by Cady Vance
“Oh.” My parents are visiting? “I’d rather stay here. I have more I want to talk about before my session is over, and they just want to see Odin anyway.” I can’t believe the timing of this. When I’m finally going to learn something, my parents actually show up for a visit to ruin it all. Almost like they planned it.
“Visiting hours are almost over. You can come back here once they’ve gone home. It’s only a short hello and goodbye anyway.” Her smile is too bright, too fake. Translation: my dad has blown a fuse and has threatened to take his money elsewhere—not that there’s anywhere else that could treat us—so she needs me to cooperate. The Clinic makes gazillions from my CEO father for treating both me and Odin long-term. But it’s only the promise of a continued session with Doctor Jeremy that gets me standing.
“That’s right,” she says, making a waving motion with her free hand. “Come along.”
“I’ll be back in a bit.” I pad away from the recliner, the chess table, the note clasped in Doctor Jeremy’s fingers. “Okay?”
“We can pick up the conversation when you get back.” His voice sounds tired. “And Thora?”
I pause at the door, looking over my shoulder. “Yes?”
“I promise I’m not going anywhere.”
Five
Sleep deprivation has repeatedly been shown to affect individual personality, creativity and abstract thinking.
- The Chronic Insomnia Handbook for Patients
My parents are sitting on the common room leather couch, their backs turned to me, when I walk inside. Odin sits across from them in his usual recliner by the water cooler. Neither of them hear my steps, silenced by my ever-present hospital slippers, and Odin doesn’t give me away by glancing up, though I know he catches sight of me.
With their backs to me, I notice the thinning of my mother’s hair by the crown, scalp damaged by years of bleaching it platinum blond. Next to her, my father’s head of hair looks natural, full and healthy, the red matching the shade both Odin and I have. The two of them are suited up, and I’m surprised they bothered to take time away from their work for a weekday visit. They never have before.
“Come on home, Odin,” my dad says in his rumbling tones. “Give up this silly fight. There’s no reason for you to be here.”
“Can Thora come home, too?” Odin’s voice is hard.
“You know she can’t.” Dad’s sigh fills the room.
“Then, neither can I.”
“Your sister will be perfectly fine here by herself. There’s no reason for you to continue this ridiculous stay here when you don’t need to.” He still hasn’t noticed I’m in the room.
“Glad to hear your vote of confidence, Dad.” I walk around in front of them and perch on the recliner next to Odin. He reaches his arm around me, giving me a solid beam of support.
My father frowns, and my mother flicks her eyes away like she can’t bear to look at me. They both sit there for a moment, quiet, solemn. A very small part of me buried deep inside waits and hopes for some sign of affection or love, but when it doesn’t come, my shoulders slump and I stare down at the worn threads of my slippers. The disappointment is palpable in the air, so thick I could slice through it with the knife from the food tray Nurse Lucianne carries into the room. My stomach rumbles at the sight. The nurse places it on the coffee table and backs out of the room. Without hesitation, I plop down cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table before digging into the food.
“We came to visit you, and you’re going to sprawl on the floor and eat?” My father’s voice rumbles with annoyance, but I don’t bother to look up as I shovel in a forkful of mashed potatoes.
“I’m starving.” I reach for the water. “Not that your majesties care, but I almost went into coma mode this morning.”
My mom rubs her eyes, streaking her thick mascara across her eyelid. “Stop being a bitch, Thora, or we’ll leave.”
“Promise?” My voice is steady, but the blood rushing to my face threatens to bring dizziness along with it. Hands shaking again, I go for another bite of potatoes.
She sighs with annoyance.
“Have they said anything about your progress, Odin?” my dad asks, turning the attention away from me. I don’t point out again that I’m the one who had an issue this morning, not Odin. Instead, I stab a few cooked carrots with my fork.
“They said there’s not much change.”
“How are you feeling?” my mother asks him. “Tired? Weak? What about your mental stimulation? Are you getting enough here?”
I close my eyes, trying to hold down my emotions. Pain is resurfacing, like she’s picking at an old scab that was almost healed. Never ask how Thora is doing, even when she’s obviously not fine. My eyes blur as I stare down at my food.
“I’m a bit bored,” Odin says slowly. I can hear in his voice that he doesn’t understand why they’re not addressing me. “If that’s what you’re asking.”
She makes a disgruntled noise I try to cover up with the scraping of my spoon against the bowl of applesauce. “Should we bring you a few more books?”
“No thanks. I still haven’t read the last one you brought.”
“Oh.” She sighs. “I don’t like that you’re not getting schooling here, Odin. If you don’t feel up to attending public school, that’s fine. We can figure out a way for you to study at home.”
My spoon crashes onto my tray as I throw myself up from the floor. Spots dance in my eyes, and I have to steady myself as the world tilts around me. I try to speak, but my words come out in only whisper. “Hey, look. I’m alive but feel like shit, thanks for asking.”
“Young lady, you will show us some respect.” My father turns to me, frowning at my outburst.
“Look, I should go.” I feel my heart racing and know I need to get out of here before I really do Collapse. “You can cozy up with the offspring you love, and I can have some peace in my room.” And find out what Doctor Jeremy was hinting at. “It’s a win-win.”
“Don’t take that tone with me.” Dad stands. “You give us that vile attitude of yours, and you wonder why…” He falls silent, but the damage is done, and it’s almost as bad as if he’d said the words aloud.
“Wonder why what?” I whisper.
“Wonder why we don’t baby you like you want us to,” my mom speaks up in that irritated-with-Thora tone she’s perfected over the years.
“I don’t want to be babied.” I raise my voice now, the blood rushing to my head. “I just want to be acknowledged. I’m tired of you pretending I don’t exist.”
“Goddammit, Thora. You will not yell at your parents.” Her face blooms with anger, her voice racketing against my eardrums. “If you hadn’t turned into this horror of a child I don’t recognize as my own daughter, then maybe you’d still be Stage Three like the other girls your age. Like Odin.”
“Don’t talk to her like that.” Odin stands and angles his body in front of mine. “It’s not her fault.”
I flinch, as if my mother has slapped me. She thinks I brought this on myself, that I chose to be this sick. My head spins, and I have to clasp my fingers around Odin’s shirt to steady myself. Static fills my ears, and I’m grateful for it because I can’t hear the rant still spewing out of my mother’s mouth. It hasn’t always been like this. There was a time when we were all happy. I can’t remember it, but I’ve seen the pictures of us in the photo albums from the years before the accident. Before Odin and I progressed past the first stage of our insomnia.
I think I’m swaying, but I’m not sure, and I think Odin is pushing my dad away from me, but the world is blurring at the edges and shapes are starting to look like giant blobs of red.
“Stop this now.” Doctor Clark is suddenly here, holding my elbow. His clear voice cuts through my fading vision and rumbling head. His orange scent clogs my nostrils, and I pull away, leaning against Odin. “Thora is weak right now, as I told you over the phone. She cannot handle any stress. Your arguing is only going to upset her and weaken
her further, possibly to the point of Collapse.”
For the first time, I feel slightly grateful to Doctor Clark, because it means I can get away from this. With the sudden calmness in the room, my breathing begins to steady and my vision starts to clear.
“I’m sorry, Doctor Clark,” my father says. My mother nods her agreement. She stands eyeing me, and I can see some concern there, but it is hiding behind something else I can’t put my finger on. I’ve seen it in her eyes before, but I’ve never been able to tell what it is.
Doctor Clark ignores them. “Come on, Thora. Sit down.”
Nurse Lucianne has entered the room with a wheelchair. I shake my head and frown. “I’ll walk.”
“Are you sure?” Doctor Clark asks.
“I can still walk,” I say.
“Suit yourself.” He turns to Nurse Lucianne. “Follow close behind us with that just in case.”
Doctor Clark starts toward the door with his hand gently tugging my right elbow, and I reluctantly pull away from Odin. As soon as I do, a wave of dizziness crashes through me, but I fight to make it out of the room with my head held high. As soon as I’m sure I’m out of sight of my parents, I let my body slump in defeat and stare at the shuffle-shuffle-shuffle of my slippers on the floor until we reach my room. Doctor Clark guides me over to my bed and helps me climb onto the covers.
“I’ve had a chat with Doctor Jeremy, and we agree you will be skipping tonight’s Polysomnography. And now after that episode, I’m even more certain it’s the right move.” He crosses to the window and closes the thick curtains against the fading sunlight. “You’ve made enormous progress, and I don’t want you to backtrack due to a bad day.”
“Well, at least there’s one plus to this whole nightmare.” I lean into my pillows and close my eyes. “A night of movie-watching with Odin. Haven’t done that for awhile.”
“No, I’m sorry.” He moves back over to my side. “That won’t be possible.”
“What?” I snap my eyes open.
“You aren’t well today, Thora.” He hands me the remote control to my television. “You will be confined to your bed, other than trips to the restroom of course, at least until the morning, so you can get some proper rest. Nurse Lucianne and Nurse Julia will be stationed on shifts outside your room. If you need anything, like one of your movies or some more food, they’ll make sure it’s delivered to you.”
Annoyance burns a fire through me, but it’s extinguished just as quickly, because I don’t have the energy to keep it going. There’s been only two other times I’ve been jailed inside my room since I got here. The first night I arrived, and a night Odin Collapsed.
“Can I go see Doctor Jeremy?” I barely dare to hope he will say yes to this.
“Not tonight.” Doctor Clark says before trying his bedside manner smile on me. “As long as you’re feeling better in the morning, you’re free to go then.”
“Great.” Guess I won’t be finding out any answers today after all.
He pats my knee. “You’ll be fine, kiddo.”
His definition of fine must be a hell of a lot different than mine.
***
The list of side effects for my condition is as long as the dark hours of winter solstice—and just as unnerving. Stunted growth, pale skin, overactive metabolism, dizziness, paranoia, hallucinations, washed-out irises, over-attachment tendencies, sensitivity to light, migraines, heart palpitations, low immune system…
And extreme boredom.
When I was younger, I loved my insomnia. Being awake when the world was asleep made me feel special, more alive than everyone else somehow. I would sneak out my bedroom window onto the oak tree that curved against our three-story, red-brick house and look up at the night. The darkness was a blanket; the stars were pinpoints of light. I felt like I could do anything, felt like Odin and I could take over the world while eyes were shut tight against our every movement. It was fun then—our make believe stories, our nighttime forts and our midnight picnics of sneaked chocolate and pizza. I would memorize the lines of my favorite movies and recite them to Odin while he pointed out the locations of planets in the sky.
That only lasted so long. We got older, and the insomnia began weighing heavy on my head, my shoulders, my heart. As my stages rapidly progressed from Stage One to Stage Two and from Stage Two to Stage Three, the night terrors increased as rapidly in frequency. I began to dread the night. The dark hours seemed endless, full of bone-deep weariness and an all-consuming listlessness. The energy for the fun and make believe was gone, replaced by the crushing fear that if I zoned out for so much as one moment, the waking nightmares would come.
Now, I lie on my Clinic room bed with only my worn out Pulp Fiction DVD to keep me company. I feel both numb to the world and terrified of it. If I let the boredom consume me, the hallucinations will begin a static replay in my head. So, I restart the movie for the third time tonight and mouth the lines along with the actors on the screen. It’s the only way to keep myself from falling into the darkness of the night.
***
There is a knock on my door. A timid, quiet knock that becomes a rapid staccato when I don’t answer right away. I sigh and heave myself up higher on my pillows, squint at the door.
“Yes?” I call out to Nurse Lucianne, who must be back on shift by now, replacing Nurse Julia. I squint at the clock. It’s 6 A.M. The night is finally over. “What’s up, Nurse?”
A terrifying, bloodcurdling scream rips through the silence. My spine stiffens, and I blink hard at the door, fear roaring through my head like a hurricane.
Not real, not real, not real! I squeeze my eyes tight and will myself to snap out of my hallucination with all the strength of my soul.
Instead of the real world crashing down around me, my Clinic room door swings open wide. Instinctively, I scoot as far away as I can, pushing my back hard against the cold wall. Doctor Jeremy rushes into my room, his bulky frame blocking out the light of the hallway behind him. I breathe a sigh of relief. If he’s here, I must not be in the middle of a sleep terror…but then that means that scream was real.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “What was that?”
“We don’t have much time.” He quickly crosses the room in long, confident strides, and I notice his jaw is clenched even tighter than it was during our last session. With a quick glance, he takes stock of my state. “How are you feeling?”
“Um. Fine?” I blink at him, utterly confused as to what’s going on.
Another scream pierces the air. This time it feels as if it tears through my head and into my soul. My breath hitches and I open my eyes wide at the Doc, but he doesn’t seem to pay the noise much attention.
“Please tell me what’s happening,” I say, my voice almost caught in my throat.
“Don’t worry. Everything’s fine.” He holds out his large, calloused hand to me. “I need you to get out of bed as quickly as possible. We don’t have much time.”
“You said that when you first came in.” I take his hand and throw my legs over the side of the bed. “Don’t have much time for what?”
He glances quickly at the open door, then back to me. His eyes burn bright with something I’ve never seen in them before. Fire. “I’m getting you out of this place.”
Six
The successful treatment of a child’s sleep disorder can help resolve problems within the family.
- The Chronic Insomnia Handbook for Patients
I freeze with my bare toes barely brushing the tiled floor. “Wait, what?”
“Come on, sweetheart. I’ll explain on the way.” He pulls on my hand again, and something about his urgent tone gets me moving. He’s never spoken to me like this before, and I’m not sure what it means. “I need to get you out of this place.”
Get me out of this place. I can’t believe what he is saying. I can’t believe this is what I think he is saying. Adrenaline courses through me, and I practically jump the rest of the way out of my bed and shove my feet into my slip
pers. I whirl around, taking in my bare room, not sure what I should grab, not sure I have anything to grab. There is no way he means I am really leaving this place.
“No time to get your stuff.” He moves to the open door and edges into the hallway. “We need to get Odin.”
“What about Nurse Lucianne?” I ask.
“She’s busy.” He motions me to follow him.
Heart tripping, I pad after him, and when I step into the hall, I step into chaos.
At the very end of the corridor, nurses are clustered around a gurney, an older woman—hair fuzzy, pajamas donned—stands rocking beside it, tears pouring down her face. The man next to her is shouting at someone, his face red with anger and pain. The nurses part, and I see Doctor Clark’s face of ash, nodding and trying to get the man to back away from…
A body. It’s a body. A girl with flowing dark hair that spills over white sheets. Her eyes are open, blank, staring at the florescent ceiling above. My knees wobble, and I slide to the floor, mouth open, eyes wide. What has happened to her?
They all rush about, pulling the gurney along and disappearing through the double doors into the Emergency Treatment Room, the screams and shouts muted as the doors slam shut behind them.
A hand on my elbow. “Come on, sweetheart. I know it’s hard to see, but don’t worry, it’s a standard Collapse procedure. She’ll be fine.”
“But she looked…” I trail off, unable to voice it aloud. “Is that what I look like when I Collapse?”
“Thora.” He shakes me a bit, and I blink, turning to look up into his bright green eyes. They still burn with fire. “Everyone is distracted right now, but they won’t be for long. I can get you two out of here right now, but we must hurry.”
I finally understand. Standing, I give him a nod to let him know I will pull myself together, block out my confusion and fear. He reaches into his front shirt pocket and pulls out a folded sheet of notepaper. The note from earlier. The one with answers.