Chapter 10: Recovery

August 22, 1980

When I got up, I heard rain pounding on the roof and saw flashes of lighting through the curtains. Storms in Houston aren’t a surprise, of course. The surprise was that we hadn’t had a major one yet since my return.

Mom smiled. “No jogging today, Steve.”

“Yeah. We’d get soaked to the bone, or have to use every bit of rain gear we could find.”

“I’ll drive you two to school. You can’t bike in this either.”

“Thanks, Mom!”

A day off wouldn’t hurt, and there’d be more. Rain is an old friend and hated enemy for Houstonians. This was nothing like some of the hurricanes that would hit, including the one I knew was coming in under three years, but it was a good old-fashioned thunderstorm.

Just as Biology was ending, I received an expected message. A student aide passed Mrs. Emmonds a note from the office. “Mister Marshall. Please report to the office after class. Apparently your mother is picking you up for an appointment.”

Candice giggled. “They have to see if he still has a brain.”

“Oh, I still have a brain. It’s just an Abby Normal brain.”

Candice giggled louder. “‘Young Frankenstein’! My parents said I was too young to watch that, but I peeked while they were watching it!”

I grabbed my things, put my books away in my locker, and reported to the office. Mom was there to sign me out. We dashed to the car through the rain, and she had us on the freeway in minutes. “I hope the doctor is on time. I’d hate to have to drive home during rush hour. It’s bad enough driving in this storm!”

I nodded. “Yeah, that’s no good. Hardly worth missing half a day of school for that.”

“It’s worth it if there’s anything they need to take care of.” She sounded worried.

“Mom! I feel just fine. I don’t have any of the symptoms that Doctor Simmons said to watch for. Not one of them. I’ve even past almost all of the amnesia.”

“You dropped most of your old friends. I was wondering if part of that was that you didn’t remember them.”

I shook my head. “No, that’s not it. Really, it’s just what I said. I don’t have time and I’m trying to make friends at school. If I spent Saturdays playing D&D, that would take away from the friendships I’m trying to make.”

“That makes sense. And I’m glad these are friends you can study with. You really are a smart young man.”

“Aw, thanks, Mom.”

“How are your classes going? I mean, I know it’s early, but you must have a feel for them.”

We chatted about classes until we arrived at the doctor’s office. This was a new doctor for both of us. Doctor Simmons had referred us to her. The office was in the Medical Center, a few blocks from my pediatrician. Mom parked in the garage and we headed in, found the right office, and stepped up to the desk.

“Steve Marshall to see Doctor Reynolds.”

The receptionist checked. “Oh, yes. I see it. It’ll be just a few minutes. Doctor Reynolds is finishing with her previous patient. You’re new, I see. Doctor ... mm ... Simmons sent over records, plus Doctor ... Mutnick?”

“Mitnick,” Mom filled in. I’d been seeing him since I was adopted, not that I remembered the early years.

“Oh, yes, Mitnick. They hand-wrote it. You know doctors’ handwriting,” she laughed. So did Mom and I. “Here’s some forms to fill out. Just have a seat over there and we’ll call you shortly.”

Mom took the bundle of forms and walked over. Once seated, she thrust them at me. “You’re smart, you’re old enough. You deal with this mess and I’ll tell you anything you don’t know. And sign, of course.”

That was a first for fourteen-year-old me. I started into them. I knew most everything. Of course, I needed the insurance information and a few other details, like Dad’s office number. I hadn’t memorized that either time. Once I’d filled them out, I passed them over to Mom. She reviewed them and we signed everything. One thing I was glad of — there were fewer pieces of paper in 1980 than there’d be in 2020.

Mom handed them in. As she was walking back, we heard “Steve Marshall”. I got up, and we met a nurse — Ellen, according to her name tag — who walked us back to an exam room. There was an EEG machine already set up; no surprise there. She had me take my shirt off and started attaching leads. Most went on my head in various places, but a few went on my chest. She attached them with little sticky white balls of gunk that I remembered from before. They were a pain in the butt to remove. I’d be picking bits of them out of my hair for days.

The door opened and a woman in her early 50s, wearing a white lab coat, with short brown hair and a pleasant face, came in. “Hello, Steve, I’m Doctor Marsha Reynolds. I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but as with most of my patients, I know they’d rather never have met me.” She had a nice, easy laugh. I liked her already.

I offered my hand. “It really is nice to meet you, Doctor Reynolds. I’d rather not be here, but, can’t fix the past.” (Except, of course, when you’re given a chance to do just that.)

She laughed. “No, indeed.” She turned to Mom. “Mrs. Marshall. As with Steve, it’s nice to meet you, but I’d rather we didn’t have to.”

Mom smiled. “Me neither, but, boys will be boys. He seems to be doing fine, though.” She sounded nervous.

“Steve, how are you doing? No headaches, no visual effects, not hearing anything strange? Unexplained dizziness, nausea, balance issues?”

I shook my head. “Nope, none of that. Except this whining noise.” Mom gave me a concerned look. “When my sister is around.”

Mom gasped, then laughed. “Don’t do that! You just about scared the wits out of me!”

Dr. Reynolds apparently had caught that I was joking before the punch line. “Don’t get along with your sister? That’s perfectly normal for a teenage boy.”

“Nah, see, that’s why Mom thinks I’m still messed up. We get along perfectly. That’s hardly normal.”

Mom snorted. “Steve! I do not think it’s abnormal! I’m happy you get along with your sister!”

As Dr. Reynolds examined the EEG leads she said, “Well, your sense of humor is intact. That’s a plus. On the serious side — many concussion patients have issues with light or noise or the like, which makes them stay inside, which can lead to secondary psychological issues. None of that with you, I’d guess.”

“Nope. I may be crazy, but I’m crazy outside and with noisy friends.”

She laughed. “I can see we’ll get along just fine.”

She had me lie back, close my eyes, and relax. She dimmed the lights, put on soft music, and stepped outside with mom. I could hear a very faint scritch-scratch of the recording pens. This was familiar territory. I didn’t meditate or anything, just thought about school, friends, that sort of thing.

After ten minutes there was a knock, then Mom and Dr. Reynolds came back in. She took off the roll of paper from the EEG. “If you’ll give me 15 or 20 minutes, I’ll be back with my observations.”

“Sounds good, Doctor Reynolds. Thank you.”

Mom echoed me, “We’ll be right here waiting. Thank you.”

She left. The nurse bustled back in and started removing leads. When she’d finished, I pulled my shirt back on and started picking at the white goop. It was easier to get out when it hadn’t fully hardened, but still tricky.

“She seemed nice,” Mom said.

I nodded. “Yes. I like her, and she’s easy to talk to.”

“You had me panicking when you mentioned a whining sound. Shame on you!”

“Mom.” She looked at me. “You were getting scared that something big was going to be wrong with me.” She blushed and looked surprised. “I wanted you laughing and relaxed. Either I’m fine or I’m not. I feel fine, and all the worrying in the world won’t make it better if there’s something wrong that I can’t feel.”