Finding Jaime

Chapter 45

Pete POV

I sat by Jaime's side day in and day out. For the first couple of days, he struggled. We thought we were going to lose him. But he rallied. He was still unconscious, still comatose, still on life-support, but he was stable. And that was the first major step to getting better. Because I had to believe Jaime would get better. He had to. I had to apologize. I had fucked up, and I had to apologize.

I talked with the nurses tasked with caring for my son. They talked to Jaime as though he were awake and able to respond. He didn't, of course. He didn't so much as blink an eye.

The doctors were open and would discuss a treatment they might want to try, or a medication that might help bring Jaime back to us. Some we tried, effected no change. A couple caused uncontrollable seizures for at least 24 hours. Twenty-four terrifying, exhausting hours of watching my son's body seize over and over and over, some for just seconds, some for minutes, and some that felt like hours, but were less than 30 minutes.

Friends helped Meagan with the kids at home, considering I lived, essentially, at Jaime's bedside. We'd make sure to FaceTime every night so the kids could say good night to Jaime and I could say good night to all my kids. They had been absolutely amazing. Meagan said they listened, were up in the morning, usually without a problem, no whining, not, really anyway. The boys did their homework right away after school and got ready for bed without trouble. We were going to have to do something really special as a family, once Jaime was better. We'd go on a family trip. Hawaii, or Europe. London maybe.

I'd make sure I told the younger kids how proud I am of them for being helpful to Meagan while I sat with Jaime. And I am. Knowing they're taking care of things they can, so Meagan can take care of all the things she can for them, that they're all helping each other, made me feel that we were really, truly a family. That Jaime really was part of this family. We just had to make him believe it.

But he would have to wake up first. Come back from wherever he was.  And I didn't know how to reach him.

I listened to the whoosh of the ventilator, the beeping of Jaime's heart monitor, the sounds of the equipment keeping his body alive, taking care of waste for him, feeding him, doing everything for him while he lay unconscious.

"I am so, so sorry, Jaime," I said, tears forming, once again, in my eyes. "I was mad, yes. I was disappointed. But I never wanted this. We love you Jaime. All of us.  You've completed our family. We need, I need, you to see that."

Jaime lay unmoving, unaware.

Jamie's eyes suddenly opened and I watched as his eyes flitted back and forth. They didn't stop on anything. He wasn't looking at anything. It was just a function of his brain firing synapses. Jaime, I had been told, wasn't seeing or processing anything visually when his eyes opened. But then, I noticed something.

Jamie's eyes had stopped moving. Jaime was looking at me.

"Jaime?" I asked, looking into my son's eyes and trying to determine if I saw anything different. "Jaime? Are you awake?"

Jaime didn't move. He didn't blink. He just continued staring at me.

"Jaime?" I whispered.

Jaime's eyes rolled back and closed. I was worried he was having another seizure.  But Jaime's eyes opened again and he was looking at me again.

"Jaime?" I asked again, and again, Jaime's eyes rolled back and he closed his eyes, opening them again. I called for a nurse. This had to be something. This had to mean Jaime was coming back. Jaime was waking up.

My eyes filled with tears. My son was coming back. I grasped Jaime's hand and squeezed tight. I thought I felt the tiniest of movements from Jaime. Just barely perceptible. But I tried it again and felt the same result. Jamie was coming back.

A nurse came in and I told her what he'd observed. The nurse came over and tried a couple of things.  She smiled and said she was going to call for the doctor to confirm.

Jamie's eyes were on me again. I brushed back his hair, looked in his eyes and smiled.

"Hi there," I said, hoping he could hear me. "Hi. We've missed you."

Jaime closed his eyes again.

"Good afternoon Mr. Wentz," the doctor said, jovially, coming into Jaime's room. "I hear we've seen some improvement today?"

I looked up at the doctor and smiled.

"I think he's waking up. He was looking at me. And he blinked when I asked if he was awake. And he squeezed my hand. Well, kind of."

The doctor went over to Jaime and placed his stethoscope on his chest and listened.

"Jaime?" The doctor said, taking Jaime's hands. "Jaime. Your dad says you're waking up. Can you show me?  Can you open your eyes or squeeze my hands?"

Jaime didn't react at first. I began to think maybe I'd dreamed it. I'd been hoping for too much.

But then, Jaime opened his eyes and looked at the doctor. Then his eyes moved towards me again.

"Well, look at that, would you. Welcome back, young man," the doctor smiled at Jaime. "Can you follow my finger?"

The doctor slowly moved his finger to Jaime's left. His eyes didn't move. Until they did. Slowly, they followed and found the doctor's finger. The doctor moved his finger back to the middle and waited for Jaime's brain and eyes to catch up. They did. He moved his finger to Jaime's right side and after a couple moments, Jaime's eyes followed.

"Can you squeeze my hands?" The doctor asked Jaime, holding both of Jaime's hands in his. Jaime's grasp was loose. But I saw his fingers curl, ever so slightly, around the doctor's.

"Very good," the doctor smiled. "Well, all in all, very good. We'll do another MRI in a day or so. See if there's any damage we can see and plan for rehabilitation once he's ready. You're doing very well, Jaime. You've got a bit of work ahead of you, I think, but you're well on the way to getting out of here."

Jaime looked at me, then closed his eyes again.

"He needs his rest," the doctor said. "But I'm very encouraged by today's results. He's going to need a lot of support. And once we can get him off the respirator, or he's strong enough to write, I want him to start seeing a counsellor."

I nodded. It had been in my plans since learning about Jaime. I had wanted to get a grief counsellor for him to deal with losing his mom. But it was clear we had more work than that to do. The doctors knew Jaime's history.