Cracks in the Sidewalk(77)

For three nights in a row she couldn’t sleep even though she swallowed double doses of the pills. The fourth morning Claire called Doctor Sorenson and asked for something stronger. That afternoon Elizabeth began taking morphine, which brought restful sleep and oblivion. On Sunday she slept through most of the children’s visit and was still asleep when the time came for them to leave.

“Your daddy’s waiting in the car,” Claire said. “Give Mommy a kiss goodbye and put your sweater on.”

“No,” David said, refusing to kiss his sleeping mother.

“Shame on you,” Claire scolded.

“Mommy’s contagious,” David grumbled. He kicked a toy car, and pieces of plastic flew across the room. “If I touch her, I’ll die too.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Claire answered. “Where on earth did you get such a silly idea?”

David didn’t answer.

“David,” Claire said, her voice stern and unrelenting, “answer me! Who told you your mother was contagious?”

Begrudgingly he answered, “Kelsey.”

“That’s absolute foolishness,” she grumbled. “You shouldn’t be listening to some kid—”

“Kelsey’s not a kid,” he argued. “She’s a grownup.”

“No grownup would ever say such a thing—”

“Kelsey did! She said Mommy’s gonna poison me!”

“That’s not true! It’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard! Your mother loves you and would never do anything to hurt you.”

“She’s contagious!”

“Nonsense. Your mother has a tumor on her brain. A tumor is not contagious.”

“I don’t want to get a tumor in my brain.”

“Oh, David, stop being so silly and get your sweater on. I’ll straighten this nonsense out with your father.”

“No!” David shouted defiantly. “Daddy doesn’t want to talk to you!”

“I don’t care what your daddy wants,” Claire answered with an air of impatience. She turned to zip Christian’s jacket.

“I hate Mommy!” David shouted and darted from the room.

Before Claire could stop him, the boy was out the door and running toward his father’s car. Her first impulse was to confront Jeffrey and demand to know why the boy would say such a thing. But she hesitated, reasoning that with everyone on edge it might be better to wait until David settled down a bit.

As Claire handed Christian to his father, she waved goodbye to David who turned his face away.

From that day forward, Elizabeth spent most of her time sleeping. After each dose of morphine she fell into a deep sleep lasting for hours. She only woke when a bolt of pain rattled through her body, reminding her it was time for another dose of the mind-dulling drug. All the while Claire stayed by her daughter’s bedside, watching as she slept and praying for even the slightest improvement.

When David, Kimberly, and Christian came for their weekly visit, Claire forced herself to smile. She closed Elizabeth’s bedroom door and steered the children into the living room, suggesting they play there while Mommy slept.

“Mommy’s always sleeping,” David complained, his tone echoing his father’s cynicism. “Why doesn’t she play with us?”

“Mommy needs a lot of rest so she can get better,” Claire answered.

After several weeks of restlessness, Elizabeth finally drifted into a sound sleep and slept for three days without waking. Claire believed it was simply a case of exhaustion, but Charlie insisted they call the doctor.

That evening Doctor Sorenson visited and told the McDermotts that Elizabeth had slipped into a coma.

“But she’s been sleeping so peacefully,” Claire said. “How could this have happened?”

“A person in a comatose state often seems asleep. Elizabeth most likely was sleeping, but at some point she slipped into the deeper level of unconsciousness that’s considered a coma.”

“Will she wake up?” Charlie asked.

“Maybe, maybe not. Given the situation with Elizabeth’s tumor, it’s impossible to predict what will happen.”

As Doctor Sorenson evaluated Elizabeth’s vital signs, Charlie and Claire stood there saying nothing. Claire nervously picked at a spiral of thread hanging from the corner of the bedspread, and Charlie stared at the floor with the right side of his mouth twitching furiously. Neither of them dared look at one another or at their daughter.

Finally Charlie spoke. “Is Elizabeth aware of what is going on?”

Doctor Sorenson grimaced ever so slightly, then held her finger to her mouth. Once she concluded her examination she motioned for the McDermotts to follow her out of the bedroom.

After they’d moved to the living room, the doctor said, “I believe it’s best not to allow the patient to hear conversations of this nature.”

“So Elizabeth understands what we’re saying?” Charlie said.

The doctor hesitated. “A comatose state encompasses a wide range of alterations in consciousness. Some are not much more than a deep sleep; others are so severe that neither sound nor physical stimuli can be processed by the patient. In cases such as Elizabeth’s, where the patient is somewhere in the middle of those two extremes, we believe there is some level of receptivity to sound and touch stimuli. The patient might seem to be unresponsive, but there are documented instances where recovered patients recalled conversations that took place while they were comatose.”