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  I never got the chance until many years later.

  †

  Two days passed and I wasn’t gaining strength, so Mom made the decision to take me to the family pediatrician. I liked Doctor Forrester. He was a nice old man—maybe a little disorganized which always caused a long wait as patients stacked up in his waiting room.

  I felt like an invalid when my legs didn’t seem to want to cooperate and Mom had to help me walk. That had never happened to me before—no matter how sick I’d been. The words in my head seemed to jumble and I had trouble remembering what to say.

  My mom frowned. I remember thinking she looked especially worried and I felt bad for causing her this much concern.

  When we entered the waiting room at the doctor’s office, I thought we’d be there for a long time because it was full of walking disease receptacles. Kids and their parents occupied nearly every seat in the place. I felt like if I wasn’t sick enough before, I would surely catch a few more bugs if I had to hang out in the waiting room for the next two hours.

  The person at the desk glanced up at my mom and me and I knew something was really wrong when she quickly motioned for us to enter the sacred back room. “Come on back. Let me take your temperature, young lady.”

  I must have looked like the walking dead to leap frog over all the other kids hanging out in the waiting room.

  Mom helped me sit on the reclining chair covered in that awful crinkly white paper. The nurse stuck a thermometer in my mouth and waited patiently for the gadget to register my temperature. She pulled the beeping thermometer from my mouth, scrunched up her face, and rushed out of the room.

  Less than a minute later, Dr. Forrester came into the room barking orders. “Get some ice. We need to get that temp down now. She needs to be transferred to the hospital after we pack her in ice.”

  My final thought before I went into a deep sleep was I don’t want to die.

  Chapter Three

  Fall 2008

  I wasn’t sure what day of the week it was or even the time of the day. I hoped that someone would turn on the TV so I could at least figure it out. I didn’t even know what season it was. It could have been any of them—winter, spring, summer, or fall.

  I started feeling highly agitated again when I heard the clicking of heels on the floor. I was able to move my head just a little bit more as a surly looking woman entered the room, walked behind me and did something to the back of the chair, and roughly lifted my body while tipping me on my side. The edge of the chair was hard and pressed into my flesh, causing a considerable amount of discomfort.

  “Damn retard, my supervisor will have my ass if it looks like you’re getting another bed sore. Shit, I don’t know why they even prop you up in a chair every day,” the woman grumbled. “God, I’m talking to you like you understand.”

  The woman let go and I felt something soft underneath my legs. I was thankful for whatever cushion the woman put on the chair. I managed to move my head enough to look down and was horrified to see some type of restraint across my chest. When she moved to the back of the chair again, I realized she was tying me into the chair so I wouldn’t topple. I don’t know why I thought about this, but I remembered my mom talking about weebles and how weebles wobbled but they never fell down. With my restraint in place, I was sure that I wouldn’t fall over, just like a weeble. It made me sad to think they had to tie me down, just so I wouldn’t smash my face onto the floor. I didn’t think this woman really cared, except for the fact that her supervisor might get mad.

  The woman stalked off like I’d just ruined her day. I was grateful that she flipped on the TV before she left the room. At least I had something to occupy my time.

  I flicked my eyes up to the TV and watched something familiar to me. I was surprised that the familiar soap opera, All My Children, was still on the air. This was my mom’s guilty pleasure as she taped every episode and watched them while she was making dinner for the family. I’d hung out in the kitchen with her every night after school and watched them right along with her.

  Mom was an English professor at the local community college. She was lucky enough to teach daytime classes and be able to arrange her office hours to allow her to be home by the time my sisters and I would stroll in from school.

  The surly woman clomped back into the room and brought another woman with her. The second woman was grossly overweight and her scrubs stretched across her belly in a most unflattering way. I felt badly about thinking that she should wear a size larger so that her extra pounds wouldn’t be so obvious. That was an unkind thought and I didn’t want to think that way.

  The grossly overweight woman plopped down a lunch tray and then proceeded to turn away from me. Both women ignored me as they pulled up two extra chairs, partially blocking my view of the TV.

  “I can’t believe they’re gonna have a fucking dyke get married on All My Children. I used to love this soap and now they’re ruining everything. It’s just sick how the media is portraying it as something normal. It ain’t right,” the surly woman spit out.

  “I hear ya. Maybe we should change the channel.”

  “Nah, I want to know what happens to everyone else. Besides, JR is so yummy to look at.”

  “Hey, did you hear Carly earlier? She thinks the retard here was trying to communicate with her or something,” the overweight woman declared.

  “No shit?”

  “Yeah, she dragged her mom into the room and everything. She’s gonna read to her or something.”

  “Maybe Carly can take care of moving her around so she don’t get sores. That girl is just like her mom, a real do-gooder.” The surly woman chuckled and crossed her arms.

  “I heard Fucky Chucky chewed your ass out for not watching that red spot more closely.”

  “He’s an asshole with little man syndrome. I bet his pecker is two inches long. He sits up in his administrative throne and doesn’t know how hard we work on the floor. Nobody else wants to work in this shithole. He can’t fire me because no one else would do this crap job.”

  “I’m gonna apply at the hospital. I heard they got better benefits,” the overweight one said.

  “Yeah, maybe, but they watch you more closely over there. I like having a bit more freedom.”

  “Yeah, like choosing not to give the princess here her bath like we’re supposed to.”

  “Her mom can do it tomorrow. She don’t like how we do it anyway. Complains that we’re too rough—like the vegetable even knows anything. I don’t see you feeding her lunch like you’re supposed to.”

  “She’s not hungry today, can’t you tell? You know it is kinda sad though. She’s a pretty little thing. Too bad she ain’t got a working brain. They shoulda pulled the plug on her when they had the chance six years ago.”

  “I know. I heard her mom say she wished she had.”

  “Shhh, the program’s back on.”

  The sudden realization that I was a burden on my family was almost too much to bear. I wanted to shut my eyes and pray for the fog to take me away again. At least before, I had been blissfully ignorant about my situation.

  I did my best to concentrate on the TV and ignore their conversation. Instead, I became fascinated with the storyline of Bianca Montgomery and her upcoming wedding to another woman. Although I knew that gay people existed, I had no idea that they could get married. It was especially intriguing after Carly made her startling confession to me on the third day of my awakening.

  I learned a lot about Carly during those first few months, but didn’t learn about myself until much later. It was difficult making up for those six lost years. I was a ten year old girl in a non-functioning sixteen year old body. The one good thing—I guess I was a safe person for her to tell her deepest secrets to. Because I never talked back, I was the very best listener a person could hope for.

  †

  I knew it was unkind to label the two unpleasant women who hid in my room and watched TV during a major chunk of their day, white trash squared,
but of all the caregivers I encountered during the years after my re-birth, they were the most abhorrent.

  The anger about what had happened to me suddenly had a target, but when you can’t move your body or scream out in frustration, you quickly move on. Fortunately, I didn’t stay angry very long and without the ability to fully express my anger, I’m not sure anyone ever recognized what I was feeling.

  They stayed in my room for two hours watching both, All My Children, and the soap that followed, General Hospital. I knew it was only a matter of time before someone discovered what they were doing every day, but on that first day of my awakening, I was just glad to be left alone after two hours.

  The show, Judge Judy, aired late afternoon each day and was a mildly entertaining show, but I was anxious to watch the evening news. I wanted to know what was happening in the world. I discovered it was Friday and guessed that my family visited on the weekends. I hoped that Carly would come back to see me soon, because I knew that she was the only one who recognized there was an aware person inside the grotesque outer package I presented.

  I didn’t understand why Carly and her friend Tammie would be out of school on a Friday and only later learned that it was part of a civic program the high school encouraged. Students got class credits for volunteer work. Carly probably would have volunteered anyway, but Tammie was clearly only there to get out of school during the day on Fridays. She often tried to pull Carly away, but Carly always steadfastly refused. I looked forward to her visits, even more than the visits with my family on Saturday and Sunday, especially after hearing about my mom’s despondent confession. Soon Carly was visiting more frequently than the one day. She must have managed to convince the school that daily visits at lunchtime would not at all interfere with her studies.

  Chapter Four

  On the second day of what I began to call my re-birth, I woke up to one of the caregivers pulling at my pajamas to remove and replace them with what they determined was appropriate daywear. I learned quickly that this ritual occurred every morning at around seven thirty. Some of the caregivers performed this task with care and caution and others were impatient and jarring. This morning I had one of the rough ones. She seemed anxious to get this task completed. I desperately wanted to help. I didn’t want to be an invalid. I concentrated with all my might to move my arms a little, but they wouldn’t cooperate.

  After she left, I heard a pleasant alto voice in the hallway. “I can feed Belinda if you need me to, Darcy. I’ve got some extra time this morning.”

  I didn’t quite hear Darcy’s response, but I guessed that she must have grunted out an okay or something because another young woman brought breakfast in on a cafeteria tray. For some reason, she watched me carefully as my eyes tracked the fork in her hand. Before she brought the first spoonful of oatmeal to my mouth, she touched my lips.

  “Open up now, Belinda. It’s your favorite—oatmeal with lots of brown sugar.” She winked at me and brought the spoon to my mouth. “I put in the extra sugar myself.”

  I must have smiled at her and maybe this was a first because she looked a little shocked at my response. I opened my mouth to receive the first spoonful of oatmeal.

  It was sweet and passable. I suspect that without that extra brown sugar it would have been bland and unappealing.

  When she picked up the juice with the straw in it, I opened my mouth again so that I could take a sip. She looked at me carefully and brought the straw to my lips.

  I was able to move my head just a little to meet the straw and closed my mouth around the straw and sucked in a fair amount of the juice—apple. It wasn’t my favorite, but I was thirsty.

  “Something’s different with you this morning,” she noted.

  As she continued to feed me, she talked to me as if I were a person. It was so much better than how the earlier caregivers treated me—as if I didn’t matter.

  “It’s Saturday, Belinda. Your mom called and said she was running late today, but would be in around two. Carly called and asked if she could come to visit you today and Dr. Sullivan was going to check with your family. So you’ll have another visitor. Carly is sweet and I think she’s about your age, too.”

  She continued to feed me and I would open my mouth before the utensil reached my lips. I wanted to let her know I understood and she didn’t need to touch me to get me to cooperate. It wasn’t that the touch to my lips was unwelcome, I just wanted someone to figure out that I wasn’t brain dead like they thought I was.

  I heard the distinct click click click of what I came to know as Dr. Sullivan’s heels. Since I had nothing better to do than watch TV all day, my senses soon became hyper alert to the subtle differences of each caregiver who entered my room.

  I later learned my breakfast buddy’s name was Nessa—short for Vanessa. She was a certified nursing assistant, studying to be a registered nurse. Unlike some of the others who wanted to become a nurse and work for the local hospital, her passion was for long-term care. She didn’t care about the money and that made her an exceptional nurse. She was the second person to begin to recognize that maybe there were thoughts going on inside my head.

  “Hello, Nessa. How is Belinda today?” Dr. Sullivan asked.

  “Something’s different this morning, Dr. Sullivan. She’s opening her mouth without me touching her lips. I’m pretty sure she’s tracking my movements and she smiled at me this morning,” Nessa asserted.

  “Hmm, she does seem to be tracking movements and has more control of her head than I’ve observed before. Carly said the same thing yesterday. Can you pay attention to any changes and report them to me as soon as you can? I’ll watch more closely. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything because sometimes there are spontaneous reactions to stimuli, but the brain is not exactly processing it in the same manner as you or I might interpret things,” Dr. Sullivan explained.

  I wanted to shout out that I was processing things in exactly the same manner as Dr. Sullivan, but my vocal chords weren’t responding to the signals my brain was trying to send. Instead, I did the only thing I could and blinked my eyes rapidly. It wasn’t much, but maybe someday she would recognize this as an attempt to communicate.

  Dr. Sullivan pulled a pen light out of her pocket, clicked it on, and aimed it at my eyes. “Belinda, can you follow the light for me please,” she directed.

  I did my best to move my eyes and even my head just a little to follow the white light she aimed at my eyes.

  “Good, that’s very good, Belinda.” Dr. Sullivan clicked the pen light again, placed it back in the pocket of her smock, and smiled at me. “Well, she is finally responding to stimuli. We’ll watch for any other changes, but this should make it easier to feed, dress, and care for her. She’ll probably be able to respond to basic commands. It isn’t quite a miracle, but hopefully her family will be pleased.”

  The doctor pivoted and walked out of the room.

  Nessa smiled at me. “I hope you continue to get better, Belinda. I, for one, will be praying for that miracle. You just keep letting me know when things change and I’ll keep letting the doc check it out. Maybe one day you’ll spring free from this joint—not that it’s so bad here, because it’s certainly better than the other rehab center. I just wish they hadn’t hired some of the other aides. I know they were short staffed, but a warm body isn’t really better than nobody, in my humble opinion.”

  I tended to agree with Nessa. I wondered if white trash squared were the aides she was referring to or maybe it was little miss sunshine, Darcy, who dressed me before Nessa arrived.

  Nessa must have had to attend to other residents because after she wiped my mouth, straightened my clothes, and brushed my hair, she left with the empty cafeteria tray in her hands. I was thankful that she thought to turn on the TV before exiting the room. Saturday morning programming was definitely lacking in substance. I caught the tail end of Good Morning America and then a string of shows I probably should have enjoyed as a pre-teen, but didn’t. I wanted to learn about the w
orld and catch up on everything I’d missed in school. I was one of those nerdy kids who enjoyed learning and I knew if I had any chance of graduating high school, either on time, or a few years later than normal, I would need to be a sponge. I believed that if I concentrated hard enough, my body would begin to cooperate and I could return to my former life as a normal kid or rather normal teenager, now that I was sixteen.

  The Suite Life of Zach and Cody was just finishing when I heard what I would later recognize as Carly’s distinctive shuffle and entrance into the room.

  “Hey, Belinda, I brought a great book I’ve been reading and I thought I would read to you before your family gets here. I’ll start it again so that you don’t miss anything,” Carly said.

  She sat down in a chair next to me and opened the book she was carrying and began to read in her melodious voice.

  Carly read to me for two straight hours and I got lost in the book, The Secret Life of Bees. She would look up from time to time and smile at me. At one point, she gently pushed a lock of hair back from my face when she noticed it fell across my cheek. “You have such beautiful cheekbones, we can’t have your hair hiding them.”

  Her touch was like magic to me. I wanted to feel her fingers brush across my face again, but on this first day she only pushed back my hair once and left me craving more of this intimacy.

  I didn’t even hear my family enter the room because Carly kept me enchanted with her reading.

  She stopped reading and looked up and that’s when I noticed my mom and dad standing in the room with curious looks on their faces. It seemed like both of them had aged a great deal since I’d last seen them.