Saved

XXXI

So what's going on with Daryl and the Alexandria group? Well, Daryl and Aaron found Morgan, and Rick killed Pete after he killed Deanna. Rick and Deanna are working together to try and make Alexandria safer, and Daryl is still going out on runs with Aaron (this is right before the Wolves attack the camp). So, it's been a few weeks. 

I blinked my eyes slowly, as the white room around me came into focus. I could hear dripping sounds somewhere to my left, and something that sounded like Dale's toy truck tires rolling on tile from somewhere near my feet. I looked down, and I could see that my body was covered in a stiff white sheet, and I was in the doctor's office back at the Sanctuary. Dr. Emmett Carson was sitting at his desk a few feet from my feet, writing something on a stack of paper, as thick as some books I had read, and Dale must be sitting on the floor somewhere, because I could definitely hear his toys, and the Dr. glanced up every moment or so to look down at the ground. 

"Dale?" I whispered, and there was a scramble from the floor, and Dr. Carson's eyes shot to meet mine in surprise, but I was staring at my beautiful boy, who was climbing up onto the bed to get to me. 

"Mommy!" He cried, throwing himself onto my chest, and squeezing his arms so tight I felt like I could hardly breathe, but the tears I could feel seeping through my shirt into my skin, made all thoughts of my pain disappear. 

"Hey baby. I'm okay, I'm okay. Are you alright?" I asked, moving my shaking hands up to grasp his face, and pull it away from my chest so I could see his blue eyes, I know he isn't Daryl's son... but I swear... he has his eyes. 

"I'm fine mommy. Mr. Negan made me stay in that big room with the other kids that we used to sleep in while you were asleep. It wasn't bad. Like playtime, at night." He said, furiously wiping away his tears, and I tried to hold in mine, but my poor three year old... he shouldn't be trying not to cry... not yet. I don't expect that of him. 

"It's called a sleepover baby." I whispered, stroking gently under his eyes, to soothe the irritation there from his rough strokes. 

"Yeah." Dale whispered, and then buried himself back into my chest, so I looked to Dr. Carson. 

"How long have I been out?" I asked strongly, scared of the answer but afraid to know the truth. 

"A month and a half. You suffered severe fractures. We didn't think you would wake up. You've been in a coma." I couldn't help but roll my eyes at myself. Again... really?

"What was broken?" I whispered, kind of scared to know the answer. 

"Your temporal bone was fractured, blunt force trauma caused it to cave inward, and it might have punctured the dura, the uh, lining around your brain that protects it. We can't be sure since we don't have the technology anymore to check, but there was cerebral spinal fluid leaking from the break, so it could have. You also had fractures to your zygomatic bone and process, which is your cheekbone and the bone right under your ear." He tried to explain, but most all that I caught was I broke my cheeks, and my brain might be damaged?

"So... what if it was damaged? My brain? What's going to happen to me?" I whispered, and Dale tightened his arms around me, and I couldn't help but squeeze him tighter too. 

"Well... since the damage was to your right temporal lobe, if it was damaged, it could cause a myriad of things." He said, stalling, and glancing at the thing... anxiously. 

"Like what?" I asked, desperate to know whatever it is he didn't want to tell me. 

"Right temporal lobe damage can result in decreased recognition of tonal sequences and many musical abilities. It can also affect recognition of visual content. You may have difficulty placing words or pictures into categories. It can cause a loss of inhibition of talking, or you may be unable to recall non-verbal material, such as music and drawings." He spat, and it was like he was reading from a textbook, I had absolutely no clue what he was saying. 

"What does that mean?" I whispered, and he sighed, sitting back down in his chair and rubbing one hand down his face like he was exasperated with me. 

"It means, you may not be able to understand vocal cues, such as annoyance, anger, happiness, love, you may not recognize songs, or rhythms that you used to know. You could be unable to name things, like cups, or cars, doors, anything. You may also not be able to recognize people by their faces. It may require a trigger for you to recognize them, or you may not be able to at all. You will know their name and what they mean to you, but you could be staring at them, and have no clue who they are. You could lose control of your speech, say things you don't mean to or normally wouldn't. A whole bunch of things could have happened to you. And we really have no way of knowing if anything at all has happened, until a symptom shows up." 

I gulped, and glanced at the... the thing. And then back to Carson. 

"If... if I was having symptoms, is there a way to reverse it?" I asked, and he frowned at me. 

"The recovery of patient's with brain damage was on the top of the medical list of things we wished to fix before the apocalypse. Now, there is no way to even try and help you. Besides therapy, and retraining of course. But no medicine, or surgery or anything else, will help you with any of these problems. Any deficit you have, you will have for the rest of your life."

I nodded, and looked back at the thing. 

"I don't know... I don't know what that is." I whispered, pointing at it, and Dr. Carson followed my finger, staring at the thing as it opened, and a large man with a wicked grin came in the room, he reminded me of Negan.

"That's a door. Riley, that's a door. Sir, I was right. She's damaged." The wicked man turned to look at me, with a sadistic glint in his eye, and he nodded, turned around, and left the room. 

A/N: Hey guys, so it might be gross for some of you, but the picture attached right below this is what happens to your face when you have a zygomatic fracture, it basically just makes the corner of the eye on the affected side go down, and you won't have as much cheekbone definition on that side. If you don't want to see the picture, that's totally fine, just scroll past it, but it really isn't too bad, just a drawing of a skull and a man. 

Also, sometimes with temporal lobe traumas, the people you are unable to recognize by face, is because you associate that person with a trauma, and your body is trying to protect you, by refusing to put the name and the deeds with the actual person. So with the patients, they can sometimes describe the person ("oh well they were tall, dark hair, dark eyes, etc.") but when they look at the actual person, all they know is that they look similar. It's totally weird, but a really cool thing that can happen with your brain. 

Anyway, hope you enjoyed!