I've hardly slept, but in a good kind of way. Jubilation keeps me up these days, not anguish.
They observed Nathan critically for the first twenty-four hours after he regained consciousness; PET, SPECT, CT, MRI, EKG. He underwent them all, and there were no abnormalities in his cerebral blood flow, no lesions or swelling, no haemorrhage.
I didn't know whether this was a good sign or not because my notes say that some post-coma patients can take years to recover. And they don't come out unscathed. Some are paralyzed, some develop seizures, some are completely unresponsive, yet awake, some sustain major neurological and functional deficits that they require round-the-clock care, some die.
It scares me on some level. Is the lack of any side effects a delay or 'blind spot' that will later cause something worse? Will we come in one afternoon and find him asleep and then we can't wake him up again? Ever?
Dr. Overbeck keeps saying that Nathan has a high rate of recovery because he's young. I have to always remind myself over and over to accept this as a miracle, to stop being inwardly bound by the fear and panic of something horrible happening to him...
"Haley."
His rasping voice startles me out of my thoughts. I look up from the notes I've been staring at. His strength, most of it, is back, and he doesn't seem as weak as he was right after he woke up.
"Yeah?"
He turns his head to the window. "Outside."
"You want to go outside?" I ask him.
He blinks. I've come to understand that this is his way of saying yes when he doesn't feel like saying it. His speech is limited to single words and short sentences, but it's coherent. It must be taking a great deal of effort for him to speak for too long, and sometimes he gets words mixed up. Recovery from brain injury is not a snap-your-fingers result, Joan says. It's long and painful, always a work in progress.
It's understandable; it's been three months without use of his voice. He's alert, he's aware and he's confident, but trying to say what he wants to is sometimes a struggle.
I slide the books off my lap and get up, placing them on the chair. "Okay. Let me just ask the nurse to help."
"No. We…"
He exhales and closes his eyes for a moment. Seeing him like that affects me and I feel like crying.
Catching myself in time, I nod and kiss his cheek. "That Scott pride better help me get you into that chair. You may have lost weight but I'm still a stick in comparison."
His mouth twitches.
Helping him to the wheelchair is a little effortless on my part. As he'd stated, Dr. Overbeck assigned a rehabilitation program for Nathan, speech therapy and physiotherapy. Knowing Nathan, he wanted the sessions consistently and regularly, especially physiotherapy.
He's been more focused on gaining his physical strength than anything else. In the past four days, he has asked to be wheeled down to physiotherapy twice a day, despite being warned numerous times against it. I've tried telling him to take it slow but he still won't do it. For Nathan, getting back in shape is more important; his career depends on it.
"I know you're a determined guy but you need to take it easy. Aren't you overdoing your physio?"
He shakes his head. "Have to. Basketball."
I grab the handles of the wheelchair and lower my face to his. "Your position will be waiting for you when you get back. I don't want you passing out like I did."
He smiles. It comes slowly, arrives shakily, but it's there. "Knew it."
It makes me laugh and I kiss the corner of his mouth quickly. "Don't be smug."
A little thrill shoots up through me. He's my smug man.
It's a nice, clear, sunny afternoon. The summer heat is approaching rapidly. We take one of the unoccupied benches on the grounds behind the hospital, Nathan refusing to be left in the wheelchair and insisting on sitting on the bench. Sitting with me, right where he belongs.
It feels almost normal, basking in the sun and not having to worry about so much as before. I know that our concerns are far from over, but they are not as weighty as they were.
As we enjoy the sun and gentle breeze, I blab away, knowing that Nathan will ask about things like he has every day. I read aloud from my cell phone the mass email I sent out to our friends, Mark and the team yesterday announcing Nathan's consciousness. Nathan chuckles at the subject line I used: He's awake!
I was in tears as I typed out my thanks to everyone for everything they had done for us, whether it was in visiting, sending flowers or prayer, and I attached an image of the three of us on Nathan's hospital bed. I signed it like I always do our Christmas cards: with love from Nathan, Haley and Jamie Scott.
Nathan thinks it might be printed in the school paper, especially if Mark has something to say about it. Mark is enterprising, and other than utilising social media, he's known for going to the paper to make announcements.
On a pause, I adjust my sunglasses, and rethinking it, I just push them up onto the top of my head.
We make eye contact. I don't expect him to take it easy; this is Nathan we're talking about here. He has worked his ass off to succeed in a prestigious university and its equally first-rate basketball team. He has not blown it when scouts want to meet him at every game, congratulating him and giving him their business cards. There's no quitting for Nathan, and his recovery is not just about staying in shape. I know him, and it has a lot to do with proving to the coaches and scouts that he's indispensable, and more than capable of being on the court.
"Are you practising on my fingers?"
His hand is holding mine, squeezing it every couple of seconds. His grip has definitely improved. "I must."
He grasps my fingers again, this time more tightly. Proud of his progress, I press a noisy kiss to his cheek. "That's pretty good, babe."
A grin tips the corners of his mouth. Something aches in me. Not the awful ache that was there, but something good. I swallow hard, swallowing back the memory of how close I came to losing him.
"I missed you more than I can say," I whisper, my eyes beginning to fill with tears.
I kiss him tenderly on the mouth for the millionth time since he woke up, his soft, silky hair slipping through my fingers. I don't want to be without him.
He raises my hand and holds it to his lips. I keep that image in my mind as I kiss him again, and lay my head on his robed shoulder. We sit like that, the sun on our faces, Nathan pressing my hand every other while. I should get him a squeeze ball for when I'm not around.
"Jamie?"
"With your mom. They'll be by later."
After Nathan woke up, hours later when I remembered, I called everyone with the news. It's only been a few days, and schedules are conflicting with time, but they all promised to be here soon. Deb was so excited that she cried for a few minutes over the phone, and I ended up crying along with her. It was difficult for her to get away earlier from work but she finally arrived late last night, offering to pick up Jamie from school and come with him to the hospital.
I lean away from him. Noticing that he's squinting at the sunlight, I pluck off my oversized sunglasses and perch them on his nose. The purple frames are comical on him, and I laugh, setting them straight behind his ears. "I'll bring yours over tomorrow. How are the other therapies going?"
Over the glasses, his eyebrows slant. "Crap."
"That good?"
He takes in a deep breath, and after a few seconds of silence he says, "Can chew. Swallow food."
For two days, he hadn't been able to eat anything but Jell-O, puréed food and fluids.
"That's really great. Pretty soon you'll be devouring burgers and yelling at me to hurry out of the shower."
He looks pissed off, his jaw tight. "This…bustin' my chops. I'm a giant man. Can't chew, swallow, brush, speak fine. Big damn joke."
I bite down on my lip, moving a few strands of hair away from his temple. "Nathan, it's been four days and you're kicking ass. Your doctors are practically wowed when they recap your progress."
His expression doesn't change. "Hate it, Haley. I want…full recover."
It fills me with a sick, bitter and depressing pain that he's been subjected to starting over when he was the fittest, healthiest guy I knew.
"If you've achieved all this in a matter of days, think of where you'll be in a month," I tell him, injecting positivity into his rehabilitation.
My husband can be a proud man, and this ordeal is challenging that pride in a monstrous manner. A lot.
"I don't think every patient who has awoken from a coma can be as quick to recover. You're something to talk about."
The tiniest hint of a smile peeks through the frustration. "Make me feel better?"
"Is it working?"
Nathan has endured some hard times over the years, and if there's a time that his endurance is tested to a limit, this is it.
"Yeah."
With a chuckle, I kiss him fiercely. This reminds me of the first time we exchanged I love you's. For a few days, we'd had terse words over sex. I knew he was frustrated, when I was constantly cutting off our heated make-out sessions and practically running out the door. He wouldn't wait forever, but I wanted to take it slow. He was my first serious boyfriend, and I was concerned that he would get tired of me after sleeping with me, blow me off the day after. I was worried that sex would boil down our relationship to hollowness. I felt pressure, mostly from myself.
We met up at the bus stop and as we talked, he told me that he loved me no matter what, and that it was scaring him. If he had known just how scared I was falling for him, him being my first everything, he wouldn't have needed to be scared at all. I know what I felt that moment when I heard him say those three words; other than the fright, I felt alive. I get the same feeling right now. For the first time in a long time, I feel alive.
We pass through the cafeteria on our way back to his room to buy some snacks for Jamie. When I get Nathan tea, he grumbles about it being payback for the tea he made me following my return home. I just make an extravagant bite-me expression.
"You are a very fortunate man, Mr. Scott," Dr. Overbeck says, a variation of what he's been saying the last couple of days. "No two brain injuries are alike, but you seem to be one of the lucky ones where this has not resulted in paralysis or brain damage. However, over the course of your hospitalization, we'll frequently check you for spasticity or any other physical side effects as a result of your accident."
"Spasticity?" I ask him, the first I'm hearing of the word in relation to Nathan.
"Weakness, tightening and shortening of the muscles. What's the last memory you have?"
Nathan leans his shoulders back in the pillows, his eyes focused on the ceiling as he recollects. I hold my breath; I know that his memory is fine, but I don't know how far fine goes.
"D-driving. Highway."
"Any memory of the accident?"
Nathan's features scrunch up. "No."
"Can you remember everything else before the accident?"
Nathan turns to me and smiles. "Yes."
I lay my hand on his, smiling in return and looking at the doctor. The nurse behind him is prepping the wheelchair.
"Why? Is something wrong?"
Dr. Overbeck shakes his head. He has less and less of the impatient look when I ask him questions these days. "It's common for patients with head injuries and brain traumas to have amnesia. Gaps about specific events are normal."
"Is there a treatment? Will he get it back? How long does it last? What can we do?"
Nathan squeezes my hand, and I realize that I'm asking the questions in that rapid-fire way that leaves people wondering which one to answer first.
"Memory is tricky," the doctor explains. "Some people resort to hypnosis or alternative medicine to get it back, but medically speaking, it is advisable to just let it come back on its own."
"What are the chances he won't get it back?"
Dr. Overbeck clicks off his pen and tucks it into the coat pocket. "Amnesia can last as long as days or years. Those memories may or may not return but it's all about self-healing."
He turns to Nathan, snapping off the blue latex gloves. "Let's get started on those tests, Mr. Scott. Mrs. Scott, I will see you later."
I find it incredible that his legs were untouched in the accident, not a single scratch on them. Just before the nurse wheels him out, he throws me a wink and a casual wave.
An hour later, I'm adjusting the pillows behind him. He complained of soreness on his shoulder blades after physiotherapy.
"You miss many," he says of my answer to why I wasn't in school today.
"I'll find someone to borrow notes from. I just didn't want to go," I reiterate, reaching to lower the volume on the CD player.
Although the lullaby CD is in the stack, which is now considered good luck by Jamie, I've been rotating playing Nathan's music. I can handle hip-hop every day for the next year or three, and it's not a big deal compared to what we've been dealing with.
"Why?"
"I'm taking the day off to spend time with you. One-on-one. Like a date," I tease.
He shakes his head hard. "Haley…"
I frame his face, pecking his lips a few times. "It's fine, not a big deal. The school isn't going anywhere and I can access assignments online. Don't worry about it."
"But—"
"Daddy!"
His excited voice jolts us out of that conversation. Nathan's face beams as he directs his sight to the doorway.
"Hi, Jame."
Jamie rushes into the room, beelining for the bed like he's in a race. Nathan's improving strength enables him to wrap his arm around Jamie, even pull him higher up the bed until they're at eye level.
"I don't have a picture today."
Nathan kisses the top of his head. I always enjoy seeing moments of them together.
"Okay. Still love you."
He relaxes his head on Nathan's chest, saying quietly, "I love you, too, Daddy."
I'm yet to tell Nathan about Jamie's blame, and I'll leave it to him to tackle any leftover guilt.
"Nate."
Forgotten packages surround Deb's feet, and she walks in cautiously, looking shocked and about to cry. She often passes for younger, but over the last three months, she's appeared older than forty-one. There are grey strands in her otherwise blonde hair, but I notice that her eyes are not tormented as they've been the past instances she's been in this room. It's nice to see her cheerful.
Nathan's lips form into a bigger smile. "Mom, hi."
She walks around the bed to him, then puts her arms around him, saying how much she missed him and loves him. It's impossible not to tear up.
"I told you, Grandma. Daddy's not sleeping."
She laughs, pulling away from Nathan. "You were very right, honey. Your daddy's not sleeping anymore."
"Sorry," Nathan tells her.
She hugs him again. "You're forgiven. Allan sends his love."
It took some time for Nathan to really show that he okayed Allan. I found it cute when after a family dinner, standing in the bathroom doorway with toothbrush and toothpaste in hand, he said that he had decided his mother was not dating a psycho. That was as far as his stamp of approval went.
It all feels nice and normal, and looking at the things on the floor by the door, I get busy picking them up just in case the nurse or doctor trip over them. There's a vibrant energy in the room, and we're distracted for a time with Deb delivering gifts and greetings from Tree Hill, the cards and stuffed animals from friends and family.
"Grandma has your special book," Jamie says.
Sitting across from me on the other side of the bed, Deb extracts the green scrapbook from her big bag. She looks between me and Nathan, and like coming to a decision, she passes it to me over Nathan's legs.
It's thick, filled with reminders of the moments we had without him. Most of them are of Jamie on his own, or the two of us, but whenever family was around, I snapped those, too, no matter what we looked like. I think he'll appreciate the goofy shots.
Letting out a breath, I push the book towards him. I abandoned the thought of including the clippings from local papers about his accident because this scrapbook wasn't about reminding him further of a horrible situation that was out of his control; these mementos are just our way of sharing our lives with him, wanting him to know that we were thinking of him even when he wasn't there.
"We made this for you."
"It was all Haley," Deb says.
I smile at her. "It's from all of us, really. I didn't print out all of them, so if you want to see the rest, they're on my phone, the camera or my computer. Anyway, it's…I hope you like it."
With Jamie glued to his father's side, I prop the book between them. "You want to tell your dad about the pictures?"
Jamie nods and opens the scrapbook. He gasps at the keychain I tucked into the first page.
"My keychain!" he squeals. "Daddy, look. Look! This is for you. It's got your name and mine's over here. Do you see it?"
Nathan has been quiet like he's absorbing it all, and when Jamie turns to him holding out the keychain, he's further upbeat.
"It's perfect."
I have recent photos on my cell phone of Nathan on his bed alone or with us, and some of them are worth adding to the scrapbook. It would be really good to remember the time he woke up; the preceding photographs are a sad reminder, the new ones would be an appreciation.
The mood is uplifted further when Peyton and Luke arrive a few hours later, surprising us all.
It's a hyper Scott-family gathering. Peyton bursts out into a loud, barky laugh when she sees him. Luke's voice is shaky when he says, "Hey, little brother."
Peyt got him a Wizard of Oz snow globe, calling it a short notice gift. Luke brought him a Rosecreek baseball hat 'for the bare patch at the back of your head.'
Dr. Overbeck comes by again, and everyone except an out-cold Jamie has puffy eyes and pink noses. It doesn't matter what we look like when this has been a long time coming. The only thing that matters is that we finally have Nathan again.
