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We heard the sound of raised voices from outside, then Dr Silverman burst in to an accompaniment of, “You can’t go in, sir. They’re in a confidential interview.”
“The sooner those idiots are out of my hospital, the better,” Dr Silverman snarled.
“I’ll sort it out,” volunteered Dr Maltby, who went to the door and intercepted the FBI agent who was trying to stop Dr Silverman. “Mr Randell’s interview with agents Breckenridge and Tavlerides has finished. There’s no longer any need for confidentiality and Mr Randell has now been apprised of events while he was in a coma.”
I heard some muttering from the FBI agent about needing to check, then Dr Maltby returned, followed by Denise Williamson and an orderly.
“Sorry, Angie,” said Denise. “I was here to relieve you an hour ago but they wouldn’t let me in.”
“That’s okay,” said Angie. “It wasn’t your fault.” The two agency nurses set about doing their handover and updating their logs.
“Your evening meal, Mr Randell,” said the orderly. “I guess I came at a good time. Any sooner and they wouldn’t have let me in either.” He served me the meal on a tray then left.
“Do you mind if I talk while you’re eating?” Dr Silverman asked me. “Now that confidentiality has now been lifted, I can explain some more about your condition. Or rather, I can’t.”
I looked at my mum and she nodded. “Fine,” I said.
“I’ll stay too, if you don’t mind,” said Dr Maltby.
Nobody objected. Even Angie stayed, even though she was now off duty.
“Your ordeal when rescuing Miss Kafkasian caused a catastrophic increase in pressure inside your skull,” said Dr Silverman.
“I felt my nose running, and found it was blood,” I said.
“Honestly, I have no idea how you were able to carry Miss Kafkasian anywhere in your condition, let alone a mile across rough terrain.”
“Me neither.”
“The paramedics on the Air Ambulance realised the seriousness of your condition, and a team was ready to operate as soon as you got to your local city hospital. They did a good job. They gave you the right drugs and inserted a shunt into your skull to relieve the pressure. Then they put you into a controlled coma to give your brain a chance to rest.
“At that point, Mr Kafkasian intervened and had you flown here because of the university teaching hospital’s reputation for expertise with neurological injuries. Unfortunately your condition continued to deteriorate and we had to put you on life support. At that point the most likely outcome was that your parents would have eventually been asked for permission to switch off your life support.”
A couple of people gasped because they hadn’t known that. I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I just carried on eating.
“The brain can be a very plastic organ,” continued Dr Silverman. “If one part is damaged, it can sometimes rewire itself so the patient can relearn something approaching normalcy. But the damaged part never recovers. Except in your case, it did! After a week, my colleagues and I thought you were stable. We removed the shunt, took you off life support and stopped the coma medication, but you didn’t wake up. And now, three weeks later, you have woken up.
“I have the results of your scan from this morning. There’s absolutely no evidence of brain trauma. I can’t even find where the shunt was inserted in your skull. And the written tests you completed this morning indicate that you have no memory problems and you’re of above average intelligence.
“This is a genuine medical miracle and of course I want to share the details with my professional colleagues in case it could help others in your situation. Your unprecedented recovery suggests doctors around the world may be terminating life support prematurely. But Senior Special Agent Breckenridge has ruled that it’s not in the public interest for me to publish the details of your case because their investigation is ongoing,” said Dr Silverman ruefully. “Although I doubt any reputable medical journal would publish them anyway. If I was peer reviewing a paper making these claims, I’d recommend against publication because of their obvious absurdity.”
“So what happens now?” I asked. “Do you need to take lots of samples or run more tests? Will I be able to go home soon?”
“When you were in a critical condition, your mother gave permission for us to do whatever tests might help us in your treatment,” said Dr Silverman. “We took and analysed plenty of blood and tissue samples and found nothing abnormal. The only issue is that you’ve been suffering sudden spells of weakness and I’d like to keep you here until I’m satisfied that those are under control. Since Mr Kafkasian is so generously paying for your treatment, I see no reason to kick you out prematurely. And daily physiotherapy sessions will help keep my son in a job too.”
More voices could be heard from outside the room, then the sound of polite knocking. Angie went to the door and opened it.
“Visitors for Mr Randell,” said the FBI agent.
“Please let them in,” said Dr Maltby.
The FBI agent nodded, and gestured for the visitors to enter. Dr Maltby’s words must have been taken to heart by the agents.
First in was Terri, then my dad. I was pleased to see them but I was confused. I’d worked out that the other person in my White Place was Jo and I could feel she was really close, but where was she? Then there she was, shyly poking her head round the door, and sporting a cute little lopsided smile that made me want to kiss her.
There was bedlam for a couple of minutes. Terri rushed over and hugged me, her firm little breasts boring holes in my chest and making me grateful I was under the bedclothes. Great, the first signs of life in my little trouper since I’d woken up and it had to be caused by my little sister!
Dad settled for a more manly handshake. Dr Silverman and Angie took the arrival of my family as their cue to say their goodbyes and leave.
Dr Maltby made an exaggerated show of shielding his eyes with a hand so he couldn’t see who was at the door. “If I saw that Miss Kafkasian were here, I’d be duty bound to report her presence to her father,” he admitted.
“That could be awkward because her parents believe she’s at Cayenne’s house,” said Jo.
“I’d better collect my things and leave then,” said Dr Maltby. “Kevin, please let me know if you need my help; your mother knows how to contact me. I’ll send you copies of the recordings as soon as the FBI let me have their version.”
“Thanks.”
Dr Maltby collected his things and, saying his goodbyes, he left the room still pretending to shield his eyes so he couldn’t see Jo. Terri went and dragged Jo into the room. I was glad to see them getting along together but also slightly weirded-out by their many physical similarities.
Mum raided the nurses’ restroom for more coffees and for the next hour or we sat around talking. It was rather awkward because there are only so many ways you can tell someone that you’re glad they’re still alive and not a vegetable. Fortunately Terri picked up the slack with stories of school and gymnastics.
Jo said remarkably little, but I could tell she was itching to talk privately with me.
“Dad, Terri, have you had anything to eat?” I asked, during a lull.
“No,” said Terri. “Dad left work early and picked me up straight from school. A quick trip home to change then we went to the airfield where Mr Kafkasian’s private plane was waiting. Your nerd friends wanted to come too but Dad thought it might be overwhelming if they all came. They’ll come at the weekend if you’re still here.”
“Why don’t you go out and get something to eat. I think Joanna and I need to have a private talk.”
Dad made to object, having travelled a long way and only been with me for about an hour, but Mum overruled him. “What about you, dear?” she asked Jo. “Have you eaten yet?”
“No, but there are things I need to discuss with Kevin. Would you mind bringing me back a burger and fries please?” Jo reached for her purse but Mum waved her away.
Nadine
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