Chapter 9

In the morning, the doctors came ... in force. The ketamine that had kept the young man in a coma was discontinued and that pump and stand was wheeled away. A sedative was administered and the ventilator tube that had kept the young man breathing while he healed was removed from his nose. He started breathing on his own; the pulmonary doctors looked at each other and nodded. The anesthesiologist left to go about his duties. The pulmonary physicians went to the bed in the next bay.

The Dietary Physician stepped in and removed the feeding tube and she moved over to the next bed. It was quiet over there.

A radiologist took over and directed a series of x-rays. The technician moved and positioned the machine as directed. They gathered up their equipment and headed off to develop the film.

It was still quiet in the next bed. Heads were put together, Doctors started talking in Greek ... I think ... it was Greek to me.

The Radiologist came in with a saw ... read Dremel tool with stainless steel blades ... and a tiny Hoover. He conferred with the Head. The two of them darkened the room and did the clip a pair of x-rays to the light board thing and started pointing at places that were broken and now they weren't. They weren't healed ... they looked like they never happened ... head scratching..."If"..."What"..."Not possible" ... and a whole lot more words of disbelief were tossed about like candy at a Christmas Parade before the Head said, "Go with what you got."

"The casts come off," said the Radiologist.

It got noisy in my little corner of the world ... noisy enough that the voices around the next bed were raised ... only to grow silent as the plaster pieces were cut away and the next spot to cut chosen and the noise began anew.

They are talking about me. Why else would they shut up? What other reason for the Greek?

The radiologist finished. The discarded plaster was hauled away in bags. A covey of nurses descended on my extremely stinking dingy black but lily white body and performed miracles with sponges and soap.

The physical therapist, much happier that the patient ... me ... was free from restrictive hoses, pumps, plaster and lines, moved in and began a series of new exercises designed to restore mobility, I woke up while being pushed and pulled.

"He's awake," the therapist said.

The leading physician stepped away from the other patient and walked the three steps to the first bed.

"What makes you say that?"

"Resistance ... he's not a rubber band now."

"Mr. Anderson? Can you hear me?"

Who the fuck is Mr. Anderson? I thought. I looked around, Major discovery; I can move my head.

"Mr. Anderson? David?"