Read Online Crash by Carolyn Roy-Bornstein - Free Book Online
Authors: Carolyn Roy-Bornstein
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that they wouldn’t accidentally let something slip. We wanted it to come from us. We had the social worker’s phone number in case we needed her.
On the fourth day in the ICU, Neil uttered his first spontaneous words. He asked for a book.
“Mom, they say I’m going to be here for two weeks. Can you bring me my books?”
It was astonishing. His request reflected thought. Someone had given him information. He was going to be here two weeks. He had processed that information. What am I going to do for two weeks? He had come up with a solution. I’ll read. And he had formulated a request to bring about that solution. “Mom, can you bring me my books?” It was amazing.
But as overjoyed as I was to hear this true conversation, my heart also grew cold with the realization that, number one, I didn’t think there was any way he could actually read a book and, number two, if he could ask for books, it was just a matter of time before he asked for Trista.
Sure enough, that night, just before seven, just as he was drifting off to sleep, he asked, “Mom, can you bring Trista to visit me tomorrow?” Saul had just left for the hotel room. It was just Dan and I. I stared at Dan, panic-stricken. He motioned for me to go ahead. Tell him. We pulled our chairs up close to Neil, one on either side of him. Neil kept his eyes closed.
“Neil, I have to tell you about Trista.”
“Okay.”
“You two were both in a car accident.”
“We were?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And her injuries were more serious than yours.”
No response. Eyes closed.
“They took her to a different hospital.”
I used past tense. I didn’t lie. But I didn’t push either. I really didn’t want to feed him this information at night as he was drifting off to sleep. This awful news that could only invade his slumber and give him nightmares.
“In that case, Mom, can you keep me updated?”
That was the other part of our family strategy for telling Neil. Only give him what he asked for. A bit at a time. Only what he could handle.
“Sure Neil. Just ask.” Dan nodded at me like I’d done a good job. Like that was enough. We sat there in the darkened room for a while, listening to Neil breathe, waiting for him to wake up and ask more questions. But he seemed to be out for the night.
I stepped outside Neil’s room and called the social worker. I just wanted to update her, see if there was anything else she recommended.
“I’m here but I’m not here,” she told me, explaining that her shift ended at seven. It was 7:05. She gave me the name of her evening counterpart, but I didn’t want to start all over with someone new. I felt abandoned. Let down. How many times had I stayed beyond my shift to see a family through a crisis?
Dan and I kept our vigil at Neil’s bedside. We were both so tired. Neither one of us wanted to leave Neil, but there was another bed at the hotel room, and we had one more key. We argued briefly over who would stay with Neil, but there was really no contest.
“I’ll call you if he wakes up,” Dan told me with a wink, then rolled his sleeping bag out on the floor.
I crossed the frigid wind tunnel between the hospital and the hotel, my collar pulled up around my ears. I used the toothpaste and toothbrush the hotel provided and washed my face at the sink. I looked down at Saul, sleeping on top of the bedspread, fully clothed except for his shoes. Crow’s feet and worry lines had cropped up overnight. Our carefree existence before the accident—professional careers growing, one son in college, another close behind—seemed a million miles away.
I kissed Saul’s cheek and lay down next to him. It seemed like I had just shut my eyes when my cell phone rang. Saul and I both were fully upright before the first ring ended.
“Hello?”
“He’s asking again.”
Saul and I crossed the frigid street, the two buildings forming a wind tunnel to be forged each time.
In the hospital room Neil lay still, Dan at his
On the fourth day in the ICU, Neil uttered his first spontaneous words. He asked for a book.
“Mom, they say I’m going to be here for two weeks. Can you bring me my books?”
It was astonishing. His request reflected thought. Someone had given him information. He was going to be here two weeks. He had processed that information. What am I going to do for two weeks? He had come up with a solution. I’ll read. And he had formulated a request to bring about that solution. “Mom, can you bring me my books?” It was amazing.
But as overjoyed as I was to hear this true conversation, my heart also grew cold with the realization that, number one, I didn’t think there was any way he could actually read a book and, number two, if he could ask for books, it was just a matter of time before he asked for Trista.
Sure enough, that night, just before seven, just as he was drifting off to sleep, he asked, “Mom, can you bring Trista to visit me tomorrow?” Saul had just left for the hotel room. It was just Dan and I. I stared at Dan, panic-stricken. He motioned for me to go ahead. Tell him. We pulled our chairs up close to Neil, one on either side of him. Neil kept his eyes closed.
“Neil, I have to tell you about Trista.”
“Okay.”
“You two were both in a car accident.”
“We were?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And her injuries were more serious than yours.”
No response. Eyes closed.
“They took her to a different hospital.”
I used past tense. I didn’t lie. But I didn’t push either. I really didn’t want to feed him this information at night as he was drifting off to sleep. This awful news that could only invade his slumber and give him nightmares.
“In that case, Mom, can you keep me updated?”
That was the other part of our family strategy for telling Neil. Only give him what he asked for. A bit at a time. Only what he could handle.
“Sure Neil. Just ask.” Dan nodded at me like I’d done a good job. Like that was enough. We sat there in the darkened room for a while, listening to Neil breathe, waiting for him to wake up and ask more questions. But he seemed to be out for the night.
I stepped outside Neil’s room and called the social worker. I just wanted to update her, see if there was anything else she recommended.
“I’m here but I’m not here,” she told me, explaining that her shift ended at seven. It was 7:05. She gave me the name of her evening counterpart, but I didn’t want to start all over with someone new. I felt abandoned. Let down. How many times had I stayed beyond my shift to see a family through a crisis?
Dan and I kept our vigil at Neil’s bedside. We were both so tired. Neither one of us wanted to leave Neil, but there was another bed at the hotel room, and we had one more key. We argued briefly over who would stay with Neil, but there was really no contest.
“I’ll call you if he wakes up,” Dan told me with a wink, then rolled his sleeping bag out on the floor.
I crossed the frigid wind tunnel between the hospital and the hotel, my collar pulled up around my ears. I used the toothpaste and toothbrush the hotel provided and washed my face at the sink. I looked down at Saul, sleeping on top of the bedspread, fully clothed except for his shoes. Crow’s feet and worry lines had cropped up overnight. Our carefree existence before the accident—professional careers growing, one son in college, another close behind—seemed a million miles away.
I kissed Saul’s cheek and lay down next to him. It seemed like I had just shut my eyes when my cell phone rang. Saul and I both were fully upright before the first ring ended.
“Hello?”
“He’s asking again.”
Saul and I crossed the frigid street, the two buildings forming a wind tunnel to be forged each time.
In the hospital room Neil lay still, Dan at his
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