Broken Mind: a Brain Injury recovery story

The Call to Marie

You're cornered after lunch.

'You're calling Marie after your nap.' Your mother says it like the command it is.

Panic punches your chest, and you inhale sharply. You open your mouth, but no words get out before she continues, 'You should have done it long before now. She needs to talk to you. And you need to be a friend to her.'

You deflate, and your eyes skate away from the clear censure. You look at the phone sitting on the china cabinet, and you feel ill.

You hate going down for naps, even on a good day. Though fatigue weighs down your bones, you hate having to just lie there, staring at nothing, waiting for sleep to finally take over. It doesn't happen as fast as it used to. It's boring and makes you reluctant to nap at all, until you're sent off to bed like a petulant child.

But it's worse today, because after you wake up, you have to make the phone call you'd successfully dodged for weeks.

You don't remember finally falling asleep, but it must have happened, because you feel more alert now. But no braver.

You're allowed to make the call in your mother's room with the door shut. You'll have privacy there. It also means you'll have fewer reasons to end the call, but at least the quiet will enable you to concentrate. Multi-tasking is still not something you've mastered, and you're going to need all your acumen for this.

The notepaper with Marie's number scrawled on it creases between your fingers. You dial the numbers slowly. If your mother is correct, the extension number at the end will connect you directly to Marie's ward.

When you hear the ring tones pulsing at the other end, they have the metronomic beat of a bomb.

Somebody answers. They say...something. You missed it. You were too busy thinking about bombs. But the voice had the intonation of a greeting, so you presume that's what it was.

'Um,' you begin, impressively. 'Is— I'm looking for— Is Marie available to talk?'

'Oh!' The voice brightens. 'Yes! She's been waiting for your call! She'll be so happy to hear from you!'

Shame warms your face, and you wonder how the nurse knew who you were. You wonder if all the staff on that ward knew to expect your call, and if they know how long you've been putting it off.

The phone is silent while the nurse fetches Marie. You grip your own handset tightly, waiting for when it will leak sobs and sniffles into your ear.

'Hello! It's so good to hear from you! How are you doing?' The enthusiastic gushing takes you by surprise, and you have to blink several times before you can answer.

'Um, good.' You cringe as you ask the question you really don't want to, but feel you should. 'How are you?'

'I'm really good!' the brightness continues, and you're confused now. 'The nurses are so kind here. And my room is nice. It has big windows, so it's warm and sunny all the time.'

'Oh. That's...good.' You feel like you're in free fall. This is nothing like what you'd anticipated. 'Can you walk?'

You bite your lip immediately after the question falls out. You've brought the conversation around to sad stuff, already. She's bound to get miserable now. You've ruined it.

'No,' says the incorrigible sunshine, 'but the nurses bring me anything I need.' Then, after a beat, 'I mean, I'm not paralysed—just still in a back brace. I can't walk in it because it's so chunky. It'll come off eventually, though.'

'Oh,' you whisper, and the vice of anxiety around your lungs loosens a little. You're glad to hear she's not paralysed. And the way it's shaping up, this phone call might be bearable.