My Professor's Secret

33|

thirty-three

"Alex, wake up."

A hand settles on my shoulder and gives it a gentle shake until I finally surface from sleep. After my call with Taylor, exhaustion claimed me almost instantly. I don't remember closing my eyes. One minute, I was staring at the ceiling, thinking about Dad, and the next, Christian was standing over me.

He holds out a paper coffee cup.

"We all slept longer than we intended to," he says. "It's a little after midnight. Lorelei wants to head back to the hospital."

For a moment, I stare at him. My body feels heavy, like sleep is still trying to drag me back under. Judging by the dark circles beneath his eyes and the imprint of a pillowcase still visible against his cheek, Chris doesn't look much better.

I take the coffee and force myself out of bed.

The house is quiet as we make our way downstairs. Lorelei is already waiting in the car by the time we make it outside, her hands wrapped around a travel mug while she stares through the windshield.

None of us speaks much during the drive.

My coffee has gone lukewarm by the time we pull into the hospital parking garage, but I drink it anyway. The bitter taste lingers on my tongue as we ride the elevator back to the ICU.

Walking into Dad's room feels strangely familiar now. That realization unsettles me more than I care to admit.

Hospitals aren't supposed to become routine.

Yet somehow, after three days of living between waiting rooms, vending machines, and uncomfortable chairs, this place has started to feel like its own version of normal.

Dad looks the same as he did when we left him.

The machines continue their steady rhythm around him. The bandages remain wrapped around the left side of his head. His chest rises and falls mechanically beneath the blankets.

For a moment, disappointment lingers in my stomach before I can stop it.

I hadn't expected him to wake up while we were gone, but some irrational part of me had hoped for something. A movement. A sign. Any indication that things were getting better.

Instead, it isn't Dad who greets us with change.

It's Dr. Monroe, she's smiling before she even enters the room.

According to Dad's latest scans, the swelling in his brain has continued to improve. Enough so that his doctors no longer feel it necessary to keep him under the same level of sedation.

She explains the medications in terms I barely understand at first. Phenobarbital. Paralytics. Sedatives. Eventually, she simplifies it for us.

"The swelling has decreased significantly," she says. "We've decided to begin taking him off the medications, keeping him in a medically induced coma."

The words hover over the room. Dad was still critically injured, and he still had a long recovery ahead of him. But at least it wasn't what I thought I'd hear. Someone wasn't preparing us for the worst. They were preparing us for him to wake up.

Neither Chris nor I says much while Dr. Monroe removes the medications responsible for keeping Dad asleep and explains what the next several hours might look like. Before leaving, she offers all three of us a small smile.

"This is good news," she says. "People with injuries like your father's don't always get opportunities like this. You should allow yourselves to celebrate it."