Page 110 of Brain Damage

Today is my last day in rehab and I’m absolutely terrified.

Tomorrow morning, before the sun even comes up, I’m being transferred to an acute hospital. They’re going to open up the scar on my scalp, and close up the defect in my skull. My new skull is going to be made out of plastic… a material called polymethyl methacrylate. Dr. Williams told me the name of the material yesterday, and somehow, miraculously, I’ve been able to retain it. I think that’s pretty amazing, considering a few months ago I couldn’t retain my first name.

Granted, the only way I could remember it is that I’ve been repeating those words to myself over and over again: polymethyl methacrylate, polymethyl methacrylate. But still.

There was sort of a party for me today on the rehab unit. My mother brought in a bunch of mini cupcakes, and all the nurses and therapists told me how much they were going to miss me. Valerie, who I always thought hated me, actually gave me a hug and told me she thought I was going to do great. Then she told me I was her favorite patient, which was clearly a lie, but that’s okay.

After my surgery, I’m going to spend a few days in the hospital, provided everything goes well. And after that? After that, I’m going home.

My mother contacted the lawyer that Brigid had recommended to me. We located close to three million dollars in offshore bank accounts. It may not be the kind of money that will provide for me the rest of my life, but it’s enough to hire help for me to come home. It’s enough money that I can take my time recovering and figuring out what I do want to do next.

And I thank God every day that Clark didn’t get his hands on it.

Anyway, it’s a nice last day overall, but it’s bittersweet. Partially because of how terrified I am about tomorrow. And partially because of the absence of one person.

Jamie.

Jamie wasn’t here today, obviously. I didn’t expect him to be. He knew today was my last day, at least he did the last time he was here. But aside from the memory problems he has (for obvious reasons), he’s got a lot on his mind right now. He’s got a business to resurrect, a son to raise, and his own recovery to think about. In reality, it would’ve been a miracle if he showed up today.

But that didn’t keep me from hoping.

I keep going over that last conversation with Jamie in my head. You know, the one where he told me that he loved me and I shot him down for his own good because I’m just such a wonderful person. I keep imagining some other outcome, maybe one where I told him that I loved him back. And I could have kissed him again.

I really enjoyed kissing him. I still think about it. A lot.

But what’s done is done. Jamie is back home with his family, and I’m about to have brain surgery. In a few months, he’ll forget me completely if he hasn’t already. He’ll move on to someone else. Maybe Karen, despite his protests. Or maybe somebody totally new.

As for me, it’s going to be a long time before I can move on to someone else. Maybe never. There are some things that Clark was right about.

Dr. Williams makes it to my room at the end of the day to say his final goodbye. I’m lying in bed at this point, watching television and trying to forget about tomorrow. As if an episode of The Office is going to help me forget I’m about to have brain surgery.

“Nervous?” Dr. Williams asks me.

I can’t manage to look him in the eyes, so I focus on his tie. This one has multicolored balloons on it. “A little.”

“Don’t be,” Dr. Williams says. “This procedure is usually very successful. It may even help you in your recovery.”

I frown up at him. “How?”

“Well,” Dr. Williams says. “Usually your skull protects you from the pressure of the atmosphere on your brain, but now you don’t have that protection. So you’ve got this steady pressure on your brain all the time. Putting your skull back on will get rid of that.”

“Great,” I mutter.

Dr. Williams smiles. “Take it from me, Charly, in another few years, you’re going to walk into this place to say hello and none of us are going to recognize you.” He adds, “And you’ll probably make us all call you Dr. McKenna.”

I don’t think that’s likely. But it’s a nice thought.

“By the way,” Dr. Williams says, “there’s a package that came for you. It’s over at the nursing station. Do you want me to go get it?”

“Sure,” I say.

Dr. Williams trots off, while I sit and wonder what the package could be. Maybe something from Brigid. Probably more chocolate.

Then he returns, holding a simple but beautiful basket of flowers, which he deposits on my right side. He winks at me then leaves me alone to search for the card.

It takes me a couple of minutes, but I finally find the white card nestled between a tulip and a lilac. It’s handwritten, using shaky lettering:

Dear Charly,