‘Neither of them can remember any sort of head injury nothing occurs to you?’
For a moment, something did – a memory of smoke, black and greasy and smelling like rubber. Cold. Then it was gone. Johnny shook his head.
Weizak sighed, then shrugged. ‘You must be tired.’
‘Yes. A little bit.’
Brown sat on the edge of the examination table. ‘It’s quarter of eleven. You’ve worked hard this morning. Dr. Weizak and I will answer a few questions, if you like, then you go up to your room for a nap. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ Johnny said. ‘The pictures you took of my brain …
‘The CAT-scan,’ Weizak nodded. ‘Computerized Axial Tomography.’ He took a box of Chidets and shook three of them into his mouth. ‘The CAT-scan is really a series of brain X-rays, Johnny. The computer highlights the pictures and…’
‘What did it tell you? How long have I got?’
‘What is this how long have I got stuff?’ Brown asked. ‘It sounds like a line from an old movie.’
‘I’ve heard that people who come out of long-term comas don’t always last so long,’
Johnny said. ‘They lapse back. It’s like a light bulb going really bright before it burns out for good.’
Weizak laughed hard. It was a hearty, bellowing laugh, and it was something of a wonder that he didn’t choke on his gum. ‘Oh, such melodrama.’ He put a hand on Johnny’s chest.
‘You think Jim and I are babies in this field? Nuh. We are neurologists. What you Americans call high-priced talent. Which means we are only stupid about the functions of the human brain instead of out-and-out ignoramuses. So I tell you, yes, there have been lapse-backs. But you will not lapse. I think we can say that, Jim, yes, okay?’
‘Yes,’ Brown said. ‘We haven’t been able to find very much in the way of significant impairment. Johnny, there’s a guy in Texas who was in a coma for nine years. Now he’s a bank loan officer, and he’s been doing that job for six years. Before that he was a teller for two years. There’s a woman in Arizona who was down for twelve years. Something went wrong with the anesthesia while she was in labor. Now she’s in a wheelchair, but she’s alive and aware. She came out of it in 1969 and met the baby she had delivered twelve years before. The baby was in the seventh grade and an honors student.’
‘Am I going to be in a wheelchair?’ Johnny asked. ‘I can’t straighten my legs out. My arms are a little better, but my legs…’ He trailed off, shaking his head.
‘The ligaments shorten,’ Weizak said. ‘Yes? That’s why comatose patients begin to pull into what we call the prefetal position. But we know more about the physical
degeneration that occurs in coma than we used to, we are better at holding it off. You have been exercised regularly by the hospital physical therapist, even in your sleep. And different patients react to coma in different ways. Your deterioration has been quite slow, Johnny. As you say, your arms are remarkably responsive and able. But there has been deterioration. Your therapy will be long and… should I lie to you? Nuh, I don’t think so. It will be long and painful. You will shed your tears. You may come to hate your therapist.
You may come to fall in love with your bed. And there will be operations – only one if you are very, very lucky, but perhaps as many as four – to lengthen those ligaments.
These operations are still new. They may succeed completely, partially, or not at all. And yet as God wills it, I believe you will walk again. I don’t believe you will ever ski or leap hurdles, but you may run and you will certainly swim.’
‘Thank you,’ Johnny said. He felt a sudden wave of affection for this man with the accent and the strange haircut. He wanted to do something for Weizak in return – and with that feeling came the urge, almost the need, to touch him.
He reached out suddenly and took Weizak’s hand in both of his own. The doctor’s hand was big, deeply lined, warm.