He watched my eyes closely.
“One blink for yes.
Two for no.
Can you feel me touching your foot?”
One blink.
“Can you move it?”
Two blinks.
He exhaled through his nose.
“Okay.
Stay with me.”
Stay with me.
It was the first thing anyone had said that made me feel like I was actually in the room.
My mother had backed into the chair.
She sat now with both hands pressed over her mouth.
Dad stepped toward the doctor.
“Is she paralyzed?”
The word seemed to suck all the air from the room.
The doctor finally looked at him.
“I don’t know yet.
There are several things that can cause weakness after spinal surgery.
Some are temporary.
Some require immediate treatment.
Right now, I need to find out which one we’re dealing with.”
“But the surgery went fine,” Mom said.
Her voice was thin.
“You told us it went fine.”
“It did,” he said.
“Her monitoring during the procedure was stable.
But complications can develop afterward.
We need imaging now.”
The nurse unlocked the wheels on my bed.
My father stared at me.
I had never seen him look frightened before.
Not really frightened.
His eyes kept jumping from my face to my legs as though he expected me to suddenly sit up and prove everyone wrong.
I wanted that too.
I wanted to throw the blanket off, swing my feet onto the floor, and tell him exactly what I thought of his “show” comment.
Instead, I lay perfectly still while strangers rushed around me.
As they pushed my bed into the hallway, my mother stood.
“I’m coming with her.”
The doctor shook his head.
“Not yet.
We need room to work.”
The doors closed between us.
For the first time that day, I was relieved to leave my parents behind.
The hallway ceiling passed above me in bright rectangular pieces.
White light.
Tile.
White light.
Vent.
White light.
Another stain.
A nurse walked beside my head.
“Ella, I’m right here,” she said.
“Keep looking at me.”
I did.
