Finding Jaime

Chapter 114

Jaime's POV

I hurt. All I can feel is pain. I want to cry, but I can't. I want to move, but I can't. I can't open my eyes. I can't turn my head. I can't hear or see or feel. Except pain. I can feel pain.

"His heart rate is up again," I actually heard. I can hear!

"Is that a tear?" I heard. I felt something touch my face. Hey! I felt that!

"Jaime? Baby? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes, sweetheart?" That sounds like Mom.

"He's had a good day," I heard another voice. "Everything is stable. He's had no crises. His heart rate went up a little bit about an hour ago, but not out of range."

"Pete, he had a tear," I heard Mom say. "There was a tear. From his eye."

"We don't know if that was of any significance," a voice said. "It may have just been a reflex, or his brain being unable to interpret signals."

"Do you think he might wake up?" I heard Dad. I'm right here! I wanted to yell. I wanted to scream. I wanted them to know everything hurts and I don't know where I am!

Someone hand slipped into mine. It was soft. Smaller than Dad's. Mom?  I wanted her to know I was here. I concentrated on my fingers. I wanted to move them. I wanted to squeeze her hand. I needed her to know I'm here.

I heard an audible gasp.

"What?" Dad's voice.

"Jaime just squeezed my hand!" I heard Mom say.  Her voice sounded thick and far away. I needed to sleep. But I wanted to let them know I can hear them. I can feel them.

My eye was yanked open. I couldn't move away from the light shining in my face.

"Jaime?" I heard Dad's voice. "Jaime, can you hear me? Can you look at me?"

I tried but I couldn't move anything. I couldn't move my eyes. I could just see the ceiling above me. I tried to look around, but I just couldn't.

"He's in there," I heard Dad say, his voice thick. "His eyes weren't dull like before. He's in there."

Dad's hand slipped into mine. I squeezed as I drifted away again.

Time didn't make sense. I would hear sounds, voices, and music, but I couldn't react to anything. I couldn't open my eyes when I wanted to, or if anyone asked. I could just move my hands enough to sort of squeeze someone's hand. That was it. That was as much as I could do. And the pain wasn't getting any better. But I couldn't ask for anything because I can't talk or see who's near me.

Right now, the pain is so bad I'm trying to squeeze the hand holding mine. But they're not getting the message.

"Ow!" I heard.

"What happened?" Another voice said.

"Jaime pinched me!"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he moved his fingers and pinched my hand."

"Why?"

"How would I know? Jaime? Can you hear me? It's Dad," Oh. Okay. Dad. "Can you do that again? Squeeze my hand?"

I did, trying to hold it longer and harder.

"He's got tears coming out of his eyes again," another voice said.

"Jaime, are you in pain?" Dad asked. I didn't know how to answer that.

"Jaime, squeeze my hand as hard as you can if you're in pain," Dad said. I tried. I squeezed.

"He did it! Call a nurse! My son is in pain and he's telling me!"

There was another voice and a small, cool hand slipped into mine.

"Jaime," the voice said. "If you can hear me, squeeze my hand. I did

"Good job. If you're in pain, squeeze my hand again," she said. I did.

"Good job, Jaime. Okay. If the pain is very bad, squeeze my hand two times," she said. I squeezed three times, to be sure.

"Okay, good job, Jaime. I'll be right back to give you something for the pain, okay?"

It got quiet. My arm started to feel warm. Then my whole body felt warm. Then I succumbed to the quiet, the dark, the warmth.

"He still isn't breathing on his own," I heard some time later. "He's communicating, but I don't know how much he's able to process. We know he can respond to simple commands, as long as they can be answered yes or no with him squeezing hands, but he hasn't opened his eyes on his own, he's still reliant on the ventilator and his responses aren't consistent."

"What does all of that mean?" I heard Dad ask.

"I honestly don't know at this point. There's definitely improvement. Obviously. I just don't know if he's going to improve beyond this. I don't know if he'll breathe on his own or even fully reawaken. Just keep doing what you've been doing. Keep talking to him, stimulating his brain to respond. We're going to do the surgery to replace the piece of skull tomorrow, and we'll do another assessment in a few days."

What does all of that even mean.

"Hey, Jaime," I heard Dad's voice right by my ear. I felt his hand slip into mine. "You're doing amazing, kiddo. You keep fighting, okay? You are going to have surgery tomorrow. When you got beaten up, you had some pretty gnarly skull fractures and they took a piece of your skull out to give your brain some room to swell. But you've been doing so well that they're going to put that back tomorrow, okay? Can you squeeze my hand to let me know if you heard me?"

I squeezed his hand.

"Good job, Jaime. You keep pushing. Okay?"

Exhaustion took over and I slipped into the darkness again.

The next time I was aware my head hurt horribly.

"Jaime, are you in pain?" I heard. "Squeeze my hand if you're in pain, baby."

It was Mom. I squeezed as hard as I could.

"Okay, sweetheart. We'll get you something for that, okay?"

That familiar warmth spread up my arm and through my body. I was whisked away on clouds of warmth and comfort. I could hear music nearby.

I dreamed of fires. Fire surrounded me. Everything was on fire. My body was on fire. I tried to scream but I couldn't make a sound. I tried to squeeze someone's hand but I couldn't feel anything. I was in pain. I was on fire.

And I couldn't tell anyone.