Have you ever wondered what would Michael Jackson's life look like if some events didn't happen to him? If he had someone he trusted by his side through everything? Someone that had the power to save him from his tormented life?
Hayley "Brit" Thame...
After Tom's craniotomy, Carl told me I should go home to rest and take the day off, but I told him I wanted to stay at the hospital until the little guy wakes up. The surgery lasted six hours, but normally, there weren't any complications. We just had to wait for the patient to wake up, and there was no way I would come home without knowing how he was doing.
As always, I was mesmerized by the facility Carl took the tumor out. His hands never shook the least bit, and he knew exactly what he was doing, and where he was going. Once again, he showed me, and everyone present in the OR, how much of a brilliant surgeon he was.
Three hours passed until a nurse paged me for Tom. When I arrived in his room, his eyes lit up a bit, but he kept this painful expression on his face. I was nervous to see the results. Broca's area is the language-dominant hemisphere of our brain. If it happens to be damaged, then the patient can lose his ability to speak, to have a coherent speech, to read, to write and even to listen. At that instant, I would know if the area was intact, and if the surgery went as well as I thought it did.
"Hey buddy, how are you?" I asked, as I started to examine him, asking him to follow my finger with his eyes, which he did.
A silence invaded the room. I looked at the different monitors Tom was plugged to, and everything seemed normal. I looked down again at his bandaged face, and the only thing I saw was the terrified look in the little one's eyes.
"It's alright, you can do it," I encouraged, as I sat on the edge of his bed. "Do you know who I am?"
He looked at me again, and took my hand in his, squeezing it with force. He nodded his head a little, and opened his mouth to speak, "Brit."
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"That's right," I smiled brightly, and rubbed the top of his hand gently. "Do you know what is today's date?"
"January 27th, 1991, I think."
"Yeah, that's correct," I smiled some more, and stood up from the bed to write his vitals and my post-operation observations in his file.
"My head aches," he whined in a weak voice.
"It's normal, I'll give you some meds for that," I reassured.
"Did you get Marcus? Is he gone?"
"Yes, Marcus is gone, he won't bug you anymore," I grinned at his innocent question.
"You saved my life," he weakly said, taking my hand in his little one again. "Thank you, you're my heroine."
"I didn't do much, you should thank Dr. Meyers. He did a wonderful job."
"But I don't like him. He looks mean," Tom said, and I laughed at this.
"He's not that bad when you get to know him, trust me," I told him, and leaned closer to whisper something to him. "I used to say he was a meanie too, but that's our secret, okay?"
