Talk to Me

I have taken care of stroke patients in my career. I always wondered what went on behind the eyes. I was sure some of the time they could hear and understand me. I always talk to them and try to reassure. I let my imagination go and came up with this. I hope, you that read this and should encounter a loved one or person in this situation will remember, and talk to them.

Talk to me

Copyright© Andy H. Sweet

July 2014

The lights were too damn bright. That much I knew. Everything else was a little fussy. Some man stood over me, I felt a burning in one of my arms. Funny, I can't tell which one. I tried to raise up, but couldn't move, tried to talk, but nothing came out of my mouth. A man leaned over me.

“Hey, you. What are you doing?” I heard nothing, maybe my mouth moved a little bit. I decided to try and shift my eyes back and forth. Maybe get his attention.

I heard a female voice. “Whatcha got?”

The man answered. “Stroke. She's nonverbal.”

Oh my God! I've had a stroke? I can't remember. “Sir...excuse me. You said I had a stroke?”

“Such a shame. She doesn't look that old.”

“Old? See here young woman. I'm haven't even turned fifty yet.”

They didn't answer. Neither of them. The machine loomed over my head. I couldn't see the man or the woman now. Shutting my eyes seemed to help with a sudden wave of nausea. I felt like I might throw up and why was my arm burning?

The ceiling was moving when I opened my eyes again. The bright fluorescent lights whizzed by like the white lines on a highway caught in headlamps. Then all stopped.

I heard the same woman speaking. I couldn't see her.

“Hey Brad, what's up?”

A young man spoke. Different from the other one. “Not much. Fixin' to be off. Aren't you nearly finished? Maybe we could grab a bite?”

I heard her giggle. “Yeah, I just have to get this one to her room. I'd love too. I'm starving.”

“Hey people, remember me?”

From the corner of my eye I could see him now. He leaned across me, his weight pressing on my shoulder.

I can feel that!I can feel his weight!

His voice was lower, but I could hear it. “Maybe after eating—we could—you know...”

I swear I heard a smacking noise. “Geez folks...get a room.”

“Meet me in the cafeteria. Okay?”

“You bet Brad. Just as soon as I unload.”

“Unload? Unload? What am I, dry goods?”

The ceiling started moving again. Another stop, I heard a chime, then we entered a stainless steel room. I could see two other people in it, one of them asked, “Which floor?”

My traveling companion answered. “Fourth, thank you.”

The nausea was returning. I shut my eyes. Another chime, the sound of doors swooshing open and then the lights in the ceiling—marching by unconcerned.

“Got one for you.” I heard her announce.

Another woman, older, she had the prettiest eyes, framed with silver glasses. “I've got the room ready. Swing her in here.”

“I got your swing lady.”

The room was bright, the contrast from the hall made me want to squint. I sensed other people in the room, then a lift and tug slid me over. From where I wasn't certain.

Then I saw her. My daughter. She was at the foot of the bed. Worried eyes roved over me. My heart leaped in my chest and I cried. Where are the tears? I feel the cold air on my eyes. Why can't I feel my tears?

Jessica moved to my side. Took my hand. Sweet Jesus, I can feel that! It was warm, reassuring. She let go. Her eyes met mine for just a moment, then glanced off.

“Please! No. Don't let go!”

“Oh, Mom,” she whimpered.

“Baby, it's okay. I'm okay.”

I know my mouth should be moving, but I perceived it not to be. My voice was absent. And my daughter left the side of the bed. Her and the lady with the silver framed glasses met at its end.

“The doctors aren't telling me much. What's wrong with her?”

“Ma'am, I don't have that information yet. I'll let you know as soon as I get it.”

“I really have to get back to work. I don't know what to do. Is she going to be all right?”

“We should know more in twenty-four hours or so. Can you stay long enough to answer some questions?”

“No, I can't. There's a presentation I'm responsible for. God, this is such bad timing. I just have to be there.”

“Your telling a stranger why you cant' stay? What about me? Talk to me!”

Both of them glanced my way. Did they hear?

“Listen. My brother will be here in a couple of hours and I'll be back this evening. Maybe it can wait until he gets here?”

“What about her husband?”

There was a pause. My daughters voice trembled. “He passed away last year.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am. At least he'd be talking to me. Jack wouldn't leave me alone.”

Jessica left the room. The nurse put her stethoscope to my chest, then stomach. She asked me to move different body parts, touched me and asked if I felt it. I did, but I couldn't answer. Same as before. Almost, I can feel now though. That's something isn't it? Oh Jessica. I know how hard you worked to get where you are. I know how important this project is to you. But, Sweetie. I'm your mother.

The nurse completed her assessment of me. Turned out all the lights. The bright lights that hurt my eyes went dark and now the only illumination seeped in around the door.

I was alone. I wanted the light back.

With every bit of strength I possessed I forced all my power on the mouth and throat which had abandoned me.

“Talk...to...me.”

I heard my voice. It was ragged and sounded like a croak.

No one was in the room. And it was dark.