Page 11 of Words Unspoken

“It needs to happen. There are two tumors in my head that need to come out.”

“That is why you have been having so many headaches lately. You have always had the migraines, but they are worse now.”

“Yes.” Micheal didn’t bother to tell her about the hallucinations. There was little point. Hopefully they would be gone when he woke up. If he woke up.

Ann nodded and clicked on the shaver. Soon, all his hair was on the floor. Catching his reflection in the mirror, he thought that he did not look like himself. Perhaps he should have specified closed casket for the funeral. He had prepaid for one and all the details had been seen to. Ann removed the towels that had been thoughtfully provided to protect the hospital gown from the hair.

The young nurse knocked on the doorframe. “They are ready for you now Mr. Ramesly.”

He didn’t feel ready for them. He turned to Ann. He had no idea what to say but suddenly she was in his arms, hugging him. For a moment he hugged her back, trying to memorize the feel of her, her smell, this moment.

“It is going to be alright,” lied Michael. He had no idea.

Ann nodded and let him go.

All too soon he was in the bed, blanket over his legs. The little efficient nurse pulled up the bed rails and released the brakes. She promised Ann that she would take good care of him as she pulled and pushed his bed down the corridors. He felt silly, in bed while this petite young nurse wheeled him around. Keeping up a cheery, steady chatter about the weather, the awful food in the cafeteria, how she woke up and found out her son had glued cheerios to her forehead this morning before her shift for the hospital, she pointed to her forehead, “Tell me truthfully, do I still have glue?”

Despite himself, Michael smiled. “No.”

“That is a relief,” she grinned and tapped a button on the wall with her foot and a door began to automatically open. “Well, Mr. Ramesly, I am sorry, but I have to hand you over to the O.R. nurses. I will see you when you get back out of surgery.”

“Will you check on Ann while I am in surgery?” he asked suddenly.

“Sure. You and your wife are so sweet.”

Two other nurses came to wheel him into the room, and he didn’t bother to correct the young nurse as she bounced away, humming a tune.

“Good morning Mr. Ramesly.” The nurses had him transfer himself to another bed. They were older, more serious about their job. He was made as comfortable as he could be under the circumstances. Then the anesthesiologist came and explained how they were going to put him to sleep during the operation. He put the mask over Michael is face and asked questions. “What do you like to do?”

“Sailing, jogging, reading,” Michael answered by rote. Suddenly he added, “I write.”

He had never told anyone that he wrote.

“What do you write?”

“Poetry. Children’s stories. My brothers are ten and twelve years younger than me. I used to write them stories. I have journaled for years.” He could not remember what else he said but it seemed like moments later before someone was calling his name. Michael felt confused as he focused on the nurse.

“Michael, on a scale of one to ten, how bad is your pain?” she asked.

“Pain,” he repeated. He meant to say eight. Perhaps even a nine. “Pain.”

“One to ten. Pick a number, ten being the worst.”

She was annoying. Perhaps he should say nine. His head did hurt rather badly. “Pain. Pain.”

Suddenly the noise in the operating room stilled. Dr. Hemmond came over and asked in heavily accented English, “Michael, tell me your name and address.”

“Pain. Fruit pain,” Michael listened to the words tumble out of his mouth and the truth dawned on him. It had happened. He could not speak the right words at the right time. He would not be able to read, he would not be able to write. Shock followed by desolation filled him and he closed his eyes. What had Dr. Reynolds called it? Speech aphasia.

“Let’s get him a sedative,” Dr. Hemmond said and shortly the world fell away again.

Chapter Three

There was a clock ticking loudly. His head did not really hurt so strangely enough, he didn’t mind. Michael lay there, listening to the clock, sorting through his memories of the last few moments that he could recall.

He could not speak. Not properly anyways. He might as well be mute. He took a deep breath and let it out gustily. He was not sure how to handle this.

Instantly a hand was holding his and another hand had found its way to his cheek. He turned his head to see Ann smiling at him.