there were certainly others, was that the only person he would respond to was her. The reason for that behavior would be another fact that needed explaining. But for now, what was clearly called for was another person Petros was likely to respond to—friend or family.
At that moment, as if on cue, Dr. Scott Hartnett knocked on the glass and entered the cubicle.
'I feel as if he might have just responded to me,' Thea said after she and Petros's friend and internist had exchanged greetings.
'Responded?'
'I think he opened his left eye a bit and looked upward.'
'Locked-in syndrome?'
'Hopefully not,' she replied.
She felt pleased at having picked up on the possible effect that hearing the grim diagnosis might have on her father. Until recently, it was not the sort of thing that her Asperger syndrome would have allowed her to consider.
Hartnett, whom she had always felt was a kind and intuitive physician, nodded that he understood her concern, then turned to his patient.
'Petros, my friend,' he said, his rich bass resonating throughout the cubicle, 'it's Scott. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me… Come on, old boy, you can do it… All right, then, how about opening your eyes? Just look up… Lookup and I'll write off your donation to this year's development fund… I don't know, Thea.'
'Try lifting his left lid.'
Hartnett gently did as she asked and repeated his request. The mid-position pupil stared blankly forward. Thea could only shake her head.
'I was so sure,' she said, still certain of what she had seen, but unwilling to push matters any more.
Her experiment had a result. Now she had to process the significance of the finding.
Hartnett patted her on the shoulder.
'Sometimes we want these things so badly…' His voice trailed off.
For a time, the two physicians stood silently by the bedrail.
'Have you spoken to the neurologist?' Thea asked finally.
'The neurologist, the neurosurgeon, the intensivist, the ortho-pod, the urologist because there was blood in his urine. Wait and see. That's all they have to tell us. Wait and see. Well, I'm going to make rounds. I may stop by again before I head home.' He guided Thea out the door, and added, 'The good news is that at least he doesn't appear to have locked-in syndrome.'
Thea smiled wanly and accepted a paternal hug. Then she returned to the bedside and gazed down at her father. She could almost see the steely set of his jaw. He was awake. Awake and alert, but stubbornly unwilling to share that fact with anyone except her.
'Dad, it's just me,' she said softly. 'Nobody else is here. Now open your eyes. Open your eyes if you can hear me.'
Twenty seconds went by before the Lion's upper and lower eyelids on the left separated a millimeter.
/ knew it!
'You don't want anyone but me to know you're awake. Is that it?'
Thirty motionless seconds passed before, with what seemed like a consummate effort, Petros opened his eye once more.
CHAPTER 14
One A.M.
Thea gave up trying to establish some sort of yes/no code with her father and left the ICU for another walkabout in the hospital. Petros seemed too slow and somnolent to endure a back-and-forth dialogue. His responses to her questions took thirty seconds or even a minute, and she couldn't be certain if they were actually connected to the question or not. She reminded herself that more often than not, the emergence from a coma was gradual—the reduction of brain swelling past a critical point or the slow restoration of normal neurochemistry. The Hollywood version of a sudden reappearance of consciousness, motor ability, and awareness was certainly reported in real life, but more often there was a period of fogginess and even transient recurrent coma.
She warned herself again and again to be patient, and to fight an increasing sense of loneliness and isolation. At the moment, she didn't feel comfortable sharing her thoughts and concerns with the twins, nor with Karsten, Hartnett, or even the energetic,
At that moment, as if on cue, Dr. Scott Hartnett knocked on the glass and entered the cubicle.
'I feel as if he might have just responded to me,' Thea said after she and Petros's friend and internist had exchanged greetings.
'Responded?'
'I think he opened his left eye a bit and looked upward.'
'Locked-in syndrome?'
'Hopefully not,' she replied.
She felt pleased at having picked up on the possible effect that hearing the grim diagnosis might have on her father. Until recently, it was not the sort of thing that her Asperger syndrome would have allowed her to consider.
Hartnett, whom she had always felt was a kind and intuitive physician, nodded that he understood her concern, then turned to his patient.
'Petros, my friend,' he said, his rich bass resonating throughout the cubicle, 'it's Scott. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me… Come on, old boy, you can do it… All right, then, how about opening your eyes? Just look up… Lookup and I'll write off your donation to this year's development fund… I don't know, Thea.'
'Try lifting his left lid.'
Hartnett gently did as she asked and repeated his request. The mid-position pupil stared blankly forward. Thea could only shake her head.
'I was so sure,' she said, still certain of what she had seen, but unwilling to push matters any more.
Her experiment had a result. Now she had to process the significance of the finding.
Hartnett patted her on the shoulder.
'Sometimes we want these things so badly…' His voice trailed off.
For a time, the two physicians stood silently by the bedrail.
'Have you spoken to the neurologist?' Thea asked finally.
'The neurologist, the neurosurgeon, the intensivist, the ortho-pod, the urologist because there was blood in his urine. Wait and see. That's all they have to tell us. Wait and see. Well, I'm going to make rounds. I may stop by again before I head home.' He guided Thea out the door, and added, 'The good news is that at least he doesn't appear to have locked-in syndrome.'
Thea smiled wanly and accepted a paternal hug. Then she returned to the bedside and gazed down at her father. She could almost see the steely set of his jaw. He was awake. Awake and alert, but stubbornly unwilling to share that fact with anyone except her.
'Dad, it's just me,' she said softly. 'Nobody else is here. Now open your eyes. Open your eyes if you can hear me.'
Twenty seconds went by before the Lion's upper and lower eyelids on the left separated a millimeter.
/ knew it!
'You don't want anyone but me to know you're awake. Is that it?'
Thirty motionless seconds passed before, with what seemed like a consummate effort, Petros opened his eye once more.
CHAPTER 14
One A.M.
Thea gave up trying to establish some sort of yes/no code with her father and left the ICU for another walkabout in the hospital. Petros seemed too slow and somnolent to endure a back-and-forth dialogue. His responses to her questions took thirty seconds or even a minute, and she couldn't be certain if they were actually connected to the question or not. She reminded herself that more often than not, the emergence from a coma was gradual—the reduction of brain swelling past a critical point or the slow restoration of normal neurochemistry. The Hollywood version of a sudden reappearance of consciousness, motor ability, and awareness was certainly reported in real life, but more often there was a period of fogginess and even transient recurrent coma.
She warned herself again and again to be patient, and to fight an increasing sense of loneliness and isolation. At the moment, she didn't feel comfortable sharing her thoughts and concerns with the twins, nor with Karsten, Hartnett, or even the energetic,
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