Soliloquy From a Silent Hospital Room

The last thing Alex remembers is biting into his celebratory “finished-grading-all-the-assignments” sandwich to discover it had banana peppers on it.

He hates banana peppers.

Especially because the flavor lingers even after he picks them off of something.

But the kid running the sandwich counter was new, so Alex had just grimaced as he took another banana-pepper-tainted bite.

Then that’s it.

He’s tried to squeeze something else from his mind, but it’s all blank.

They say a lady sped through a stop sign and t-boned him. That his car ended up tipped on its side across the street.

His next conscious memory is opening his eyes to see a pair of scrubs decorated with cats wearing sunglasses.

Then a man’s face appeared. Unlike the cats, he wasn’t wearing sunglasses.

A wrinkle between the man’s eyebrows. Lips moving.

But no sound.

Not the man’s voice.

Not the beep of hospital machinery.

Not even the rasp of his own breathing.

Nothing.

And he’s been living under a blanket of silence ever since.

The cat-scrub nurse (Miguel) hasn’t been to his room in a couple of days. Ann, the current nurse on duty, wears standard-issue navy blue scrubs and an expression so grave it’s as if she’s the only thing standing between the hospital and a state of complete chaos.

(But, really, who’s he to judge — for all he knows, she might be.)

He keeps his mind focused on contemplating all the ways Ann could be the glue that holds this place together. Maybe she’s the only one who remembers to order more syringes on supply day. Maybe she keeps the other nurses going with neatly sliced banana bread and bracing speeches. Or perhaps she simply has to give them a look like she’d given him when he’d tried to sneak out of the bed to go to the bathroom on his own.

The possibilities go on (admittedly becoming more absurd as he goes). Anything to keep him from looking too closely at the doors that seem to be closing in every direction.

A tap on his shoulder startles him from his thoughts.

Moving gingerly, he turns and smiles as a pair of warm brown eyes catch his gaze.

“Naomi,” he says, feeling his tongue form her name.

Her lips say, “hi, Alex,” as she reaches out and squeezes his hand.

They had given up on lip-reading after about three hours. His name and I love you were about as far as he got. Thanks to the internet, they’ve worked out a few basic signs. But mostly they stick to the classic art of texting.

She hands him his phone and taps out a message.

how did you sleep?

Alex gives her a crooked grin. “Like a rock. Couldn’t even hear myself snoring. How about you?”

Naomi shoots a rueful glance at her stomach. She was kicking most of the night so I caught up on some paperwork.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “we’ll have to teach her that humans aren’t nocturnal.”

He sees her chuckle and she squeezes his hand again.

Alex sighs. “Anyway, it’s better than you trying to sleep here.”

They both glance at the stiff-backed chair she’s sitting in.

I’m still salty about that btw

“I know. But you need rest.”

There’s a long pause and Alex looks down at his phone to see three dots hovering above the keyboard.

Finally, a text flashes on the screen.

They said Dr. Han should be in with the results around ten

Alex’s stomach flips and he swallows hard.

Hope and dread tug back and forth in his chest.

According to Google, the best-case scenario is that they’ll say his ears will heal on their own with some time.

The good scenario is that he’ll get some or all of his hearing back with surgery.

The worst-but-unfortunately-likely scenario is that the hearing loss is permanent.

Well, the worst worst scenarios include hemotympanum, heterotopic ossification, and/or death.

(He’s banned himself from Googling anything else until after discharge.)

His phone vibrates.

I have some more letters from your students.

Pushing down his rising worry, he raises an eyebrow. “Not begging me to stay away so Ms. Richards can keep teaching them, I hope?”

She hands over a small stack of envelopes. Read them to me? The last ones were so sweet.

A distraction, he knows, but a welcome one.

So he reads the letters aloud — and while many of the kids are rightfully fond of Ms. Richards, they all say they hope he’ll be back soon.

Smiling despite himself, he finishes the last letter. “P.S. Did you know that barn owls can hunt in complete darkness?”

Naomi tilts her head to one side.

“Daniel,” Alex says fondly. “A budding ornithologist.”

He shows her the illustration inside. A barn owl, wings spread in a dynamic dive. Around it, inky black scribbles of crayon create a night sky.

Oh, she mouths.

The clock above the door changes to 9:48.

He clutches the rough blanket in one first, knuckles turning white.

Are you ready?

“As ready as I am to admit that your brother-in-law beat me at checkers last Thanksgiving.”

Naomi takes his free hand and kisses it.

Then they’re both quiet.

At least, he assumes she isn’t saying anything. For all he knows, she’s reciting her favorite soliloquy from Hamlet. (Specifically, the version with David Tennant as Hamlet. Which he can completely get behind. The guy’s brilliant.)

But when he turns his chin up, she’s just looking at him.

He can only meet her eyes for a second.

Naomi did her master’s thesis on the stages of grief.

So he knows she’s seen him cycle through them faster than a champion racer in the Tour de France.

Denial. Finding any and every excuse to keep his hands and mind busy. Not talking about the accident. Not asking questions. Not even saying the words hearing or ears.

Anger. Burning in the pit of his stomach. Flaring up in his throat and sharpening his words. At the other driver. At himself. At everything from the heavy silence to the way the sun glares through the thin curtains.

Bargaining. Exchanging texts with Naomi’s Deaf acquaintance. Talking to the hospital counselor in hushed tones and reading her scribbled replies. Trying to imagine what his future might look like.

Depression. Sleeping, sleeping, sleeping. Even when the meds wear off and his body becomes a mass of aches and throbs. Wondering if there’s any point in trying.

It’s a rolling sine wave of up-and-down, up-and-down.

But every time he steps onto the threshold of acceptance, he starts thinking again.

(His weakness.)

He thinks about how he might never know what his baby girl’s giggle sounds like.

Or hear Naomi tell him his tie is crooked just before they step into the chapel.

Or listen to chattering students, wind swirling through the quaking aspens, or Marvin Gaye’s 1972 top-ten hit, Trouble Man.

And then he’s catapulted back into denial again.

Naomi sets his phone in his hand.

So I talked to the superintendent. He says once you’ve recovered you’ll be able to keep teaching either way. They have some adaptations they can make in the classroom.

A second passes.

And I have plenty of PTO plus maternity leave so we’ll be fine.

“Thank you,” he says past the lump in his throat.

Outside, a group of people walks by the narrow window. He recognizes the black and silver flash of Dr. Han’s long hair.

They’re making the rounds.

Words spill out of his mouth before he can stop them. “What if I’ll never get better? What if it’s permanent?”

His chest rises and falls too fast and he makes himself slow his next inhale down.

Then we’ll learn sign language and become even cooler than we are now.

The joke is enough to pull a watery laugh from his throat.

“Impossible. You’re already the coolest person I know.”

Fair. And we were going to learn some baby signs anyway, right? So now we’ll just be leveling up. She can grow up bilingual.

“Trilingual if we teach her Klingon.”

Rolling her eyes, Naomi scoots the stool closer.

don’t even start

“Alright, alright, that one’s old. But to be fair, my sister did try to teach me.”

He stares down at the brown hospital blanket, the room pressing in on him. “I just... I don’t know what to do. If it — I mean, if I’m like this forever, I don’t know how I’ll be a good dad or a good husband to you or a good anything.”

She smooths a piece of hair away from his forehead and gently turns his face toward his. Her gaze is soft and serious.

Pretty sure the world already has some awesome Deaf dads and husbands. You’ll be one of them and you’ll still be you

He tries to look away but she ducks her head toward him. Types a message on her phone and shows him the screen.

You are good Alex.

Alex shakes his head. “Pretty sure you’re obligated to say that.”

Nah that wasn’t in the marriage fine print. I say what I think. remember when you broke my grandmother’s mirror flying that drone inside?

Wincing at the memory, he gives a sheepish half-smile. “Okay, good point. You definitely didn’t hold back.”

She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and returns a faint smile, then types quickly.

It will be hard. No avoiding that, probably for a long time. But we’ll figure it out together. It will work out. I know it.

“I believe you.”

Naomi reaches to cup the side of his face and kisses him.

Eyes closing, he breathes in the smell of English Breakfast Tea and lavender soap.

“I love you,” he murmurs against her lips.

He feels her say it back. Knows she means it as much as he does.

“Love you,” he says again. “So much.”

When they break apart, her gaze flicks toward the hall.

I think they just went into the room next door.

It’s 9:57.

He reaches out and runs one fingertip over the thick crayon strokes on Daniel’s card.

“Barn owls can hunt in complete darkness,” he murmurs.

Naomi turns a quizzical look on him.

Alex draws in one more deep, shuddering breath.

His life is full of lots of things. Awesome things, hard things, baffling things. But there’s more to it than just sounds. Even if one of his senses is gone, he can still experience life.

There are still snowstorms to see and hilarious student essays to read and endless episodes of NCIS to watch.

And there’s Naomi.

There’s warmth, joy, peace. Knowing she loves him — quirky and thinky as he is. Knowing they’re in this together.

“I’ll be okay,” he says, eyes hot and wet. “We’ll be okay.”

Tear tracks frame her smile as she nods.

He reaches out and twines their fingers together against her belly.

A tiny foot strike their clasped hands.

And the door opens.