Stanton- The Trilogy

by Alex MacLean

  “Daphne,” she said. “Do you know who I am, honey? Can you hear me?”

  She waited. Seconds passed. Then Daphne squeezed a little harder, let go.

  Encouraged, Audra asked, “Can you squeeze my hand again?”

  And Daphne did, not once, but twice.

  Audra could feel her heart racing, her body beginning to shake. That was a reaction, she told herself. A sign. Different than last night.

  “Can you do it again, honey?”

  Another squeeze, lighter than the others, but there. Moments later, Daphne’s head twitched on the pillow. Her eyelids fluttered.

  “Go get the nurses,” Audra told Daniel.

  He hurried out of the room.

  Audra bit her lip, weeping, as she watched Daphne’s eyes slowly begin to open.

  48

  Halifax, June 14

  9:32 p.m.

  Dr. Jones reminded Audra of a marathon runner. He stood around five-seven, with a slight frame and narrow shoulders. He had kind blue eyes, pale blond hair, and eyebrows so light they almost blended into his skin.

  Audra and Daniel waited outside the room as Jones and the nurses removed the breathing tube from Daphne’s throat.

  Audra watched from the doorway, wringing her hands. A fury of emotions wreaked havoc on her mind—joy and relief at Daphne coming out of the coma, fear and worry about the amount of brain damage she might have suffered. Would Audra get her old daughter back or someone unrecognizable? Would Daphne know who her mother and father were?

  Daniel stood beside Audra. He had his hands clasped behind his neck and his head bent forward.

  One nurse wrapped the breathing tube in a towel. A second nurse shut off the ventilator. To Audra, the room sounded so much better without that machine constantly pumping.

  Dr. Jones removed the EEG electrodes from Daphne’s head. Then he leaned over her, moving a penlight back and forth over her eyes.

  “Can you tell me your name, please?” he asked.

  Audra waited to hear the sound of Daphne’s voice.

  “Can you tell me your name?” Jones repeated.

  A moment passed. Nothing.

  Audra saw Daphne’s feet moving under the bed sheets. She wanted to see her daughter’s face, but the wall of bodies blocked her view.

  Jones tried another question. “Do you know where you are? Do you know where you are?”

  Then Daphne responded. She didn’t form words or sentences, only made sounds similar to those of a baby.

  She said, “ah-ah,” and “ooh,” and “ba-ba.”

  The sounds chilled Audra’s skin, lifted hairs at the nape of her neck. That dread, that bevy of negative thoughts she’d held back all this time, came rushing forward, filling her mind. She tried to push them back again, to remain calm and optimistic. Daphne has just emerged from her coma, she told herself. A promising sign in itself.

  Audra turned to Daniel. He had his head lowered, his eyes blinking rapidly. She could feel the ache of dashed hope tearing him up inside.

  She reached over and tapped his arm. “Hey. You okay?”

  Daniel’s throat moved. He did not look at her.

  “I kept my fingers crossed, you know?” His voice cracked around the words. “She’d be all right.”

  Audra felt the words like a cold hand around her heart.

  “We don’t know anything yet,” she said. “Let’s wait for the doctor. Okay? This might be only temporary.”

  Daniel touched his eyes, stared at his wet fingertips when he pulled them away.

  “You’re right,” he said softly. “You’re right.”

  Audra stared at him for a few more seconds, then she looked back into the room. Dr. Jones wrote something down on a chart and gave it to a nurse.

  Turning back to Daphne, he asked, “Can you grasp my hands, please?”

  Audra wished someone would move out of the way so she could see what was going on.

  After a long pause, Jones said, “Excellent. Now squeeze, please. Squeeze my hand. I know you can do it.”

  Audra waited in suspense. Beside her, Daniel seemed to hardly breathe as he gazed into the room.

  Ten seconds passed. Twenty.

  Daphne made another baby noise, faint this time.

  At about the thirty-second mark, Jones said, “Beautiful.”

  Audra felt a wave of relief push through her chest. Excellent. Beautiful. Those words inspired her, gave her hope. They meant good things, not something discouraging.

  Daniel came over and slid an arm around her waist, laid his cheek against the top of her head.

  A nurse removed the bed sheets from Daphne’s legs. Dr. Jones jotted something else on his chart, then moved down to the end of the bed.

  Audra saw Daphne now. She looked so helpless it broke Audra’s heart.

  Jones grasped her ankles and brought them together.

  “Can you point your toes up toward you?” he asked.

  Daphne rolled her head on the pillow toward the sound of his voice. She peered down the length of the bed at him.

  “Can you point your toes up toward you?” Jones repeated.

  Daphne stared at him with a blank face.

  Audra watched her feet. Come on, she wanted to call over. You can do it.

  More seconds passed. Then, ever so slowly, Daphne flexed her toes upward, relaxed them again.

  Audra smiled. Daniel tensed his arm around her waist, set his chin on the top of her head.

  “Excellent,” Jones said in an encouraging tone. “Can you move your toes down for me? Move them down, please.”

  It took her another half minute, but Daphne managed to point her toes toward the foot of the bed.

  Jones gave her a big smile. “Beautiful. Now, can you lift your left leg?”

  Daphne hesitated again. To Audra, her daughter seemed to understand Dr. Jones and was able to keep her focus on him; she just had a hard time getting her body to do the things she wanted.

  “C’mon, kiddo,” Daniel whispered.

  Daphne lifted her left leg a few inches off the mattress, put it down.

  “Excellent,” Jones said. “Now your right. Lift your right leg, please.”

  Eventually, Daphne managed to do it.

  “Awesome job.”

  Jones covered Daphne’s legs with the bed sheets, then added something to his chart. He walked over to Audra and Daniel, leading them a short distance from the doorway.

  “How is she?” Audra asked.

  “Not too bad. She has localized responses.”

  “Meaning?”

  “She followed my finger with her eyes. She responded to simple commands. But it took her a few moments. She doesn’t react instantly like you and I would. There’s some fog there.”

  “Does she have brain damage?” Audra asked.

  Jones frowned. “Maybe some impairment, yes.”

  Daniel said, “I heard her making noises. Can she talk at all?”

  “No. She understands what you’re saying. She just can’t articulate words of her own to answer you. The Broca’s area of her brain might’ve been affected by the oxygen deprivation. Sometimes the CT and MRI don’t always pick up that stuff.”

  Audra shut her eyes, felt a sinking feeling in her stomach.

  “Is that reversible?” Daniel asked.

  Jones said, “I once had a patient who came out of a coma and talked like that for two weeks. Then out of the blue, he started talking normally again. Just like that. It was weird. So don’t let that discourage you.

  “Every patient is different. Every patient who comes out of a coma has unique problems. We have to wait and see how your daughter does in the coming days. When dealing with brain injuries, recovery is a slow process. It’s not like a broken bone or a cut. There’s no way to predict how things will go.

  “But you know, the brain can rewire itself, form new connections. A healthy part of the brain can take over the functions previously carried out by the damaged area. It’s an amazing organ. And we still know
very little about it.”

  “So what’s next for our daughter?” Audra asked.

  Jones held her in his kind eyes. “Well, we have to keep a close eye on things. Hope she doesn’t slip under again. There’s still that risk. In the morning, I’ll run more tests.”

  Daniel asked, “Can we go in?”

  “By all means. When you go in, talk calmly. Use simple sentences. Single words if possible. And only one of you speak at a time. Her attention span might only be five to ten minutes before she becomes tired. Try not to wear her out. If she falls asleep on you, let her. She needs rest.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Audra said.

  She and Daniel walked into the room. A nurse locked the side rails on the bed in place before leaving.

  Audra looked down at Daphne.

  “Hi, honey,” she said. “How you doing?”

  Daphne blinked up at her, dark eyes fuzzy with confusion.

  “It’s me,” Audra said. “Mommy. Remember?”

  Daphne continued to search her face, and Audra could see the painful slowness it took her brain to work through the fog.

  Suddenly, the cardiac monitor beeped faster, and Daphne let out a hoarse whimper. She gave Audra a wide grin and stretched out her hands.

  Audra felt a catch in her throat.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m here. I’m here, honey.”

  They hugged for a long moment, mother and daughter reunited. Daphne leaned back, taking Audra’s hand.

  She said, “Ma...ma.”

  Her face pinched, as if she knew the sounds coming out of her mouth were not the words she wanted to say and couldn’t understand why. Her eyes began to moisten.

  “Aww, honey,” Audra said. “Don’t cry. It’ll be okay.”

  She wiped the tears from Daphne’s cheeks.

  “Your father’s here,” she said, gesturing to Daniel on the other side of the bed.

  Daphne paused, then rolled over on the pillow. Daniel cupped one hand at the side of her face.

  “Hey, kiddo,” he said. “Welcome back.”

  Daphne looked at him with the same hesitation she’d given Audra. At last, she cooed, let go of her mother’s hand, and reached for her father. Daniel hugged her, his body hiccupping with suppressed emotion.

  “I love you so much,” he said. “I’m so happy you came back.”

  Through her grief and joy, Audra smiled at them. She found the lever to unlock the side rail from the bed, then she dragged the chair over and sat down.

  A nurse came into the room.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I need to do an arterial blood gas test.”

  Daniel got out of the way. The nurse moved up to the bed and gave Daphne a comforting smile.

  “This won’t hurt a bit,” she said.

  Daphne gazed up at her face. She didn’t even notice the syringe of blood being drawn from the arterial line sutured into her wrist.

  Audra followed the nurse out the door.

  “Excuse me,” she said.

  The nurse turned around. “Yes?”

  “My daughter. Is she allowed to have some ice chips to suck on? Maybe even to rub her lips with?”

  “We’ll see what the doctor says in the morning. Okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Sure.”

  Audra watched the nurse walk away. She wondered if they were afraid Daphne would choke.

  When Audra went back into the room, she and Daniel took their respective seats.

  Daphne shifted glances between them, a faint smile playing on her face. After a short time, she closed her eyes.

  Watching her sleep, Audra ran the conversation with Dr. Jones over in her mind. She considered the challenges ahead of Daphne.

  Speech therapy was a given. But could she even walk? Would she have to relearn how to do that? Would she ever be normal again?

  There would also be suicide risk assessments. If therapists feared Daphne would hurt herself again, they’d keep her in the hospital.

  Audra checked her watch. 11:14. She looked over at Daniel. He was nodding off in the chair.

  “Psst.”

  Daniel opened his sleepy eyes, slowly turned his head toward her.

  “Are you going home?” Audra whispered.

  Daniel lifted his wrist, made a face when he saw the time. He yawned, then threw a quick glance to the doorway.

  “Nah,” he said with equal quiet. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until they kick me out anyway.”

  Audra chuckled softly. For some strange reason, she had an urge to go over and kiss him.

  49

  Halifax, June 16

  10:45 a.m.

  Daphne had drifted in and out of sleep since emerging from the coma. Every time she awoke, she showed signs of improvement, becoming more alert and cognizant of her surroundings. She’d begun to form short words, stuttering occasionally. Longer words gave her trouble.

  The hospital called in Dr. Whitney Carr, a speech pathologist, to examine Daphne and determine her level of impairment. Carr looked to be in her early to mid-forties, with plump lips, ice-blue eyes, and wild blonde hair. She had a friendly, vibrant personality and the healthy glow of someone who liked the outdoors.

  Audra and Daniel watched from the other side of the bed as Carr set to work. She checked inside Daphne’s mouth with a dental mirror and told her to say aah. Then she wanted to see if Daphne could manage the proper oral movements required for speech. She asked her to open her mouth wide, stick out her tongue, and wiggle it side to side.

  Audra could see Daphne struggling with the simple request. Instead of one fluid motion, her movements were slow, labored, broken into three segments.

  “Good girl,” Carr said. “Click your teeth together.”

  Daphne tilted her head a bit, her face clouded.

  “Watch me,” Carr said, and made an exaggerated face of a person chattering their teeth from the cold.

  Daphne flicked a glance at her parents, and Audra gave her an encouraging smile.

  Daniel said, “Go ahead, kiddo. You can do it.”

  Daphne’s gaze returned to Carr, and her eyes tightened in concentration. Slowly, she pulled her lips back and touched her teeth together four times.

  “Good,” Carr said.

  She ran Daphne through several tasks like that—smiling, coughing, licking the top of her mouth, and biting her lower lip. She pulled out a feather from her leather briefcase and asked Daphne to blow on it as hard as she could.

  “Can you say, puh?” she asked.

  Daphne frowned. “Puh.”

  “Again.”

  Daphne repeated it.

  “Okay. Say it fast. Ten times.”

  As Daphne started off, Carr timed her. Watching, Audra thought Daphne had done a pretty good job. Daniel sat back in the chair and crossed his arms. Audra heard him swallow.

  “Now say, puh-tuh,” Carr said.

  Daphne hesitated, drawing a breath. “Puh...tuh.”

  “Again. Closer together.”

  “Puh...t-tuh. Puh-tuh.”

  Carr touched her hand. “Nice. Say puh-tuh. Fast. Ten times.”

  Daphne made it through six repetitions before she began to stumble, repeating the first syllable instead of the two in sequence. Audra winced inside. She found it heartbreaking to watch her daughter struggle with tasks she would’ve found easy before.

  Carr wrote something down in her notes.

  “Okay,” she said. “Now a hard one. Say, puh-tuh-kuh.”

  A look of strain crossed Daphne’s face. She squared her shoulders against the incline of the mattress, lowered her eyebrows, and focused on a spot in front of her.

  With painful slowness, she said, “P-puh...tuh...kuh.”

  Carr smiled at her. “Again. Without pausing.”

  “Puh-tuh...kuh.”

  “Better. Go again.”

  Daphne managed to pull the syllables together on the third try.

  “Good girl,” Carr said.

  Daphne drew her
lips back into a tight line and raised her eyebrows. She glanced sideways at her parents.

  Daniel reached over and tapped her arm.

  “You’re doing good,” he assured her. “Concentrate.”

  Audra winked at her. “Proud of you.”

  “The hard part,” said Carr, holding up an index finger. “Say puh-tuh-kuh. Ten times. Fast.”

  Daphne stared at her, and a hint of bashfulness crept into her eyes. She shook her head side to side.

  “Can’t,” she whispered.

  “Try it,” Carr coaxed her.

  Audra watched, worried Daphne might be so afraid of looking stupid in front of her parents that she’d refuse to go on.

  “You got one,” Carr said. “It doesn’t matter if you get ten. See how many you can do. Without stopping.”

  Daphne licked her lips. Shutting her eyes, her face worked. Then she tore out of the gate, repeating puh-tuh-kuh for three strings before tripping up. She opened her eyes again and put her head down. A light blush appeared in her cheeks.

  Carr leaned forward, her voice and manner warm, sympathetic. “That’s hard for everyone. Don’t let it worry you.”

  She moved Daphne onto actual words—cat, catnip, and catapult—and had her focus on repeating catapult. She asked her to name the days of the week. Count to twenty-one. She handed Daphne a comb, a key, and a toothbrush, and told her to mime the actions she’d make when using them.

  From that point, the testing got more extensive, delved deeper into Daphne’s reading and writing skills. She had to repeat sentences that Carr read out loud. She had to read sentences to herself and pick the correct answer. Then write down words Carr called out. Describe what she saw in flash cards Carr showed her. Solve easy math equations.

  Audra noticed Daphne getting exhausted. She seemed to have trouble absorbing the instructions. Her eyelids began to droop.

  Dr. Carr saw it too because she said, “We’re almost finished. Hang in there.”

  She wrapped things up by showing Daphne pictures of various objects, numbers, shapes, and colors and told her to point out the ones she named off.

  Audra looked at her watch, surprised at how fast two hours had flown by. Carr thanked Daphne for her time, then she packed up her stuff and headed for the door.