She watched him walk away, thinking that he seemed more interested in his silver bullet outside than Louis Martinetti’s private war with Colonel Chop Chop.
43
THREE DAYS AFTER HE WOKE UP, Jack was moved to a rehab floor referred to as the SNIF unit—shorthand for “skilled nursing facility.”
Here Marcy and a therapist wrapped his legs in Ace bandages to prevent his blood from pooling and laid him on a tilt table in preparation for sitting him up. Something about “orthostatic hypotension” and his “autonomic nervous system” adjusting to being upright again. He heard the words but didn’t bother to process the explanations.
They also monitored his blood pressure and heart rate, raising him to a slant of sixty-five degrees, moving him ten degrees at a time for five-minute increments. It took an hour to do this and he felt lightheaded. “If you don’t use it, you forget how to use it,” the therapist explained. “Being upright increases the vascular resistance on your autonomic nervous system. We don’t want your blood pressure to drop suddenly.”
Jack nodded. Whatever, he just knew that it felt good to be up, since some part of his mind sensed how long he had been on his back.
So much time had passed, yet he felt the heft of elusive memory just beneath the membrane of awareness—memory that manifested itself in incoherent flashes.
As they had since he woke up, the nurses and staff kept him chatting so that his voice grew stronger and the words came more easily. But it was like starting over, having to relearn how to do things that previously were all but involuntary activities.
In spite of the constant and aggressive physical therapy he had undergone while comatose, he had lost seventy-five percent of his muscle strength. But with the aggressive physical rehab program laid out for him, the therapist said that chances were good that he would be able to walk again in a month, probably with the assistance of a cane.
Since Jack had been fed through a gastric tube for so long, they were afraid that if he ate solids right away he might inhale some and end up in the hospital again. So he had been put on thickened liquids for two days, after which he graduated to mashed foods. It was like being a baby again, he said to Marcy.
In the afternoon of his third day awake, Marcy and the therapist sat Jack in a wheelchair and brought him to an office to meet the neurologist, a tall thin woman with a sharp bird face and reddish brown hair pulled back in a bun. She introduced herself as Dr. Vivian Heller. “Welcome back. How are you feeling?”
Jack’s left foot ached, his vision was still slightly blurry, and a beetle was crawling through his brain. “Fine.”
“I know how difficult this is, so confusing and all, but you’re going to go on the record books for coma recoveries.”
“Lucky me.”
“Well, you are lucky, since only a small percentage of long-term coma patients ever wake up, and so alert. It’s wonderful.”
He nodded.
Then she opened her folder. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to check your neurological recovery—memory and such. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good. I’m going to ask you some questions and you answer them as best you can. Do you know what state we’re in?”
“Massachusetts.”
“What country?”
“United States.”
“Good. And who is the president of the United States?”
“George W. Bush.”
“Who was the previous president?”
“Bill Clinton.”
“Very good. And where were you born?”
“Worcester, Massachusetts.”
“What’s the capital of England?”
“Fish.”
“Fish?”
He closed his eyes. “I smell fish … . Fishy air.”
“You mean the sea.” The doctor tested the air. The window was open and a breeze could be felt. “I don’t smell it, although we’re only a few miles inland. So you think you smell the ocean.”
“More like in my head.” He closed his eyes again. “And something else … like a swimming pool … chlorine.”
The doctor made some notes. “The police report says you were on Homer’s Island. Do you recall what you were doing when you got caught in the jellyfish? Why you were out there?”
“Summer cottage my family used to rent.”
“When you were young.”
“Mmmm.” The beetle in his brain split in two and began to nibble twin paths into the gray matter.
“I see. But you were out there alone, I understand.”
“Anniversary of …”
The doctor waited. “Of?”
“My mother’s death. She got lost in the storm a long time ago.”
“I see. If you don’t mind me asking, how long ago? How old were you when she got lost?”
“Two.”
“Two? But didn’t you say your parents used to rent the place every summer when you were a kid?”
“My father died in a plane crash shortly after I was born. After my mother died, I was brought up by my aunt and uncle.” He wasn’t sure if the doctor was asking for real information or just trying to jump-start his memory.
“And what were their names?”
“Nancy and Kirk.”
“And what were your parents’ names?”
“Rose and Leo.”
“What kind of work did your father do?”
“He worked in a foundry.”
“Did your mother work?”
“Yes, she was a biochemist.”
Heller’s eyebrow shot up. “Really. How interesting, and for a woman back then.”
What she was really wondering, he thought, was how a scientist could end up with a foundry worker. “It was an arranged marriage—what immigrants did back then.”
“I must say that your long-term memory retrieval seems excellent. What I’d like to do next is test your visual memory. If you get tired or confused or want to stop, please say so.”
“Okay.” The beetles had doubled and redoubled again and were humming behind his eyes in packs.
She pulled out a small stack of eight-by-ten cards and laid them facedown on the tray table. “What we’ll do first is I’ll show you a series of cartoons one at a time. You’ll look at each one for five seconds, then I’ll cover it and ask you questions about what you saw. Got that?”
“Got it.”
“Good.” She turned over the first and held it up—a colorful drawing of a house with children out front, toys on the lawn, a cat under a bush, birds on the roof. After five seconds, she turned the card facedown. “How many children are playing in the yard?”
“Two.”
“How many birds are sitting on the house?”
“Five.”
“Oh which side of the house, left or right, is the chimney?”
“Right.”
“What color is the house?”
“Blue.”
“How many windows are on the front of the house?”
“Five.”
“What number is the house?”
“Three seventy-nine.”
“How many bushes are in front of the house?”
“Two.”
“True or false: There is a hydrant in front of the house.”
“False.”
The doctor continued reading all ten questions, and when she finished recording Jack’s answers she peered over her glasses at Jack. “Very good. You got them all right. Now let’s try the next one.”
The next drawing was more intricate with details—a pasture scene with cows, horses, and sheep in a field, with a farmhouse and barn in the background. The doctor held up the card and then laid it down and asked ten more questions. And Jack responded. When he was finished, Dr. Heller said, “You’re doing a great job, Jack.” She opened another folder. “Okay, this time I’m going to show you a series of letters for five seconds, then I want you to repeat them from memory.”