I set the alarm on my phone for lunchtime and crawl into the extraordinary comfort of my hotel bed. I take only a moment to luxuriate in the sensation of being stretched out on an appropriately comfortable surface before sleep overtakes me.
When I wake, I immediately realise that it is late afternoon and I’ve slept through the alarm. I shower and wash my hair, then dress in the first outfit I lay my hands on. I run the block back to the hospital, stopping only to pick up a large box of hot supplì from a restaurant on the way. As I race down the hallway towards the ICU, I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirrored window and groan. Somehow, a decent stretch of sleep and a shower have left me looking even worse – my hair has semi-dried into a frizz ball and I’m wearing a geometrically patterned skirt in shades of orange and pink with a blue and yellow striped top. It occurs to me that I look exactly like a clown and I laugh a little hysterically at the thought.
Craig Walker and a doctor I do not know are in Leo’s room. I can see from the expression on his face that Leo is not hearing good news. I pause at the door, my fingers at the handle, and Alda approaches me.
‘You go in,’ she says softly. ‘This is neurologist. Leo has tests today; they talk about results now.’
I steady myself as I push the door open. The three men look at me and I focus on Leo. ‘Sorry to interrupt. Do you – do you want me in here? I’m so sorry, I slept through my alarm.’
‘Come in,’ he says. ‘You should hear this too, I guess.’
‘This is Dr Fida,’ Craig tells me. ‘He’s Leo’s neurologist. I’ve been helping to translate.’
‘Hello, Mrs Stephens,’ Dr Fida says, and he extends his hand towards me. I shake it and return his greeting.
‘I had some scans and a proper neurology assessment this morning,’ Leo informs me.
‘Dr Fida was just explaining our theories about the issues with movement in Leo’s lower body,’ Craig says quietly.
I listen for the next few minutes, trying to make sense of the doctor-speak as Dr Fida and Craig explain the findings. Leo’s ability to coordinate the muscles of his legs or balance himself when he stands is impaired. These symptoms are likely a result of the location of the fracture and underlying bruising to his brain. It’s too soon to tell if this will be lasting. The doctors recommend an intensive rehabilitative programme to support him as his brain continues to heal.
‘Are you optimistic?’ Leo asks.
The tone of this discussion is making me nervous for Leo, and I want to take his hand, but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.
‘It’s really too soon to tell much about your long-term prognosis, Leo,’ Craig says. ‘We can see on your scans that there’s been some damage to your brain – but it’s a remarkable organ. It will heal with time, and with therapy it can adapt, even when there is permanent damage.’
‘I just need to know that I’m going to walk again,’ Leo says, very carefully. ‘It’s really – well – beyond imperative that I can walk. I mean, if I can’t walk…’ He breaks off. Now I do take his hand and squeeze it. I will let go if he pulls away, but unless he does, I will hold it so tightly that he will never forget for a second that I’m here to support him through this.
Dr Fida and Craig converse quietly in Italian for a few minutes. I watch Leo’s face. He is terrified and trying very hard not to show it. After a while, he finally meets my gaze and I offer him an anxious smile. He doesn’t smile back, but he doesn’t look away either.
‘Your best chance at restoring your mobility is to commence rehabilitation as soon as you can. We can’t give you any guarantees, Leo.’
‘I know that millions of people in the world live wonderful lives in wheelchairs,’ Leo says stiffly. ‘But I can’t. I can’t do my job in a wheelchair. Nothing in my life would work if I can’t walk.’
‘There are ways of adjusting and coping,’ Craig tells him gently. ‘But you’re getting way ahead of yourself. Step one to your recovery will be to rest a little more, and then the next step is going to be to get you into a rehabilitation programme. There are some world-class brain injury programmes in Sydney.’
‘And – Leo’s amnesia?’ I prompt hesitantly.
‘We are confident it will resolve in its own time.’ Craig turns back to Leo. ‘In cases like yours, where the patient is able to form new memories and has only lost a portion of the previous memories the prognosis is actually very good. It’s likely most of your missing memories will return as the swelling recedes.’
‘I’ve already had a few memories return,’ Leo tells us, and I glance at him in surprise. I can tell by the way he looks immediately to me that he’s remembered something about us, and judging by the warmth in his gaze, the memories are early ones.
‘That’s very encouraging,’ Craig tells him.
‘Is there anything I can do to speed it up?’ Leo asks, and I nod enthusiastically at this idea.