Chapter 9
The therapist's name was Karen and she didn't touch me without asking first. That was the rule now.
She stood beside the rehab bed where they'd moved me that morning, away from the monitors that had beeped every time I breathed wrong. The room had a window that looked out on the hospital parking lot. I could see the sun hitting the cars.
"On three, Elena. Just your eyelids. Nothing else has to work," she said. "One. Two."
I waited for three. I told my eyes to close. They didn't. My breath caught and I felt that old panic slide in, the one from the coffin where I'd screamed without sound.
Karen didn't fill the silence. She waited.
"Try with your breath," she said. "In through your nose. Out slow. Then blink."
I breathed in. The air felt thin. I breathed out and let my lids drop. They closed. A second passed. I opened them.
"Good," she said. "Again."
We did it ten times. By the seventh my forehead was damp. Holding a blink felt like lifting something heavy. Karen marked it on a clipboard. She didn't clap or say I was brave. She just nodded.
Daniel stood by the door the whole time. He'd learned not to stand over the bed. He kept his hands in his pockets.
Later, he came closer only when Karen stepped out to get a cup of water. He stopped a foot from the bed rail.
"Can I sit?" he asked.
I blinked once. That was our yes. Two blinks was no. We'd agreed on it that morning because my voice still cut out after three words.
He sat. He looked at my hands, not my face, like he'd been taught.
"Can I hold your hand?" he asked.
I blinked once. His fingers were warm. He didn't squeeze.
"I kept talking over you," he said. His voice was low. He paused, the way Karen had taught him to pause before speaking so I had time to answer. "With Dr. Patel. You said the pills made you feel foggy. I said you'd adjust."
I breathed. I wanted to answer but the words stacked up behind my teeth.
"Take your time," he said. He waited.
"You didn't hear me," I said. Three words, then I had to stop and breathe. My throat hurt.
He didn't correct me or explain. He just nodded. "I didn't."
Helen arrived at noon with a paper bag that smelled like grease and coffee. She didn't bring flowers. She brought food from the diner on Main, the one with the chipped mugs.
"I got you mashed potatoes," she said, setting the containers on the rolling table. "And gravy. And they gave extra butter like I asked."
She was still wearing the black dress but she'd taken off the veil. Her gold crosses caught the light.
"I told Ruth at the counter what happened," she said, spooning potatoes into a small cup. "She said she's praying. I told her praying's good but listening's better."
She held the spoon near my mouth and stopped. "May I?"
I blinked once. The potatoes were warm and salty and real. I swallowed without choking. Helen watched my throat and didn't look away.
"Good girl," she whispered, then caught herself. "Sorry. Good. Just good."
Dr. Shah came in at three with my chart. He didn't stand at the foot of the bed like the other doctors had. He pulled a chair level with my eyes.
"Elena, you're making progress," he said. "But I need you to hear me clearly. This was catalepsy triggered by the sedative. The dose Dr. Patel prescribed was too high and it wasn't monitored. Your system shut down to look like death. Your breathing was shallow. Your pulse was thready."
Daniel's hand tightened around mine before he remembered to loosen it.
"Full recovery will take months," Dr. Shah went on. "Nerves, muscle control, your autonomic responses. You'll have good hours and bad hours. If that medication, or anything like it, is used again, you will relapse. It has to be on every chart, every pharmacy record. You need a second opinion system. No one doctor decides alone anymore."
I tried to speak. "How long —" I stopped, breathed, tried again. "How long weak?"
"Weeks before steady sitting," he said. "Months before walking without help. You'll still feel the fear. That doesn't mean you're falling back. Your body remembers being trapped."
He looked at Daniel and Helen. "She needs sleep. She needs consent for everything, even small things."
That evening they let me try the chair. Karen and Daniel stood on either side. Helen held the door.
"Ready?" Karen asked. "On three, we stand. You lean forward. Blink if you need stop."
I blinked once.
I leaned. My legs shook so hard I thought they'd fold. Daniel didn't pull. He just kept his hands light under my elbows and waited for me to push. My breath sawed out and in. We got me to the chair by the window. I sat. The vinyl was cool through the gown.
I looked out at the parking lot. The sun was going down behind the highway.
Daniel knelt so his face wasn't above mine.
"Better?" he asked, and then he paused.
I breathed. I found three more words.
"I can stay awake," I said.
May you like
Helen reached over and tucked the diner napkin around my wrist so gravy wouldn't spill. Her hand shook a little, but she didn't cover her mouth anymore.
I sat upright on my own for four minutes before my shoulders started to drop. Karen timed it. No one pretended it was longer than it was. It was enough.
