Take Me Higher by Pamela Clare
Chapter 17
After a good night’s sleep,Megs showered and got back to the hospital for an early meeting with Dr. Schwartz. “I haven’t seen Mitch yet today. How is he?”
“Mitch has made truly remarkable progress.” Dr. Schwartz pulled off his surgical cap, his mask still hanging from around his throat. “I evaluated him this morning, and he is fully conscious now. His pneumonia is gone, and he’s breathing well on his own. We’re transferring him out of ICU today and putting him on the neurology floor. You asked when he would be out of the woods. I think we’re there.”
Megs closed her eyes, exhaled, relief flowing through her, as sweet as honey. “That’s good to hear. Thank you.”
“He’ll get a full evaluation, but he has deficits. So far, we know it has impacted his ability to speak and his short-term memory. It has probably affected his balance and ability to walk, too.”
“How likely is he to see improvement?”
“I’m sure he’ll see some improvement, but it’s hard to say how much. Here’s what I do know—it’s going to take time, and it’s going to be frustrating for the two of you, but especially for him.”
“Oh, I’m sure of that. Mitch is used to doing things that most people can’t even imagine doing. To find himself limited…” Megs searched for the words. “It’s going to be a new experience for both of us.”
Dr. Schwartz went over the short-term plan—evaluate him for deficits, get him eating again, perform his cranioplasty. “I’m hopeful that we can move him to an acute recovery center in the next couple of weeks to start intensive therapy. In the meantime, we’ll do our best to keep him comfortable and support his progress.”
Megs stood, shook Dr. Schwartz’s hand. “You’re a hero in my eyes. Thank you for saving Mitch’s life.”
Dr. Schwartz smiled. “I love happy endings. We don’t always get them, and that makes them all the more precious.”
Megs made her way to Mitch’s room and found him trying to feed himself red Jello with a large-handled spoon, Riana, the physical therapist, sitting beside him.
Riana smiled. “Speaking of Megs, here she is.”
Mitch looked up, and the blob of red Jello fell onto his tray. “Nnno.”
“Hey, there, love. How’s the Jello?”
Mitch frowned. “Nnnoo.”
Riana tried to encourage him. “Hey, most of it is getting into your mouth. That’s not easy, especially when you’re wearing a collar.”
Megs understood that Mitch was frustrated, but, damn, he’d come so far so quickly. “I’ll help him if you’ve got other patients to see.”
Riana stood. “He’s got some new exercises. I printed them out and left them for you at the nurse’s station.”
“Thank you. We appreciate your help.”
Megs sat beside Mitch. “You haven’t eaten food since we had that snack on the ledge on Painted Wall. Do you remember?”
His brow furrowed. “Nno.”
He struggled, making other sounds that weren’t words, then he dropped his spoon, clearly angry.
Megs took his hand. “You remember me, right?”
He nodded, the motion hampered by his collar. “Mmmek.”
“That’s right.” She couldn’t help but smile. She hadn’t been sure she’d ever hear his voice again. “Eight days ago, you and I were on vacation at the Black Canyon. We wanted to climb Painted Wall. Do you remember?”
He pondered that, a sad expression coming over his face. “Nnno.”
“We were just beneath the Roofs of Mordor, a big overhang, when a huge flake of rock broke off. It hit the overhang and shattered. One of the pieces struck your helmet, fractured your skull, a vertebra in your neck, and your clavicle. You had a hematoma on your brain. You’ve been in a coma since then, and for a while, it looked like you might die. Do you understand all that?”
He stared at her as if she were talking about someone else.
Then Megs had an idea. She hit the call button. “Hey, it’s Megs Hill. Can someone bring us a mirror? Yes, a mirror. Thanks.”
Mitch’s expression told Megs that none of this made any sense to him.
She squeezed his hand. “You’ll see.”
A few moments later, a nurse she hadn’t met walked in with a hand mirror. “Here you go. Just call me when you’re done.”
Megs held it so that Mitch could see himself. “The falling rock hit your head and fractured your skull. They had to do a craniectomy to remove the hematoma, stop the bleeding, and save your life. That bit of your cranium is what’s stitched into your abdomen. Yeah, I know. That’s completely insane.”
He stared at his reflection, reaching with one hand to touch the collar, then the bandages on his clavicle, and then his head. Finally, his gaze moved to Megs, and he made sounds that weren’t words but conveyed shock and sadness.
Then the sounds coalesced, became her name. “Mmmek.”
She lowered the mirror, set it aside, and held him as best she could. She knew she would probably have to tell him all of this many times in the days ahead, but that was okay. “I know it must be scary and confusing to wake up and not know how you got here. You had a traumatic brain injury, and for days I thought I was going to lose you.”
Enough with the dark stuff.
She smiled, and it came from her heart. “But look at you now. You survived what most people wouldn’t. You’re out of your coma, and you’re going to get better. You’ve got some things you need to re-learn, and I’ll be here to help you.”
He seemed to relax, his gaze dropping to the spoon. It was a struggle to pick it up and hold onto it, but he managed it. Then, with a look of determination on his face, he scooped out some Jello and carefully brought it to his mouth.
Megs cheered for him. “See? To be fair, Jello wobbles. It can be tricky shit to keep on a spoon even if you haven’t had your head smashed by a rock.”
Mitch laughed, the sound giving Megs’ heart wings.
His head aching,Mitch watched the lights pass overhead as they wheeled him from one room to another, the medical staff talking to each other about him.
“We removed his subclavian line. He’s got an IV. He just had two mgs of morphine before we brought him down. He had some clear liquids for breakfast, but nothing since.”
“He’s scheduled with PT and OT later today.”
“These two bags hold his belongings.”
Voices swirled around him, passing over him like the lights, not all of the words making sense, his mind on the reflection he’d seen in that mirror. He was that man—the one with the bandages on his head and the collar around his neck.
He’d recognized his face, though it was thinner. Something had happened to him. He must have fallen. He couldn’t remember.
Megs had explained. She could tell him again.
Where was she?
“I’m Debby, your ICU nurse.” A woman with brown hair and a warm smile patted his arm. He thought she might be the same woman who had helped Megs get him into this hospital gown. He’d been surprised to find he was naked. “I’m so happy you’re doing better, Mitch. You take care of yourself, okay?”
Mitch wanted to answer, to say something, but the words weren’t there.
Why was he in the hospital?
Where was Megs?
Megs satin the financial counselor’s office, an itemized hospital bill and a stack of brochures on the desk before her. These brochures were about acute recovery facilities. This one covered the process for getting Social Security. Another went over Medicare and what it had to offer. Yet another listed resources for making one’s home accessible and finding equipment like wheelchair-friendly vans and lifts.
“I need to read all of this, fill out all of these applications, find a good facility for Mitch, and arrange to have him transported there—and do it all now?”
“I know it’s overwhelming.” Lora, the financial counselor, was very good at sounding understanding and looking sympathetic while still demanding money. “Just take it one application at a time. How were you planning to pay today?”
And there it was—the monetary side of US healthcare raising its ugly head.
Their insurance hadn’t paid anything yet but would pick up much of the bill. But once Mitch was discharged and entered the rehab facility, their share of the cost would skyrocket. Of course, they had savings—retirement funds—but the better acute recovery centers cost more than ten thousand bucks a month.
“I can transfer some funds over and pay by debit card.” She would have to call Scarlet Springs Savings and Loan to do that. “I need to step out and make a phone call.”
Lora smiled. “Of course.”
Megs stepped out of the office and made her way to one of the exits. She walked out into the cool October wind, looked up the number, and called the bank. “Hey, it’s Megs Hill. Can I speak to Karl?”
Karl, the bank manager, knew her. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t have any problem helping her over the phone.
“Hey, Megs. We’re all so sorry about what happened to Mitch. How is he doing?”
“He’s awake now, and they’ve moved him out of ICU.” She explained the situation, told him how much they owed the hospital so far. “We’ve got more than enough to cover that in our retirement accounts. I need to transfer the money into checking so I can pay with by e-check.”
“Why, yes, you do have more than enough to cover it, but there’s another account—one set up by the folks of Scarlet—and we can tap into that first.”
Megs was reluctant to do that. “I don’t know. It would be great if those funds went to benefit the whole town.”
“The money is earmarked for your use in these regrettable circumstances. Joe was extremely clear about how the money was to be spent.”
If anyone in Scarlet could be more stubborn than Megs, it was Joe.
“Is there enough?”
“Why, yes. There’s more than a hundred fifty-thousand in that account right now. So, why don’t you tell me what you need, and I’ll move it over for you.”
A hundred fifty-thousand?
That was enough to cover the hospital, several months of rehab, and some alterations to their home.
Megs’ throat grew tight. She waited a moment, then gave Karl the information he needed. “Thanks, Karl. This really helps. I’m deeply grateful.”
“It’s my pleasure. And please tell Mitch we’re all pulling for him.”
“I will.” Megs ended the call.
To think that she’d once been reluctant to move to Scarlet…
She walked back to Lora’s office, a great weight lifted off her shoulders.
Thank you, Joe and Rain. Thank you, Scarlet Springs.
By the timeMegs left Lora’s office, it was mid-afternoon. As she rode in the elevator, she wondered whether she should discuss Mitch’s long-term care with him. He was already coping with so much. Was it fair to ask him to participate in these decisions? Was he cognitively able to discuss such things? Would it cause him unnecessary stress?
He’d awakened to find himself and his life almost unrecognizable. She wasn’t even sure he had fully understood what she’d told him. With his short-term memory issues, he might not remember anything they’d discussed.
On the other hand, she didn’t want to leave him out of decisions that directly impacted his life and well-being. That would infantilize him, depriving him of agency when making decisions might help him feel in control again.
When she reached his room, she found him awake and looking stressed. He lay with the head of his bed raised, getting oxygen through a cannula, anxiety etched into his face. Or was that pain?
When he saw her, he held out his hand. “Mmmek.”
She knew him well enough to read the look in his eyes.
Where have you been?
“I’m sorry. The hospital wanted to talk money.” She would bring up rehab facilities some other time. She moved the chair close to his bed and threaded her fingers through his. “I hope they haven’t worn you out. Are you in pain?”
“Nnnoo.”
“Good.” She caressed his hand.
She’d spent the past eight days in a monologue with someone who was in a coma, hoping the sound of her voice would help him. Now that he was awake, she wasn’t sure what to say, especially since he might not remember any of it. She decided to keep the conversation light, to focus on daily life. If he was anxious, it might ease his mind to hear of normal, everyday things.
She thought back to the day of the accident and tried to remember all the news she’d shared with him when he’d been in a coma. She told him about all of the good wishes, Rose’s gossip, and the fundraising. “The Timberline Mudbugs even put out a special mixtape of your favorite tunes. Isn’t that cool?”
She navigated to the Mudbugs’ website, found the mixtape, and read off the songs they had included, then played his favorite, holding his hand as she sang along.
Mitch seemed to relax, one of his feet keeping time.
When the song was over, Megs stood. “Where did they put your journal? I’ve been reading it to you. Do you remember what I read to you last night?”
He looked completely baffled.
“I read your entry from my eighteenth birthday. Do you remember what happened the night I finally turned eighteen?”
His lips curved in a slight smile.
“You do remember. Good. I’ll never forget.” She kissed him before sitting, journal in her lap. “We spent the next couple of days at François’ cabin, drinking his wine, soaking in his hot tub, making good use of that bed with its mirrors. Do you remember the mirrors?”
Mitch nodded stiffly, his smile wide now.
“From then on, the Seventies were basically fucking and climbing.” She thumbed through the entries. “Oh, yes, here’s the time we got busted by a ranger for illegal parking while having sex in your van. That was fun. And then the first time we made love up at the lake. Our free climbs all over Joshua Tree that fall. Do you remember those?”
Mitch’s eyelids seemed to grow heavy, but he nodded.
She kept turning the pages. “Oh, yeah. Remember that day when François showed up in Joshua Tree? I thought he was going to demand that we pay for all that wine. Instead, he wanted to fly us to Europe and sponsor some climbs there. We got to take one other person, and we chose Dean. Gridwall was bummed.”
Italy, Germany, France, Spain—they’d climbed in all the hottest places with Dean, with François, his wife, Melody, and a photographer, Greg, tagging along. François had been trying to glamorize the sport of climbing, while promoting his line of sportswear. It made business sense for him to try to launch a trend—and it worked.
“That trip piqued our interest in alpine climbing. Dean talked us into climbing the Eiger and the Matterhorn, and we couldn’t get enough.” She turned the pages. “I see you made lists of the gear we took in our packs. It wasn’t exactly ultra-light climbing in those days, was it?”
They’d left Yosemite and started climbing big peaks, bagging the most challenging alpine climbs in Europe, the US, and Patagonia, before attempting the 8,000-meter mountains in the Himalayas.
“Meanwhile, Gridwall and the other dirtbags were putting up incredible first ascents in Yosemite.” She laughed. “I’ll admit it. I was a little jealous. No matter where we traveled or what we climbed, I loved Yosemite best.”
She looked up, saw that Mitch was exhausted. “We’ll read more later.”
She set the journal aside, opened the foldout chair, and stretched out for a nap beside him.