“You told them that if they violated my space or said anything disrespectful again, you’d beat the shit out of them. I thought Gridwall was going to cry. He all but got on his knees to apologize.”
Mitch’s gaze was turned her way again, his eyes more focused.
Was she imagining this?
“Mitch, can you hear me?”
The hand she was holding tightened as if he were trying to squeeze her fingers. It lasted only a second, almost like a twitch. But that hadn’t happened once in the four days she’d been here. Had he done that on purpose?
Megs’ pulse spiked. “Mitch, can you squeeze my hand?”
His grip once again tightened. It was stronger this time, though still fleeting.
Heart racing, Megs pushed the call button.
Fabiola had just gone home, and Kim, an RN she hadn’t yet met, walked in.
Doing her best to stay calm, Megs explained what had happened. “I can’t be sure he squeezed my fingers in response to what I said. It could have been a reflex. But he hasn’t moved his hands at all before now.”
“That’s interesting.”
Megs had expected the nurse to sound more excited.
Kim checked Mitch’s various monitors. “Radiology is on its way to do another chest X-ray. I’ll let his neurosurgeon know. I think his pulmonologist is making rounds soon, too.”
Megs went to the cafeteria to grab a coffee and some yogurt, then went back to Mitch’s room to find radiology had gone and Mitch’s pulmonologist, Dr. Aulakh, examining Mitch. He shook Megs’ hand and jumped right in. “The chest X-rays show improvement in both lungs.”
Thank God.
“That’s good news.”
“His lungs aren’t yet clear, but the antibiotics are doing their job.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
He turned and put his hand on one of Mitch’s monitors. “The system we use for ventilators tracks a variety of readings that are crucial for patient care. Mitch is breathing above his set rate, which is encouraging. That means he’s taking some breaths without the prompting of the ventilator. Based on that data and other factors—his blood gases and the improvement he has shown overall—I’m hopeful we can begin weaning him off the ventilator as soon as his pneumonia has cleared.”
Megs then described what had happened. “He hasn’t squeezed my fingers once these past few days. Also, he’s been turning his head toward the sound of my voice.”
She tried to prove this by speaking with Mitch, but this time Mitch didn’t move, his face turned away from her.
Had she imagined it earlier?
She tried not to feel discouraged. “Are you trying to make a liar of me, love?”
Dr. Aulakh chuckled. “That’s the frustrating thing about the minimally conscious state. Sometimes they respond, and sometimes they don’t. It can be very discouraging for family members who are hoping to see quantifiable progress. Did Dr. Schwartz give you the brochures? You should ask him for one the next time you see him.”
Damn the brochures anyway! Couldn’t people just talk to her?
Then it hit her. “Wait. Did you say minimally conscious state?”
Wasn’t that the next level of recovery?
But Dr. Aulakh had already left the room.
Megs waited impatiently for a good hour or so before Dr. Schwartz appeared. When she saw he was wearing surgical scrubs, her impatience vanished.
Mitch isn’t the only person whose life he’s trying to save.
