Wave Page 5

  Thankfully a female nurse appears and leans over so I’m able to see her. “Brian, are you in pain?”

  “N..Nn..No,” I finally manage.

  “I’m going to get the doctor to come in and talk to you, okay?”

  I can’t nod, and I don’t have the determination to reply. Tears I never knew I could shed blur my vision. If I’m not dreaming this is the end of my life. If I can’t feel anything it means I’m paralyzed. I’ll never walk again, hell, I can barely manage single words. I’m crippled and I still can’t remember why or how I got here.

  The nurse called me Brian. I haven’t heard that name for years, ever since school. I’m twenty two now, so we’re talking a big ass gap. I almost didn’t know to recognize it. People have called me Baz since I was little. Anyone who referred to me as Brian was someone who wasn’t close to me.

  Time seems irrelevant while I’m in this position. I lose track and doze in and out of consciousness. Sleeping is my only escape. When I close my eyes I’m on my board catching waves and living the life; a life that seems grim in reality. It makes no sense. I’m always safe. I’m working my ass off to be the best. How could something so severe have happened to me? Where is Max? Why hasn’t anyone come to see me? How many days have I been like this? Maybe it’s all a nightmare. That’s makes more sense than coming to terms with being paralyzed and strapped to a bed.

  The more I tell myself this isn’t happening, the harder it is to endure. This is life-changing. It’s self-destruction at it’s best. I have no control over my own body. This could be the end for me in more ways than one.

  Chapter 11

  Miley

  It’s been three days since I was forced to be mentally evaluated by a number of shrinks who know nothing about me. I get it. Really I do. It’s just, they’re not going to change the way I feel about life. If anything they’re only prolonging the inevitable. Maybe they feel if they give me time I’ll come to realize there’s something out there just waiting for me. I wish they were right. I swear I do. I’ve begged, pleaded and prayed for miracles. If anything, all I ever get is more heartbreak.

  Just when I assume I’m finally going to be discharged, a new doctor comes in the room. She’s tall, with legs that make her lab coat seem too small. She’s wearing a pair of plain black heels and her dark brown hair is in a messy bun, but it looks stunning. “Miss Rose, I’m Dr. Lucas. I’ve been asked to do a follow-up by Dr. Rosenthal. How are you feeling today?”

  “I’m okay.” If I tell the truth I’ll be forced to stay longer, and even though I’ve been fed and able to shower with a bed to sleep in, I’m kind of sick of being here.

  “I’d like to sit down with you today and go over a management plan for your depression. Are you willing to work with me today?”

  “Sure.” I fidget with my hands when I answer and she catches it. This woman is sharp and on her game. It’s going to take a lot to fool her into thinking I’m competent enough to take care of myself.

  Over the next hour she goes through the typical questions.

  When was the first time I felt sad?

  How long have I wanted to end my life?

  What am I afraid of?

  How did it feel to lose my mom?

  How do I feel about being a possible carrier of Huntington’s Disease.

  Then we go into my past relationships and I tell her about Michael. I swear a few times I catch her grinning, like she’s amused, almost like she doesn’t believe I’m telling the truth. It’s not until the questions finish that I realize I’ve given her enough reason to lock me up and throw away the key. She jots down some more notes and puts the pen down on her lap. Her hands fold together, and she smiles. “This hospital is introducing a new program for extreme depression cases and you fit the criteria.”

  I start to protest when she holds up a finger. “Before you decline the offer, I urge you to consider the opportunity to better your life. With this approach you’ll be able to find a sense of relief and understanding toward life and happiness. I’m not saying you’re going to be walking around smiling and grateful for the rest of your life, but you’ll see progress. Since you’ve explained you’ve nowhere else to go, might I suggest that this program could give you some time to consider your options. Part of what I’m seeing is a pattern of repetitive issues leading to this breakdown. You’ve had one tragedy after another, which has resulted with you feeling hopeless. Miley, you’re not alone. With modern medicine as advanced as it’s become we could get you on a good regiment where you’ll start to see and feel improvement in a matter of days.”

  “Even if I agreed to it, I don’t have the means to pay for such a thing.”

  “I realize that could be a concern. This program is geared toward low income. It’s offered through the state. You’ll need to fill out a few forms and apply for coverage, but it would be worth it.”

  “How long is it?”

  “Four weeks. You’ll be transferred to another wing in the hospital and be around other patients in the program. You’ll be reevaluated once a week, and when the program ends we’ll start vigorous multi-weekly sessions where you’ll come in and meet with me or my team.”

  “It sounds like it’s a waste of money, honestly. I don’t see how anything can make me feel better. Look, I get why you feel the need to want to keep me here. I know most people consider me sick in the head, but I’m not crazy.”

  “I never said you were crazy, Miley. I took an oath to help people and I stand by that promise. As your doctor I can prolong your discharge and suggest you remain here for another three days, but I think you’d be more comfortable in the new program. They have things to do instead of sitting in this empty room. I don’t like the term crazy. Each individual in the program is diagnosed and treated. You’d have your own room, where you can come and go within the wing. There are activities and group sessions. A couple people in the program feel the same way you do. Miley, what do you have to lose if you give this a chance?”

  Arguing my case won’t make this woman go away. She’s right about having nothing to lose. I think that’s why she threw it out there. She’s fully aware of what buttons to push with me. I kind of like that about her. “Fine. I’ll go into the program.” It’s comparable to signing myself up for a prison sentence. Three hots and a cot. Yay me.

  “Good. I’ll get you the paperwork and we’ll have you moved over by the afternoon.”

  “Dr. Lucas, can I ask you for a favor?”

  “Sure,” she says while turning back to me. “What do you need?”

  “There was a guy brought in the same time as me. He’s the one who pulled me out of the water. In turn he suffered his own injuries that were more severe than mine. I’m assuming he’s still here. When I first came in I learned he was in intensive care. I’m not sure if he’s been moved or what.”

  “Do you have his name?”

  I shake my head. “I can’t remember it. I think it was something weird anyway, maybe like a nickname.”

  “I’ll see if I can hunt this person down and get you some answers.”

  “Would I be allowed to see him? You could go with me if you think I’ll try to leave.”

  “You’re not a prisoner, Miley. You’re here for help. I hope you understand that. Not all facilities offer such programs.”

  I nod. She’s right. I’ve never had anyone offer solace, even if it leads to me being medicated for depression. I don’t feel in control, but right now seeing this guy is the only thing I’ve been able to focus on since I got here. Maybe I’m unable to make peace with myself until I can thank him and beg him to forgive me.

  Chapter 12

  Baz

  A doctor visited me before the sun could shine in through the window in my room. Since I’m only able to stare at the ceiling, I literally watch it move across the room throughout the day.

  The man informed me I’d been in and out of consciousness for three days, and the extent of my injuries is so severe it’s causing my paralysis. As soo
n as he says the words I feel like my life is over. For as long as I can remember I wanted to be a surfer. The waves were the only thing in the world that make me feel at peace.

  While the doctor continues on about my injuries, I do my best to pay attention. I need to know my diagnosis.

  “Now spinal fractures are different than a broken arm or leg. A fracture or dislocation of a vertebra can cause bone fragments to pinch and damage the spinal nerves or spinal cord. Injuries can range from relatively mild ligament and muscle strains, to fractures and dislocations of the bony vertebrae, to debilitating spinal cord damage. Unfortunately, until we can get some of your swelling down we won’t know the full extent of your injuries. Depending on how severe your injury is, you may experience pain, difficulty walking, or be unable to move your arms or legs temporarily or permanently. Let me show you something on the last set of tests.” He brings an X-ray over and put it in the air so I’m able to see it. The doctor points in a certain area. “This is part of the vertebrae with the trauma. If you look here you’ll notice a difference in the ones above and below. This happens due to a downward force that can shatter or sometimes collapse the body of the vertebrae. If the force is intense enough, it will send bone fragments into the spinal canal, which we call a burst fracture. Many of these types of fractures can heal with conservative treatment; although some more severe fractures may require surgery to realign the bones. Either way we’re looking at a long road to recovery. And like I said, until we can determine the extent of the damage, we’re unable to know what type of progressive treatment we’ll need to do.”

  I’d missed the first part of the conversation, but caught the part where he mentioned my back being fractured and my neck broken in two places, one more severe than the other. “Walk again?” I can’t say full sentences, but my words are becoming clearer as the time passes. “Memory.”

  The doctor walks out of my view but continues speaking. “We’re hoping the memory loss is a result of the accident itself. Obviously you can remember everything aside from the accident. It’s common with head trauma associated with concussions.” After he says it he goes into a whole new conversation regarding new tests they’ll be running. All I can think about is recovering the lost memories so I’m able to figure out how this happened and how I’m ever going to be able to move on, possibly without the use of my arms and legs.

  I’m moved into a permanent room. From the route I’d say I was in another wing in the hospital. It’s an equivalent space with the same damn ceiling tiles. Seconds turn to minutes, turn to hours, and then the light disappears from above. When it’s offered, I get a new dose of pain medication so I’m able to sleep. In this frozen state I’m suffering more while awake. Since I’m unable to move from this exact position I’m irritably uncomfortable. More to the point, I’m helpless. For the third time I’m forced to have a bowel movement and have my bedding changed. It’s unnerving and utterly embarrassing to have to shit in a bedpan while people watch.

  As the nurses work to clean me up, I think about the long-term results. What if I’m never able to do such things as use the bathroom on my own. What if there’s no one willing to care for me? How will I support myself? How do I find the will to want to go on when there’s nothing left to hope for?

  My life is over. It’s plain and simple. There’s no chance in hell I can recover from this.

  I don’t think I’ve ever been so hungry or depressed. They’re feeding me through a line, but it’s nothing like the fast food I’m used to consuming. What I wouldn’t give for a big juicy burger with a side of ranch fries. Hell, I’d eat four bananas if someone offered them.

  I’m miserable in every way, and it’s even worse when I hear the voice of my best friend. Max speaks before he’s in view. “Damn, dude. You look like shit.”

  He comes up to the bed and puts his hand on my shoulder. I turn away when disgust rips through me from not being able to feel it. When I look back at him I see so much sadness in his eyes. It’s like he’s confirming what I fear. I’m fucked.

  “How?” I want answers. He’s my closest friend, like a brother to me, so I expect he’ll be straight.

  “The doc says we shouldn’t talk about your accident, bro.”

  “Tell me.” My throat feels like a rake is being run over it every time I try to speak.

  “I wasn’t there. You said you were going to catch one more wave. I got up the next morning and my Jeep still wasn’t back. I got a lift to the beach and found it parked where I left it. Your board was washed up on the shore, but you were nowhere to be found. Dude, I started freaking the fuck out. I thought you drowned, man. I didn’t know what to do. I ran all over the beach looking for signs of you. I checked every damn rock and hidden gully for your dumb ass. When I couldn’t find you I called Dad. We contacted the police, who in turn told us about the accident at the beach the day before. They told us you were flown in a helicopter. We came as soon as we learned, but since we weren’t immediate family they wouldn’t let us into the ICU. We tried, man. The doctor came out and talked to us. He explained what was going on with your neck and back and said you were lucky to be alive. Today is the first day we were allowed to visit. I thought you were dead, bro.”

  “Not dead yet.”

  I have no energy to tell my friend I can’t feel him patting me. Instead I lay there quietly with nothing to say. After a while Max says he needs to head out and then I’m left alone again. His eyes were filled with fluid. Seeing me was too much for him to take. I never liked hospitals myself, but this must be torture. Things may never be the same again and he knows it’s killing me.

  It’s hard coming to terms with my diagnosis thus far. I keep thinking at any second I’ll regain the use of my hands and feet and be on the road to recovery, but the longer I go without it happening, the less likely I feel it’s possible. There’s a pain rising from deep within, and I don’t know how to handle it. I’ve lost people in my life. I’ve seen people lose themselves in despair, but never been on this side of the problem. I’ve never been the victim, nor would I have ever allowed myself to stoop so low, but there could be no resolution ahead for me.

  My new room has a television that’s on a swivel. I can’t change the channels, so I have to wait for a nurse or volunteer to come in and do it for me. On that fourth evening a young female comes into my room. From what I can tell she’s in a pair of hospital scrubs. She’s not wearing any makeup, but her features are strikingly beautiful. Maybe I’ve been deprived for so long anyone looks attractive. At any rate, I welcome her smile when it’s offered. She tells me her name is Miley and I feel like she’s the first person to show real heartfelt compassion. It’s like she can feel the emotional anguish I’m experiencing. Being around her is familiar, even though I’m sure I would have remembered meeting her. It’s probably because we look around the same age. All I know is that she’s like a breath of fresh air. Her smile gives me a few seconds of comfort in this horrible place, and I wish she never had to leave.

  Chapter 13

  Miley

  Never expecting Dr. Lucas to follow through, I’m surprised to see her come in and offer to take me to the area of the hospital where my mystery hero is being treated. She explains the extent of his injuries and lets me know it’s probably going to pull heavy on my heart when I see how much he’s suffering. When we’re in the right ward, she heads to the nurses station and tells them I’ll be visiting this certain patient on occasion and to allow it. With permission, I take a few deep breaths and get ready to see him for the first time since the accident.

  Nothing could prepare me for this sight. This is substantially different than being around my mom. It’s unimaginable. He’s literally stuck in one position, his neck secured by screws that are connecting the traction gear keeping him from being able to move. It’s the most uncomfortable looking device I’ve ever seen. I cover my mouth and turn away until I can gather up enough courage to approach him.

  This isn’t the cocky guy I saw on the beach
several days ago. This is a fragile, broken man holding onto hope that some day his life won’t be like it is right at this moment.

  I’ve never felt so responsible for anything before. It’s gut wrenching to know I caused this; to be fully aware I did this to him.

  That day on the beach I tried to take my own life, but in doing so I ended up taking his, at least the life he was living. I thought I was at my lowest point before, but this destroys me. I may as well have held a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. He probably wishes it too.

  If it’s possible to hate myself anymore than I already do, it’s happening. This is the epitome of sadness. It’s excruciating to look at him lying there and feel nothing but regret. If I hadn’t been selfish. If I’d waited until he’d gone.

  A sense of desperation fills me and I’m left with tears streaming down my face. My only option is to leave the room until I can calm down and rethink my approach.

  Dr. Lucas is standing outside waiting for me as if she anticipated this reaction. She waits for me to make eye contact before coming to my aid. “Breathe, Miley. This is to be expected. Mr. Zakins’ injuries are extensive. It’s quite terrifying at first.”

  “It’s nothing like being in the hospital with my momma. I thought I could handle it, but it’s too hard. I can’t look at him like that and know I put him there.”

  She stands right in front of me and gives me another minute, in which I try to settle my tears. I’m crying for a stranger. I’m weeping in my hands and with every tear that fills my palms I have a dozen more to follow. This man risked his life to save me. I owe him gratitude and support, but I’m afraid I’m not strong enough for it to happen.