Then I went on to describe Dream Management, including the academic dreams.
You’d listen patiently like you did when we were kids. As a neurosurgeon, I’d expect you to tell me it was my imagination and might even use some medical terminology to explain why it wasn’t real. But instead, a moment of clarity would come over your face, and you’d explain the possible mechanics…
After I finished the conversation, I snapped out of my trance and my breath hitched. I was only in a hospital conveying a dream to Josh. I wasn’t foretelling the future.
Chapter: 38
I hunched over the Formica table, alone in the near-empty hospital cafeteria, my homework splayed out in front of me. I reread the same line in my history textbook over and over. My eyes grew heavy even though it was only mid-afternoon.
Beep!
I jumped in my seat. A text. From Mom.
Come quick!
I gathered my papers, jammed them into my messenger bag, and heaved it across my shoulder. Then I raced up six flights of stairs, two steps at a time, and burst into my brother’s room huffing and puffing. Mom sat on Josh’s bed, holding his hand, tears streaming down her face.
My heart made one decisive beat, sending waves through my body. Then it stopped.
It hit me: Josh had died.
I grabbed the doorframe for support.
There he was, lying in front of me, white and motionless.
Mom looked up at me. “He’s waking up.”
I couldn’t answer at first. I was still out of breath and my heart wasn’t beating right. I had an overwhelming urge to hit her. “I…I thought he was dying,” I finally spat out.
“Sorry.” She smiled through her tears. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Mom! How could you text me like that?”
I had to take a moment to calm down. I looked around the room and again at my brother. A nurse stood off to one side. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Mom patted the bed. “Why don’t you come over here?”
Still a bit shaky, I eased down on the opposite side of his bed, took his right hand in mine, and watched. Relief gradually replaced my anger as my heart rate slowed.
“Your dad’s on his way.”
I nodded, grateful Dad wasn’t mid-surgery. He wouldn’t want to miss this.
I didn’t know what to expect, something like in the movies perhaps. Maybe he’d open his eyes, look at us, and say, “Hi.” But in reality, it was more like watching a slug cross wet pavement.
“Be patient. Before I texted you, he was flailing his arms. He even moved his head—slightly, but still.” Mom pointed to the monitors. “His stats have changed. His EEG indicates his brain is active and his heart rate has sped up.”
We each held one of his hands and spoke to him. The nurse remained in the back of the room, giving us the illusion of privacy. Every time I glanced over, she had her gaze glued to his monitors. After what seemed like an eternity, Josh squeezed my hand lightly. Was it my imagination? I squeezed back. He squeezed again. He must’ve done the same on his left side too because Mom gasped.
His eyelids started to quiver, like he was struggling to wake up. The nurse dimmed the lights. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust; however, sunlight coming through a slit in the curtains lit up half the room while the monitors glowed on the other side.
His eyes fluttered open briefly.
Will he be able to talk? Will he know me? Will he still be Josh? I hadn’t been told much about what might happen.
At first he stared off into space, but after a short while, he focused on Mom.
She leaned down close. “Josh. I love you. I’m here. Your sister too.”
Then his gaze traveled slowly to me. I read recognition and confusion.
“Josh. It’s me, Autumn.”
After a few seconds, his eyes glazed over.
Mom placed her hand on his forehead. “You’re okay. You’re in the hospital. They gave you medicine to keep you asleep.”
He nodded ever so faintly and closed his eyes.
“You sleep,” Mom said. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”
He nodded again without reopening his eyes.
The nurse stepped forward. “I’ll notify the doctor again.”
Minutes later, Dr. Johnston strode in. He performed a few brief tests and jotted down more notes. “His behavior is encouraging. The act of waking is tiring. It may take him a few tries.”
We stayed silent or spoke softly while we waited. We were now in a room with a sleeping boy—literally—whereas before, we had wanted him to wake, and so we’d spoken in our regular voices.
Soon Dad arrived and had a whispered conversation with us. We sat vigil for hours. It was like waiting for the birthday guest to arrive at a surprise party. I wanted to sing and dance and talk with all my friends. But instead, I remained quiet.
At last, Josh rewarded our efforts with a faint twitch. He was waking. The nurse had kept the room dim to make it less traumatic for him to open his eyes.
This time Dad took his hand and spoke. “Josh. It’s Dad. I love you.”
Josh opened his eyes a slit. Again he stared off into space but eventually focused on Dad. His mouth moved slightly, like he was struggling to talk. I could’ve sworn he said, “Dad.” Then he gazed around the room, his green eyes wide. No idea what he could be thinking.
The nurse adjusted his bed to bring his head higher.
“Wh-wh-what happened?” His voice was raspy and difficult to make out.
Mom gave the CliffsNotes version of the accident and his hospital stay. Josh struggled to say more than a few words at a time, but he seemed to follow the conversation and listed the names of his three friends, as if he wanted to know they were okay. He also kept asking the date, which was April third. He worried he’d slept away two and a half weeks. Our parents assured him it didn’t matter. The important thing was to get better.
I sat there savoring the love, the relief, and the excitement. A flashing ticker tape with the words My Brother is Awake scrolled across my vision. Although deep down, I’d always believed he would eventually wake up, I was unprepared for the flood of emotions now flowing through me.
While Josh was still awake, Dr. Johnston returned. He shined a light in his pupils and asked him some basic questions such as, “What is your name?” and “How old are you?” The doctor smiled as Josh answered each one correctly. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Josh.” Before Dr. Johnston left, he pulled my parents aside.
I leaned toward them, straining to hear. He explained he was cautiously optimistic based on how coherent Josh was. Often patients had much more confusion after being in a coma for so long. I nearly pumped my arm in the air and yelled, “Yes!” If the conservative doctor was happy with his prognosis, then Josh was bound to get better.
Soon Josh grew drowsy, and the nurse explained he needed rest. She suggested we take a break too. Mom refused, of course, but as soon as he fell back to sleep, I went home with Dad.
The car couldn’t go fast enough. I was anxious to tell the world my brother was awake. Time to finally return all those calls and texts and emails. The entire drive, Dad explained how Josh’s short conversation allayed many of the fears he’d kept to himself. Josh’s memory was intact, he could see and hear, and he was capable of a brief conversation. Some of his speaking limitations could be for trivial reasons, such as being parched or tired, rather than an indication of permanent brain damage.
I grew dizzy and overwhelmed as he described potential scenarios of what might lie ahead: seizures, difficulty concentrating, blurry vision, headaches, dizziness, changes in personality, depression, and the need to relearn some basic activities. But as I listened, I took cues from Dad and remained upbeat. He was almost giddy rather than his usual controlled manner. It was a new side of him—the wall between us thinner than usual. Obviously he was beyond relieved that, so far, Josh had passed the tests. But he made it clear my brother had a challenging road ahead. And although
neither of us said it, we both knew Josh’s dreams were far greater than simply living.
Chapter: 39
Days later, I sat beside Josh on his hospital bed and fed him dinner while our parents looked on. It reminded me of when I used to feed Skylar baby food. Josh was now capable of full-on conversations, so each evening after Dad arrived from work, we would spend hours around his bedside. We had even started playing board games as a family—Dad had always been too busy before, but when Dr. Johnston noted games were beneficial for Josh’s rehabilitation, Dad participated with gusto.
“Here comes the airplane,” I joked. My brother made a face but ate it anyway. He’d fed himself earlier today, but the high dose of pain medication for his headache made him dizzy, and he’d made a mess of himself.
“I just want to get moving,” he complained. “I’ve gotta get out of here and back to school. Graduation’s coming up.”
My spine tingled. This wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned something like this in the past few days. I’d been conveying a similar line while he was in a coma. A coincidence? Maybe. Of course he’d want to return to school and graduate. That’s what all high school seniors fixated on, and Josh had talked of almost nothing else the last few months.
“You need to go slow,” Dad said. “Simply eating the mush your sister is feeding you is a huge undertaking for your body. You’ve been on IV fluids for nearly three weeks.”
I chuckled. “Be glad that humongous cast is on your left arm, or I’d be feeding you for another month or two.”
Josh blew out his breath in frustration but then opened his mouth for more.
Mom leaned over. “Be patient. The doctor said he’s going to arrange for physical and occupational therapy soon.”
A couple hours later, as Dad and I prepared to head home—Mom still slept at the hospital—Josh said, “Wait. One more thing.”
He seemed to be addressing Dad, so I slumped in my chair to scroll through my phone and wait for what was sure to be another request to bring some random items from home.
Soon the tone of the voices changed. My ears perked up.
“It’s okay, Josh. You can tell us,” Mom soothed.
He took a deep breath and looked at each of us before focusing on the white bed sheets. “We were driving to the movie theater. I don’t remember what we were talking about. But the music was loud, and we had to shout. Then my phone vibrated in my pocket. I know I shouldn’t have tried to get it out. But a few girls were planning to meet us at the theater.” His voice broke. “And I just wanted to read the text.”
Dad’s mouth pressed closed as if clamped in a vice. He reached out and grabbed Mom’s hand, which turned white. My body went cold and rigid.
Josh was now full-on crying and choking on his words, but my parents didn’t interrupt. “I kind of had to struggle to get the phone out of my pocket. I was looking down, trying to see the message. Then I heard a scream…Kellan, I think. Never even saw the red light.”
A nurse popped her head into the room but ducked back out.
I held my breath. If only I could somehow exit the room without my parents noticing, like the nurse. Josh’s friends had never mentioned the text or his phone in the police report, or with us. Could he still be charged for that? Texting while driving was illegal in Washington State.
Mom lay down on the hospital bed and wrapped Josh in her arms while Dad sat there like a statue. Perhaps he was thinking something like his golden child wasn’t so golden anymore. Maybe more like bronze. Poor Josh. Disappointing Dad was going to be tough on him. Mom murmured something to my brother. I couldn’t see her face, but she had to be as devastated as Dad. After all the warnings they’d given us about cell phone usage in the car, I couldn’t believe this was the reason for the accident. So stupid. He could’ve killed his friends. And he nearly killed himself.
Dad jumped up and started pacing, flapping his jacket open and closed like it was a hundred degrees before he announced, “I need to get out of here.” I took a deep breath, hoping he’d hold it together. A hospital was definitely not the right arena for one of his outbursts. They were rare, but when they came, I stayed away.
My body was sticky with sweat by the time I climbed into the car with Dad. I slumped, motionless, in the front seat like an animal hoping to remain invisible before a predator. His breathing was heavy. Mine rapid.
He muttered under his breath, “I can’t believe it.”
I waited for the inevitable explosion. An explosion that never came. I could only assume more cell phone restrictions would be put in place once Josh was able to drive again. And for me, if I ever got my license. Driving practice had already plunged to the bottom of my priority list weeks ago.
****
Thoughts of what might happen to my brother had been eating at me all night, but I wasn’t about to ask Dad. After he dropped me off at Harborview the next morning, I took my chance with Mom when we went to the cafeteria for coffee. An aid was with Josh, cleaning him up. Now that he was coherent, he preferred privacy anytime something bordering on embarrassing was happening to him.
“Last night, after I went home, did you guys talk more about the accident?” I asked.
She nodded. “It was easier to have a rational discussion once your father left.” She sighed, but her face remained expressionless. “It’s good it’s all in the open now. He needed to get that off his chest.”
“Are you going to tell the police?”
She shook her head. “It’s not up to us. Josh is eighteen and will soon be well enough to give a statement to our insurance company. But I don’t think this will make much of a difference. They’ve already accepted liability based on everyone’s statements and the police report. Not sure if he will need to speak with the police or not.”
“Oh.” After a few more moments, I asked, “Is he going to be punished?” I hoped not. I knew my brother. He had to be racked with guilt.
She turned and gave me a sad smile. “I don’t know. They don’t have parenting rulebooks for situations like this. Part of me thinks he’s already been punished enough. He’ll have to live with this for the rest of his life. He knows he was lucky to survive. I’m pretty confident he’s not going to even touch a cell phone in the car from now on.” She sipped her coffee. “I suppose your father and I’ll have to work out some sort of punishment. But with everything going on, that’s the least of our concerns right now.”
Poor Mom. She had the weight of the world on her shoulders. And I thought I was stressed.
****
I was struggling with an algebra problem at the minuscule table in Josh’s room when I overheard him tell Mom about a dream he had about his upcoming graduation. “Oh, and Aunt Kelly’s family and Uncle Greg were there. Even Grandma Mattison.”
I stared at the quadratic equation in front of me, but the numbers blurred. My attention was on my brother.
“That sounds nice,” Mom said. “But don’t count on your grandmother. You know she doesn’t like to fly.”
“And it was a gorgeous day. Wow. Wouldn’t sunshine be something? We’ll be lucky if it doesn’t rain.”
No way! That’s the exact dream I conveyed. Although I thought I’d been getting through to him, I didn’t truly know what it felt like. Besides, I didn’t believe he’d comprehend the dream, let alone remember it, being in a coma and all. I wanted to jump up and down right then and there. But of course, I couldn’t.
Mom took a deep breath. “Let’s not worry about the weather quite yet. I’m just hoping to get you home soon.”
Similar incidences happened over the next few days. When he returned from physical therapy stinking of sweat, he told us he couldn’t give up. He referred to his dream and insisted he’d be there, walking on graduation day. My heart swelled with pride. I’d always known he had a can-do personality but was thrilled he kept latching on to the dream. I must’ve conveyed it successfully, at least in part, and prayed I hadn’t created false hope.
One day he seemed
down and frustrated, so I re-conveyed the dream, which seemed to invigorate him the following day. I was shocked. It was working.
Josh was also obsessed with Dr. Johnston. He asked him all kinds of questions as the doctor completed his evaluations. Josh said he’d always planned to go to medical school but had never known which field to pursue. He’d thought perhaps cardiothoracic surgery, like our dad, but now was considering studying the brain. Dr. Johnston liked his enthusiasm and offered to tour him around his department for a day this summer. Maybe even arrange a volunteer position in neurosurgery during college if Josh became serious about it.
Could I have conveyed the dream about the neurosurgery residency as well, or was Josh’s behavior a side effect of Dr. Johnston being so influential in his recovery? My dream must’ve played a part. Although I was overjoyed, my success was bittersweet. What dumb luck to finally learn how to do it after leaving Dickensen. Once I officially withdrew, I assumed the skill would be taken from me along with the rest of my Dream Management knowledge.
****
I’d been dying to talk to Josh about his dreams but hadn’t known how to go about it. Besides, he was never alone for long. I had to know if after all these months of failure I’d actually conveyed to Josh, a person more adult than child. Or was it wishful thinking?
But today, Dad was at his hospital, and Mom was at her own clinic where she worked part-time. She planned to take a leave of absence but wanted to organize everything there to make it easier for the physicians who would take over her patients.
I had to take advantage of this opportunity.
“So you’ve had some dreams about graduation…sounds like they were pretty amazing.” I tried not to be too obvious, but over the course of fifteen minutes, I managed to ask several detailed questions. My heart beat faster and faster as he answered each one accurately. I confirmed I did convey both dreams, multiple times, and—just as impressive—they’d stuck with him.
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