I looked at Dr. Linscomb. He looked too young to be a neurologist or neurosurgeon or whatever he was. “Uh… oh…kay, I guess.”

He ignored my comment but I saw him grin. Then he referred to some papers in a folder.

“Let’s take a look at your arm first.”

He turned on what looked like a computer display that was mounted on the wall, and viewed an x-ray of my arm and studied it for a little while. He turned back to me and slipped my sling off the cast and over my head.

“Brian, let’s see how much motion do you have without any pain. First, stand up.” I got off the examination table and stood alongside it with my butt leaning against the table. “Okay, now try to straighten your arm out in front of your body.” I did as he asked. “Does that hurt or ache?”

“No, it feels more or less normal, except for the weight of the cast.”

“Now move it to the left so it’s parallel to your body. Any pain?”

“Nope.”

“Now straight up, like you’re reaching for the ceiling. How’s that?”

“That hurts a little bit, maybe a one or one and a half on a scale of ten.” I’d remembered that Dr. McFadden had used a ten point scale for my pain level.

“Alright, lower your arm to your side. Is that okay?”

“Uh huh, it doesn’t hurt at all.”

“Now, slowly, swing your arm back and stop and hold it there as soon as it starts to hurt.”

I did, and it started to hurt as soon as I had it at less than a quarter of the way back. “That hurts when it’s right there. Maybe a five.”

“Alright. Lower your arm to your side again. Any pain now?”

“No, it feels okay again.”

“Now, with your right hand, point to each area where your left arm hurt when you swung it back.”

I pointed to the middle of my forearm back to my elbow. “All of this area on the inside of my arm is where it hurt about a five,” I pointed to the middle of my forearm to my wrist, “and this part was a three,” then I pointed from the middle of my bicep to my shoulder, “and up here it hurt about a two. But as soon as I lowered my arm the pain went away.”

“Now, leaving your arm along your side, I want you to rotate your wrist clockwise until it starts to hurt or when you can’t rotate it any further.”

As soon as I turned my wrist about a quarter turn it started to hurt. “It hurts now, in the middle of my forearm. Maybe a two or three. It’s hurting more the longer I hold it in this position.”

“Okay, relax your wrist. Any pain now?”

“No, not really.”

“That sounds like a qualified ‘no’. Does it hurt or ache at all?”

“Well… the longer I hold it this way whatever it was that sort of hurt is going away. It was more like it was a little stiff, or something like that.”

“Let’s try the wrist rotation counter-clockwise this time.”

“Ow!” I relaxed my wrist. “That hurt right away. In my wrist and up my arm from there to my elbow. It was maybe a five. That might be the first time I’ve tried moving it that way that I can remember.”

All along Alicia, the nurse who was assisting Dr. Linscomb, had been writing notes into some sort of tablet computer.

“Okay. Let’s take off your shirt and T-shirt. Then you can sit on the examination table and I’m going to take a look at the bruise on your chest.”

Mom helped me take them off. I was glad that I could raise my arm. That made taking off my T a lot easier.

Dr. Linscomb checked my chest, touching around the edges of my bruise. “Does that hurt, Brian?”

“No.”

He pressed lightly against the bruise. “How about now?”

“No.”

He looked at it closely. “This seems to be healing nicely. Alicia, please help Brian put on a gown and put his sling back on.” He went back to the x-ray on the wall display, and Alicia got one of those hospital gowns and helped me slip it on, then she closed the straps at my neck and the middle of my back. They were Velcro, which made it a lot easier to put on. She put my sling over my head and slipped it around the cast on my left arm.

“I want to check your left eye. You had quite a bit of compression around the eye socket, and I want to see how it’s healing. I’ll be pressing. Let me know when it hurts.”

He pressed gently around my eye socket. When I didn’t respond he asked, “Does that hurt?”

“It does when you push on it, maybe a one or a two, but as soon as you stop pushing it doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay, let me check your eye.”

He pulled out one of those lights for checking eyes and shined it in my left eye. It was hard to keep from closing my eye or to start blinking, but I didn’t do either.

“Now I want to give you a vision test. Alicia is going to put a patch on your right eye. I want you to read each row of letters and digits on this chart as I ask for them by number. Okay?”

“Uh huh.”

Alicia put on the patch. “Can I keep this?” I asked her.

“Sure, we’d just dispose of it anyway. Why do you want it?”

“It looks like the kind of patch a pirate would wear. Maybe I can wear it to a costume party.”

She laughed. “It’s yours as long as you promise to send us a photo showing you in costume wearing this eye patch.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

Dr. Linscomb turned on a light that lit up an eye chart on the wall opposite where I was sitting on the examination table.

“Brian, please read the first row. Remember, there can be a mix of letters and digits.”

All of the letters were upper case, so it made it easy to read.

“Good. Now read row two.”

Now some of the letters were upper case and some were lower case, and there were some digits mixed in, but they were as large as in the first row.

“Good, row three next.”

I read the next three rows and only missed one in the last row which had the smallest letters and digits. What I said was a ‘b’ when it was a ‘6’. I mean, these were really small characters.

“That’s excellent, Brian. I’d say your vision has completely recovered. Now I’m going to take a look at your head.”

He removed my bandage and got up close to look at the left side of my head.

“Do you want to see what your injury looks like?”

“Okay.”

He got a mirror and held it up so I could see where my hair had been shaved off and was starting to grow back.

Dr. Linscomb explained what I was seeing. “There are five short rows of staples holding where you’d been cut when you were attacked, and three long rows forming three sides of a rectangle where they made incisions to form a flap to access that part of your skull so it could be repaired. There are no sign of external infection, and no drainage. The cuts and incisions are healing nicely. What’s your impression, Brian?”

“It’s not as gross as when I saw it at Campbell Memorial. When will those stitches come out? What’s it going to be like when they’re removed, will it hurt?”

“I’m going to have a wound specialist look at your incisions and make the decision about removing the staples. It could be as soon as tomorrow. You won’t feel anything except maybe a little tickle when we’re removing the staples. The ease of removal is one of the reasons we’ve switched to staples instead of stitches for most incisions.”

“Okay. Thanks for the explanation.”

“I’ve scheduled you for a CT scan at four thirty. We’ll have the results back and can look at them this evening. What I’d like to do is check you into the hospital at least for tonight, and we’ll decide when you can go home based on what we see from a more detailed analysis of the CT scan tomorrow morning.”

I groaned. “I was hoping I’d get to go home and sleep in my own bed tonight.”

“Brian, most patients with the type of skull and brain injury you suffered would expect to be in the hospital for several weeks at a minimum. You’ve been in Campbell Memorial Hospital for less than a week and a half, during most of which you were in a coma. You’ve shown… I guess the only words that fit are to say you’ve had a remarkable recovery, actually an amazing recovery. You almost died, Brian.” I heard Mom gasp and I jerked a little when Dr. Linscomb said that. I knew it was true, and Mom knew it was true, but that’s one of those things both of us wanted to forget.

“We’ll make a decision tomorrow about when you’ll go home. I’ll sit down with you and your parents and we’ll all decide what’s best for you. Okay?”

“Okay. It just seems such a long time that I’ve been lying in bed, long enough to learn how awful and uncomfortable hospital beds are. All I can think about is being at home and being able to sleep in my own bed.”

“We’ll see what we can do, but your continued successful recovery is our objective and I’m sure it’s your objective and that of your parents. In the meantime, you’ll be moved to a private room at the request of the Edmond Police Department…”

“What!” I interrupted. “The police? Why?”

“I understand it’s for your safety and security. I don’t know much about your situation or what happened to you that caused your injuries, or how you got from here to Weatherford Texas. And I’d don’t need or want to know any more than that you’re my patient and we’re going to work together to assure a speedy recovery.”

Mom put her hand on my shoulder. “Brian, I think that’s for the best. I assume that we’ll see someone from the Edmond Police Department to follow up on what Inspector Kozara discussed with you.”

“That’s okay. It just surprised me, that’s all. Dr. Linscomb, will they have an officer stationed at the door to my room? Like on TV?” I grinned.

“I don’t think so. But we have our strongest, meanest, nastiest nurses at the nurses’ station where your room is located, and they’ll protect you.”

“Meanest and nastiest nurses? Does that mean I’ll have to be careful when they come in to see me?”

Alicia replied, “Oh, most certainly!” She started to laugh.

Dr. Linscomb smiled. “Not to worry, Brian. Our objective will be to see you move home as soon as possible, which is what you want. Nurse Ratched will assist in that objective.”

Mom laughed. “My, I haven’t heard of her since I’m not sure how many years. That movie was… oh, I remember. ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’. That Nurse Ratched was such a scary character. I was I think about thirteen when I first saw it. That was a long time ago. How come you’re familiar with it, Doctor? You seem a bit young to be familiar with this movie.”

“I saw it on TV a few years ago. It’s become a classic at the nursing schools. And they show it in medical schools to frighten the doctors. Right, Alicia?”

“Absolutely. But you won’t have anything to worry about, Brian. We’ll take good care of you.” Then she smirked at me.

I was clueless other than hearing that this Nurse Ratched was a mean, nasty character in some old movie about flying over a cuckoo’s nest. But as long as the old people thought this was funny, fine.

“Thanks, but all this about some mean nurse makes me even more eager to go home as soon as I can.”

“Alright, it’s after four so let’s get you ready to go down to the Medical Imaging department. I want to rebandage your wound first. Alicia, please call to have an orderly transport Brian to the MI department.”

Alicia left the examination room and Dr. Linscomb put a new bandage on the left side of my head. While he was doing that I remembered a question I wanted to ask him.

“What about my arm? When can I have the cast taken off?”

“In about five weeks. It’s only been on for a week and a half. We generally plan on removing a cast about six to eight weeks after sustaining the injury. I’ll schedule you to see a doctor in our orthopedics department in four weeks.” He entered something into the display on the wall using an on-screen keyboard like the one my cell has. “You’re all set to see Dr. Talley at two in the afternoon on March twenty third. The Orthopedics department is in the Swafford building at 105 South Bryant.” Mom entered the appointment in her smartphone.

An orderly came in with a wheelchair. His nametag read ‘Hector Sanchez’. “I’m here to transport Brian Anderson to MI.” He looked at me. “I assume that you’re Brian Anderson?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Alright, let me give you a hand into the wheelchair and I’ll get you down there in time for your appointment.” He looked at Mom. “Will you accompany Brian?”

“Yes. I’m his mother.”

“Dr. Linscomb, is Brian ready to go?”

“Yes. And Brian, I’ll see you later in your room and we’ll talk about the results of your CT scan.”

The trip to the MI department took about five minutes, what with all the people in the halls and waiting for the elevator. I was finally delivered to the MI waiting room next to where the CT scan would take place, and where I was left in my wheelchair. Using my feet I pushed my way to where Mom sat after she checked me in at the counter.

I found a stack of ‘What are CT (CAT) Scans?’ brochures on the table next to where I was sitting. I handed one to Mom, and I read mine and found out what was going to be done to me. My CT scan would be of my brain. The CT scanner uses x-rays to make a map of my brain and skull that’s like a series of thin slices, like the slices of bologna in a package, so the extent of my injuries could be determined. I guessed that they would compare the CT scan from Campbell Memorial Hospital with this scan.

There was a part where it talked about how sometimes a contrast medium that contains iodine is injected before the CT scan, but Dr. Linscomb hadn’t said anything about that for me. It talked about how I needed to hold still and not move, and that I’d have to hold my breath if I’m asked. It was interesting. I decided that I’d look up CT brain scans on Google when I got home.

A guy dressed in green came out and called my name.

“I’m Brian Anderson.”

“And I’m his mother, Phyllis Anderson.”

“I’m Paul Benton. I’m the CT scan operator. Brian, I’ll get you ready for your scan this evening and then perform the scanning procedure. The whole thing should take less than twenty minutes to a half hour, including time to position you so you’re ready for the scan. The scan itself is painless, there’s no noise, and no discomfort other than the need to stay still during the procedure. Do you have any questions?”

“I guess I don’t get an injection since Dr. Linscomb didn’t tell me about that.”

“That’s correct. For your scan a contrast dye isn’t needed. Anything else, Brian? Mrs. Anderson?”

Mom asked, “Can I come in with Brian?”

“You can escort Brian into the scanner room, but then you’ll need to leave. No one else is allowed in the room while he’s being positioned on the table and when the scanning procedure begins.”

“Mom, I don’t need you to come in with me.”

Paul pointed to the left of the counter. “If you’d like some, there’s coffee and tea available over there, Mrs. Anderson, and the coffee is actually quite good.”

Mom held my hand for a couple of seconds. “Then I’ll have some coffee and wait until you’re done.” She turned to Paul, “Will he be brought back here when he’s finished?”

“Yes. Brian should be back in under a half hour.”

I was wheeled into the CT scanner room. Paul helped me up onto a table that was something like a fancy gurney, and there was a big donut-shaped ring just beyond the head end of the table. He worked with me for about five minutes to position several pillows that he said would keep my head steady in order to get my pictures the way Dr. Linscomb wanted. Then the gurney slowly moved into the ring and stopped. Paul stepped away, but I couldn’t see where he went. Then I heard him over a speaker.

“I’m in the control room, Brian. When I say ‘start’ I want you to take a deep breath through your mouth, close your mouth, and slowly let your breath out through your nose, slowly counting ‘one one-hundred, two one-hundred’ and so on until I tell you that you can breathe. Please stay in the same position on the table after I tell you that you can breathe. We might need to re-do the scan, and I don’t want to have you get out of position. By the way, most patients find that closing their eyes helps them control letting their breath out. Do you want to practice?”

“Okay. I can do it, but maybe it’s best to practice.”

“Alright, start.”

He called out ‘breathe’ and I stopped and took a big breath.

“What number did you get to, Brian?”

“Twenty three. Is that okay?”

“That’s perfect. Are you ready to do the live scan, or do you want to practice once again?”

“Live. I’m ready.”

I followed his instructions and when I got to ‘seventeen one-hundred’ he called out, “You can breathe now, Brian. We’re finished with that scan. Let me check it and see if we might need a re-do.”

What seemed a long time but must have been just a couple of minutes Paul came into the scan room and the table moved back slowly until my head wasn’t inside the machine. He helped me get up and into the wheelchair and rolled me into the waiting room.

“My, that was fast!” Mom said. “It took less than twenty minutes from the time you were wheeled in until now.”

“Brian is an excellent patient, Mrs. Anderson. He did everything perfectly, and his scans are very clear. I’ve notified Dr. Linscomb that they are on the system and he can look at them anytime he wants. I’ve also sent them to our CT scan analysis team and they will review them tomorrow morning and get back to Dr. Linscomb with their report. Do either of you have any questions?”

I shook my head and Mom said “No.”

“Hey, Paul, thanks. That was easy.”

“You’re welcome, Brian. Someone should be by to take you up to your room. Until then, please stay in this waiting room. And if you want something to drink, just ask at the counter.”

“Well, how was it?” Mom asked me. “I’m very curious.”

“It took longer to get me positioned on the table and to practice holding my breath than it did to take the scan. It didn’t hurt, it was quiet except for a humming noise, and except for the table being hard my head felt fine because it was on a pillow and there were pillows in back of my head and a bunch of them in front of my chest. That made staying in place very easy.”

“How long did the scan take?”

“I held my breath and counted up to what I think was about seventeen seconds when he told me I could breathe.”

“Well, even if it was easy I’ll bet you’re glad it’s over.”

“Yeah. Having it over means I’m that much closer to being able to go home.”

“I know, honey. You want to go home and sleep in your own bed. But it’s important to have everything taken care of so you’ll heal and be back to normal.”

‘Huh! Back to normal? I remembered what Dr. McFadden had told me. Back to normal wasn’t going to happen for maybe two years. Ugh.’

After thinking about that, we sat there and I looked through a couple of car magazines. I was getting bored, tired, and hungry. I realized that I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast. Yuck. Another hospital meal. I sat up because I just had a most excellent idea!

“Mom, if Dr. Linscomb doesn’t care, maybe you could drive over to Flatire Burgers and get me a burger? With fries? And a chocolate shake? Huh? Huh?” I smiled.

“You’re serious, aren’t you. Well, it’s on Ayers isn’t it?”

“Yeah, just across from the OU Campus.”

“Well, let’s see what Dr. Linscomb says. You know it’s possible that they don’t want anyone eating non-hospital food. So don’t be too disappointed if he says ‘no’.”

“Okay. But I think it’s a good idea.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do.” Mom looked at her watch. “I wonder when they’ll get here?”

“You know that because you said that, an orderly will walk in that door to take me to my room.”

“I doubt….”

Mom was interrupted by an orderly. “Are you Brian Anderson?”

“Yes. Are you here to take me to my room?”

“Yes.”

I busted up laughing, and Lionel Krauss, that was the name on his badge, looked very confused. I could tell he wanted to ask why I started laughing, so I told him.

“My mom just said that she wondered when someone would get here to take me to my room, and I answered that because of what she said, that an orderly would walk in right then. And that’s when you walked in to take me to my room. I thought it was very funny. Uh, funny ha-ha, not funny peculiar.”

Lionel pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket and looked at it.

“No, nothing here about taking you to the psychiatric ward.” He looked at me. “Could my order be wrong?”

“Absolutely… NOT!”

We both laughed, and Mom looked at us like we were both crazy.

“Don’t say it, Mom!” I told her.

She shook her head and didn’t say anything.

“I think you’d better take me to my room before my mom has us both committed to the Edmond Home for the Bewildered.”

Lionel laughed. “Okay, we’re on our way,” and pushed me out of the waiting room and down to a bank of elevators with Mom following along. We went up one floor and he wheeled me out and down a hall to a nurses’ station, and right across from the nurses’ station to room 219 where he wheeled me inside. A nurse followed us in, and Lionel took the wheelchair and left.

The nurse was pulling down the sheets on the bed, and looked over her shoulder at me.

“I’m Nurse Mildred Ratched. I’ll be your nurse for as long as you’re here.” Then she got this really scary expression on her face, until Mom started laughing then she laughed too.

“So Dr. Linscomb got to you, did he?” Mom asked.

“No,” the nurse answered. Mom looked confused, and the nurse laughed. “Alicia called us and told us about the Nurse Ratched bit. My name is actually Jackie Niesen. And I will be your nurse, Brian.”

“Do I have to get in bed?”

“Let me check.” She had one of those portable terminals but this one was a lot smaller than an iPad. “This says you’re semiambulatory.” She saw my expression of confusion. “That means Dr. Linscomb has put in your record that you’re able to walk in your room, from your bed to the bathroom, or from your bed to a chair, for example, but not outside of your room, and that you need to be very cautious. That’s why you’re wearing a band that reads ‘Fall Risk’.”

“Okay, great. I guess I was semiambulatory when I was at Campbell Memorial Hospital in Weatherford Texas but they didn’t use that word.”

“What would you like now, bed or chair?”

“Chair, for sure. Will I get a meal tonight?”

“Yes, but it won’t be a standard dinner because you weren’t on the schedule.”

“Would it be okay if my mom got a burger at Flatire and brought it back for me?”

“That’s would be up to your doctor. Let me check if you have any diet restrictions.” She looked at her terminal. “No restrictions, and you’re in a private room. Then that would be okay.”

“Fantastic! Would you get it for me, Mom?”

“Nope!”

“But…” I saw she was grinning, so she was kidding. “What!?”

“I have no way to drive to Flatire Burgers or anywhere else. My car is at home, not here at the hospital. Your dad will be leaving work and driving here as soon as I call him with the room number. I’ll have him pick up burgers for all of us at Flatire on his way. What do you want?”

“A number 3 with pepper jack, fries, and a chocolate shake.”

“I’ll phone him now.” She walked to the corner of the room along the windows.

Nurse Ratched, that’s what I decided to call her, had stepped out of my room and walked back in.

“Brian, there’s a gentleman outside who wants to talk with you. Is it okay for me to bring him in?”

“What's his name?”

“I don’t know. One of the other nurses talked to him. Should I get him?”

“I don’t think so, not until I know who it is.”

“I’ll go find out.” She left. After about a minute there was a familiar face looking into my room.

“So I’m not welcome, ‘eh?”

“Inspector Kozara! Sure, come in! I didn’t know who it was and I was told I’m in this room because the police asked for it, so I want to be careful.”

He stepped into the room and shut the door. “That’s a very good idea, Brian.”

Mom saw who’d come in and she finished with the call to Dad.

“Inspector Kozara. Nice to see you again. What can we do for you?”

“I have some important information about Brian’s attackers that I need to discuss with the two of you.”