Page 52 of Brain Damage

“I’m going to fall!” I repeat more insistently. Why can’t they see that I’m not ready for this? Maybe I’ll never be ready. I’m just not making progress like everyone else is. I should just give up right now. Resign myself to the fact that I’m not going to walk again.

“You can do it, Charly!” Jamie yells. I don’t know why he’s yelling, because he’s only about one foot away from me. I can hear him just fine without him yelling.

Beads of sweat break out along my forehead. I really don’t want to do this.

“Yay, Charly!” Angela chimes in.

I don’t know how they do it, but somehow Jamie and Angela manage to get everyone in the whole room to start chanting my name. Char-ly! Char-ly! Even that old guy who barely opens his eyes through the entire group gets in on it. I have to admit, it makes me feel really good to have everyone in the room cheering for me. I can’t remember the last time anything like that has happened to me. That’s not to say that it hasn’t happened, but I just don’t remember it. Then again, I don’t remember a lot of things.

Gripping the hemi-walker as hard as I can, I take a step with my right foot. Steve moves my left foot for me, and then I take another step with my right. Before I know it, I’ve walked across the entire room, and that’s when everyone bursts into applause.

“We knew you could do it, Charly!” Jamie calls.

For the first time, I wonder if maybe I can come back from this.

35

My mother and I are in my room, and we’re watching the news. There’s a story about a woman who was shot, and they’re showing her in her hospital bed. She’s hurt but she looks better than I do. Then they show a mugshot of the man who shot her, and I think to myself that she’s lucky because she knows who did it.

“Did they figure out who shot me?” I ask my mother.

I have the dream about the night I was shot maybe once a week. Every time now it’s the same—the gunshot, and the whispered voice in my left ear: You deserve this. It’s scary, and it’s also frustrating. If only I could see on the left, I could see who it was that shot me. But my left side is a blank, just like in real life.

She looks at me with a frown. “They think it was probably a burglar, but they haven’t been able to find him.”

Except why would a burglar tell me I deserved to be shot?

“Maybe it was someone I knew?” I say.

My mother’s frown deepens. I’m lying in bed, and she’s sitting next to me, so she has to reach across me to grab my call button. She uses it to change the channel. “You shouldn’t be watching this.”

The next show is a sitcom. I think I recognize some of the actors on it, but I don’t know what show it is, which makes it very hard to follow. I wish she would put the news back on. It wasn’t upsetting me.

After a few minutes of watching the sitcom, Dr. Williams walks into the room, and my mother quickly shuts off the television. She sits up very straight, adjusts her blouse, and brushes some gray hairs away from her face. Sometimes I think she has a little crush on Dr. Williams. It would be nice if they went out. I don’t think my mother has dated much since my father died.

Dr. Williams waves at us, and comes close enough that I can see his tie. It has little dogs on it, interspersed with tiny bones. The tie makes me smile.

“How is everything going, Dr. McKenna?” Dr. Williams asks me.

Even though I know I am a doctor, almost nobody calls me that around here. It actually feels very weird when they call me that, even though I worked as a doctor for many years. Dr. Williams is the only one who sometimes calls me “Dr. McKenna.” And only rarely.

“Okay,” I say.

“And how have you been holding up, Mrs. McKenna?” Dr. Williams asks my mother.

“There are good days and bad days,” she says. “Sometimes Charlotte seems almost back like her usual self, and is sharp as a tack. But other times, she hardly talks at all and doesn’t even seem to know who I am.”

Dr. Williams nods. “That’s not abnormal. Her brain is still recovering. The neurons that are still alive are healing, and the healthy ones are making new connections to make up for what she lost. It’s a very slow process, but she’s really making great progress.”

“Yes…” my mother says, although she sounds uncertain.

“However,” Dr. Williams says, “that wasn’t what I asked you. I was asking how you are holding up, Mrs. McKenna.”

My mother smiles without showing her teeth. “You know, good days and bad days,” she says. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going to happen after her time here is over.”

A crease appears between Dr. Williams’s eyebrows. “Yes, I know that’s an issue. But it’s probably best we don’t discuss it in front of your daughter.” His voice raises several notches. “Anyway, I’ve some great news for Charly. Apparently, you’ve been eating very well and I’ve been given the go-ahead to remove your feeding tube.”

I’m going to get the tube out of my belly? I can’t believe it! That’s the best news I’ve ever heard in my entire life!