GRAY MATTER (34 page)

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Authors: Gary Braver

BOOK: GRAY MATTER
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T
hey came for Lilly about ten that morning.
There were three of them. Because of the sedative they had given her, she was fuzzy-headed. A man and a woman.
Vera. Her name was Vera. The man was Phillip.
Phillip had a dark mole on his cheek. Every time he came in, she could not help staring at it. Phillip also had a big head and short black hair combed straight forward.
They picked her off the bed and put her on a stretcher with wheels like the kind they use in ambulances, and they took her out of the room and down the hallway.
She was glad to be leaving that room. There were no windows, the door had no handle and it was always locked. And the lights were always on. She also didn’t like all the stupid cartoons, because they kept playing over and over again. Also, the toys were old and some were broken. But she liked the big blue stuffed elephant because it had straps for your feet and hands so you could dance with it. But it was strange looking since it didn’t have big blank elephant feet but actual hands like people have. And arms. Four of them. It was kind of creepy. Like an elephant centipede. His name was Mr. Nisha.
As they wheeled her into the hall, she hoped that they were taking her outside. The day when she arrived, she had spotted some kids in a playground. She had only gotten a glimpse through the van’s window, but she saw two kids on a jungle gym and two other kids at a nearby picnic table playing computer games on laptops. Which made four. She wondered who they were.
She had also noticed that they were beside a big lake with a real seaplane.
Wouldn’t that be fun?
she thought. She had never been on a plane. Mom said they were too expensive. When she asked Oliver yesterday, he said he would take her for a ride in it. Tonight.
She hoped they were wheeling her outside to play with the other kids. And no more tests. Maybe somebody was going to explain what she was doing here. Maybe this was the day she would go home, and that when they took her outside, her mom and dad would be there, and Bugs, her dog. Maybe.
Eeeep, eeeep. Eeeep …
One of the wheels on the gurney squeaked, and she tried to look down. It sounded like mice in a cage. She once had mice in a cage at home. They weren’t hers, but belonged to the school. One Christmas vacation she had volunteered to take them home for the break. Her mom didn’t like the idea because they were too close to rats, and rats were mean and filthy animals, Mom had said. But Lilly convinced her that these mice were clean and cute and wouldn’t be any fuss. By the end of the vacation, Mom got to like the “little critters.” She also got a kick watching them run through the Styrofoam structure the kids had made in class.
The gurney squealed down a corridor that seemed to be a long bright tunnel with rows of windows with venetian blinds pulled down. That was strange.
They took a hard turn to the right and pushed their way into a big bright room.
Inside she saw lots of fancy equipment—machines with wires, dials, and lights, some computer equipment, a sink, and more drip bottles. She had not been in a real hospital since she was born, and she didn’t remember that; but this looked like one of those operating rooms in the hospital shows her mom watched.
She closed her eyes again to doze off. But that did not last long because something snapped them open.
A buzzing sound.
Like the electric clippers her mom’s hairdresser used. Sure enough, she felt somebody from behind run it across her scalp. For a moment, she just let the buzz fill her ears, as the cool metal mowed its way across her head. Then she looked down to see large chunks of her hair land on the ground.
“Don’t take so much off,” she insisted.
“Don’t worry,” somebody said. “It’s not going to hurt.”
Because there was no mirror in front of her, she couldn’t tell how much they were cutting—but her head suddenly felt cool. Naked. She tried to raise her hands to feel, but they were clamped to the sides.
Hands brushed away the hairs from around her. Then the sound of somebody vacuuming the floor under her.
Then it was quiet, but for feathery-soft voices and the squeal of the wheels as she was rolled across the room.
Somebody said something, and she felt herself being lifted off the gurney and onto a table under a huge round dome with lights blazing down on her. She could feel their heat.
Then she was being cranked up a little. She looked down the length of her body and saw lots of the machines with colored lights and screens with orange squiggles going across, and some people moving about. But the light was too bright, and her mind was too fuzzy to make them out clearly. They seemed so small and far away, as if the world had gone to miniature.
Hanging over her was a large television, but there was no picture—just bright blue with what looked like ruler lines making a cross right in the center—like looking through the scope of her father’s rifle. On another screen next to it were black-and-white pictures of a skull with numbers and lines drawn through it.
All around her, she heard the soft hum of the machines and the murmur of voices. She tried to move, but her hands were tied for the new IV somebody taped onto her arm. Then she felt herself lifted up as a pillow was placed under her neck.
“Lilly, how do you feel?” she asked.
She knew that voice: Vera.
She didn’t like Vera. She was a fake. She would pretend to be friendly so Lilly would take her medicine or eat the food or do the tests. She said things like how they had her locked up like a jailbird—such a shame. But if she ate and took her meds, Vera would talk to Phillip to let her outside. But she lied. They brought her outside only once—to dance with Mr. Nisha.
“Fine.”
“Can you tell me your name?”
Silly question, they all knew her name. “Lilly Bellingham.”
“Good,” Vera said. “Oh, look, it’s Lilly dancing.”
Lilly opened her eyes again, and there on the television was a video of her dancing with Mr. Nisha.
“And who’s dancing with you, Lilly?”
“Mr. Nisha.” Why were they asking such dumb questions? Nothing like the tests.
“Good girl.”
Lilly kept her eyes fixed on the video, trying not to doze off. Suddenly she felt something on her head. From behind her, a hand drew marks on her scalp. Four marks—two on her forehead just above the hairline, another two at the back of her head just above the ears.
“These are where the screws will be inserted,” said a man with a soft voice.
He had a funny accent—“broken English,” as her mom would say.
“Since the brain itself is not sensitive to pain, only the surface requires local anesthetic.”
“Lilly, how you doing?”
“Fine.”
“Good girl. And when this is over, Oliver is going to take you for an airplane ride. Would you like that?”
“Yes, I would,” she said. She couldn’t see any faces because everybody was wearing green masks and caps. Just eyes staring down at her. And hands.
“Nurse Cooper is going to put a little cream on your head so you won’t feel anything,” the man with the accent said. “Dermal analgesic, please.”
Hands spread some cool sticky stuff to her head.
“An equal mixture of lidocaine and prilocaine,” the man continued, “the substance works subcutaneously and is one hundred percent effective. We’ve used it for years. As you’ll notice it has a strong almond odor.”
Lilly could smell the stuff, although she didn’t know what almonds smelled like. Then she felt some dull scratching on her head.
“We make four small incisions for the screw supports of the frame,” the man said to the others.
She felt someone dab her head in places.
“This is going to keep your head still. So, make Mr. Nisha happy and don’t try to move. Okay?”
“’Kay.”
Movement. Lilly forced her eyes open. Gloved hands had clamped a
heavy metal frame to her head while somebody turned the screws. There was no pain—just a dull squeezing across the top of her skull.
When they were through, her head was frozen in place. And all she could see was the thick metal bar across her eyes—and hands turning knobs and moving things.
For a brief spell, she closed her eyes, and …
She was at Crescent Lake Beach with her mom and dad. Her mother was saying not to go out into deep water.
“Lilly, don’t fall asleep. We need you to be awake to talk to us, okay? Just watch the video.”
“‘Kay,” she said. On the television monitor she was still dancing with Mr. Nisha. She looked so silly with him attached to her like that, his big fat trunk swaying with the music.
Someplace in the background she thought she heard the squealing of the gurney.
“Because the brain is completely encased in bone, reaching surgical targets is more difficult than for surgeries on other parts of the body. And the reason, of course, is that critical structures or vessels limit the choice of possible trajectories. But that’s not our concern here.”
Then Lilly heard another voice. “Doctor, the first target is two millimeters below the midcommissural line and twelve millimeters laterally which locates us in the subthalamic nucleus.”
“Good,” the doctor said. “This halo structure has major advantages over conventional stereotaxic frames for determining coordinates,” he continued, although Lilly had no idea what he was saying. “It’s precisely calibrated with little stopples to prevent the probes from straying or probing too far. It’s one of the wonders of finely tooled machines—the ultimate in precision drilling.”
She closed her eyes. Someplace in the fog she heard, “Don’t be afraid. It’s not going to hurt.”
Small voices. Kids blurred on the beach behind her as she waded into deeper water. “Not too far.” She tried to look back at the beach, to her mother sitting on the blanket. She could hear her calling her name, but because of the big metal thing on her head, she couldn’t turn.
“Lilly, look at the movie and tell me your name.”
“Lilly Bellingham.”
“Good girl.”
She closed her eyes and was back at the lake, now in waist-deep water. Voices on the shore fading, and her mother calling her name. “That’s far enough.” Suddenly she heard something that snapped her eyes open.
Zzzzzzrrrrrrr.
She tried to turn her head, but it was anchored in place.
Zzzzzzrrrrrrr.
The sound was right behind her. On top of her.
“Lilly, do you feel anything?” Miss Vera.
“Uhnnn.”
“What’s that?”
“No, I don’t.” Her words sounded clear.
“Good. What’s your name?”
“I told you it’s Lilly Bellingham.”
The buzzing was louder, almost as if there were some kind of bug in her head trying to get out.
“How you doing, Lilly?”
“Fine.”
More buzzing at the other side of her head. And a funny tingling sensation deep inside as hands worked away on the instruments.
Suddenly the drilling stopped.
“Lilly, how you doin’?”
“Fine.”
She started to doze off, when the same man in the green mask said, “First hollow needle, please.”
“Localization?”
“Target.”
“Good.”
Out of the crack of her eyes, she saw a hand with a large hypodermic needle full of cloudy pink stuff.
“Lilly, tell me your name.”
“Lilly Bellingham.”
She waded farther into the water up to her chest. Strange, the water was turning cloudy. She tried to look back to shore, but could not turn her head. She heard her mother’s voice.
“Needle.”
A little later, somebody said something. “Lilly, tell me your name.”
“Lil-ly Bell-ing-ham.”
“Good girl. Needle.”
The water was turning pink. A milky pink. Like calamine lotion.
“Lilly, what’s your name?”
“Lilbingum.”
“What’s that?”
“Lilbingum.”
“Good girl. Needle.”
Lilly moved deeper into the water which she knew was not a good idea because her mother said not to go in past her waist especially after eating, and she had just eaten a sandwich what kind she forgot but she just could not stop moving away from shore and the funny thing was that the water became cloudier as she moved deeper—cloudy pinkish-white and bright as if it were blending in with the blank white clouds on the horizon or as if the water were turning into milk which was so strange because it was dark brownish-green earlier when she walked into it and she could see her feet through it but now it was cloudy white like the sky ahead and above—just a big white mass.

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