that she had blurred vision, and she clearly had no memory of how to read or what the letters were. It was obvious that she couldn’t hear them. Emma had returned to the land of the living, but she had come back in a hermetically sealed world which included no language anyone but Emma herself understood, no ability to hear them or read simple phrases, and she didn’t recognize Whitney. Her mind was a slate that had been wiped clean and everything familiar to her was gone. It left Whitney feeling panicked and heartbroken for her. If it stayed that way, it would be a tragedy. The bright, bold, clever, brilliant little precocious child who had dazzled everyone who met her and had been the star of a TV show no longer existed. In her place was one very frightened, lonely, isolated, brain-damaged little girl.
Whitney cried when she told Chad about it, when he called again. He was back in San Francisco by then, and he felt desperately sorry for both of them, the woman he knew and the little girl who was trapped in a silent world without words or language or the ability to hear. He offered to come to L.A. to spend a weekend with her, and Whitney explained to him that much as she’d like that, she had no time to see him right now. She couldn’t leave Emma alone for a minute. Emma was the limit of her world. Whitney hadn’t gone back to work yet, and she lived in a sea of CT scans, MRIs, and EEGs and felt like she was drowning. She had no time for anything else. Whatever Paige had done that night had cost her her life, and nearly Emma’s, and now Whitney’s life was altered forever. She hated her sister for it at times and cried for her at others. Her own emotions seemed as confused as Emma’s, and as conflicted.
Silent Night Page 5