Chapter 13 — Love You More

"And when the Earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance." - 

"It is worth dying to find out what life is." - 

"When snatched from the jaws of death, tooth marks are to be expected." - 

As I walked out through the hospital door, I had soon come to realize that dying was easy; living again? That was much harder.” – Pamela Vasquez-Kuznik Sometime after the Fourth of July, my father was talking with one of the doctors. They were both complaining about the weather.

“A hundred and seven today in L.A., even hotter up where I live. I thought I was going to melt in my car.”

But there I was in a blanket, shivering underneath a vent. I was still unable to speak, so the doctors would ask me “yes” or “no” questions and I would respond by blinking my eyes. The brightness still caused me a great deal of pain, so the lights in my room were kept low and the curtains were drawn to conceal the glare of the sun’s fiery rays. That was the way things went at the time, everyone asking me “yes” or “no” questions and I would answer by blinking. I remember my father noticed me shaking and walked up to my bed asking me if I was cold.

“Would one of you please get her another blanket?” my father said as I slowly lifted both of my eyelids.

Later, as I began to get better, the doctors would have me answer their questions with a nod for “yes” and a shake for “no.” Then there was the day that my mother came in with David while my dad and Veronica sat on the chairs next to my bed. My father got up to go, then my mom told him to sit back down. “No, Ron, please stay,” she insisted. By that time, my breathing was better, and the doctors were talking about moving me somewhere else closer to home.

“Mr. and Mrs. Vasquez,” the doctor said, as he put down his clipboard. “We’re going to be transferring her to St. Jude’s over in Fullerton. We’ve done all that we can over here. They will be doing all of the physical therapy and speech pathology with her.”

“Speech what?” my father spoke up.

“They’re going to try to teach her to talk,” the doctor answered him.

“Well don’t be in too much of a hurry,” my father said. “When Pam was little, I couldn’t ever get her to ever stop!”

David and my mother both shot him a look before my father turned back to the doctor. “Well, that’s great news. I’m glad to see that she’s doing better.”

“Well, it is looking better,” the doctor cautioned, “but I still don’t want to make any promises. She still has got a long way to go.”

Later that summer they took the tube out of my neck, leaving behind a two-inch scar and a sudden rush of hot air that filled up my throat like a torrent of molten lava. I wanted to scream, but the sound would not escape from my mouth.

The next morning, the paramedics came and lifted me out of my bed and put me inside of a red and white truck. I got really scared when the driver turned on his lights and bright red circles flashed all around me. When I got to my room, my parents were waiting. They told the nurses what kind of music I liked and my favorite flavors of ice cream.

It was there that I spent the next few months learning to talk all over again. At first, I could only make guttural sounds like that of a newborn, then they tried to start me on vowels sometimes guiding my mouth with latex glove-covered fingers. I don’t recall how many times they got bit, but there was no other way of letting them know when I wanted to stop. “Well, it looks like we’re done for the day,” one of the nurses would tell me, then the other would usually take off her gloves and feed me some ice cream. That would go on for a week or so until the day that I learned the sooner I bit, the sooner the ice cream and that’s when they started feeding me mashed potatoes instead.

They also sent somebody in to work on my hands and to try to get me to sit up in my bed. That also did not go over too well as what little movement I had in my hands was directed in the form of a punch or a scratch at the onset of even the slightest discomfort. Then one of the doctors had the bright idea of playing the tapes that my parents sent them on a little cassette deck beside my bed. Pretty soon I was singing along as best as I could and moving my hands and my feet in time to the music. Then some of the nurses would come in and join me and the whole room was filled with singing and dancing as Prince, Madonna, and Michael Jackson rang out through the hall.

Then one day, sometime around Christmas, my mother and David came into visit. At least I think it was Christmas because she was saying how cold it was getting and that it was “really raining outside.” She put a box on the table all wrapped up in ribbons and bows that she told me was “from Santa” and that I could open it tomorrow morning. She stayed for a while and talked to the nurses, then stood by my bed holding my hand. The nurses told her how well I was doing, all things considered, and that pretty soon they’d be having me walk.

“We’re going to start slowly.” The head nurse assured her. “Then as she gets stronger, we’ll get her a walker. Now, as far as her vision’s concerned, that seems to be progressing much slower.”

“So, what you’re telling me then is my daughter is going to be blind?” my mother said to the nurse.

“Mrs. Vasquez,” the nurse informed her, “it’s still way too early to tell. But don’t give up hope. That girl of yours is a real fighter!”

My mom thanked the nurses for all they were doing, then I heard David tell her that my father pulled in and they needed to go. Then I heard my mother put on her jacket and felt her lips against my cheek.

“Good-bye now, honey, we’ll see you tomorrow,” she told me as she took hold of one of my hands giving it a small gentle squeeze. “We love you!” Then her and David walked to the door, as my father was making his way down the hall.

The next thing I knew I took a small breath and opened my mouth as far as I could—breathing and gasping together until the words that were held in my chest poured like a flood into my bosom then finally escaped from out of my mouth. “I-I-I…” I stammered and stuttered taking in one last gulp of air, then I pursed my lips until each letter was perfectly formed and rang out all together at once. “And I love you more!”

When my father got there, he ran down the hall to where my mom was lying flat on her back in front of my door.

“What the hell, has Ginny been drinking?” he said as he and David lifted her back onto her feet.

“Not that I know of,” David answered. “Here honey, you tell him.”

“Ron you are such an ass!” She said wiping the tears away from her eyes. “Don’t you want to know about Pam?”

“Yes, yes, how is she doing?” he asked.

“Pam is all right,” she said as she started to cry all over again. “She said that she loves us, Ron! Both of us heard it, sure as we’re standing here. She said that she loves us!”