LEN BIAS: CROSSOVER
A novel
By: Michael D. McClellan | September 19, 2010
"Absolutely," Alice agrees.
"Then why do I need another doctor to tell me my brain is okay?"
"A brain injury that leads to a coma state is very serious, regardless of how quickly the patient emerges from the coma and progresses through the scale. My job is to help you recover as quickly and as fully as possible. So I'll be working with you throughout your stay, and then periodically following your release."
"What does periodically mean?" Emily asks.
"Each patient is unique, so it really depends on your husband's progress. We'll start with an assessment, the first portion of which we've scheduled for Monday afternoon. That will give Jason the weekend to continue getting stronger physically."
"How long does something like this take?"
"I've set aside four hours on Monday, followed by a full day on Tuesday. We'll conduct it right here. Two days should be all of the time we need."
I stare at Alice, locked in on her eyes - eyes I've seen somewhere before. They are so familiar, and yet the memory is just out of reach, an itch that I can't scratch.
Emily takes a sip of water. "You're going to help Jason regain his memory?"
"That's part of it, yes. We'll test several other areas as well. We'll evaluate things like his language and speech, and also the executive functions that are essential for satisfactory self-care. But based on what I've read and what I'm seeing right now, the primary area of focus will be dealing with memory loss."
"My memory is fine," I snap. "Trust me, there's nothing wrong with my memory."
Alice opens the folio and flips the page. "We'll cover this in greater detail on Monday, but according to Dr. Smithson's latest report you have no memory prior to the accident on June 15th."
"That's not exactly true. The memories that I have are the memories I've always had - the memories that belong to me."
"And that would be Len Bias. Is this correct?"
"Yes."
"And you have memories of specific individuals, events and dates?"
"I am Len Bias. That's why I don't remember anything about Jason Schuler. I know it sounds bizarre and unbelievable. I don't understand it either, but please, you have to believe me. Something terrible has happened to me. I'm not supposed to be here. I'm not supposed to be in this body."
Emily frowns, exasperated. "Jason, please-"
That's all she can get out before Alice holds up her hand. "I know this may be hard to hear, but it's best at this point for the patient to verbalize rather than internalize. Regardless of what is said, it's far better than having it suppressed. That is actually a key step in the recovery, and will also help us to assess Jason's current condition."
Alice pulls a small recorder from her pocket and places it on the mobile table in front of me. She begins by asking a series of questions about my life as Jason Schuler, and asks me to hold anything related to Len Bias until she gives me the okay. I tell her that everything I've learned about Jason has occurred since emerging from the coma. I know he's married to Emily, that he coaches high school basketball at Waynedale, that he lives in the family farmhouse, that his brother is a big-shot Cleveland lawyer with political ambitions, that his parents are dead, that he has a dog named Marcellus. I also tell her that I have no additional detail about any of these things. No childhood memories, no recollection of playing college basketball at Wooster, no inkling as to who I work for or with. She listens to each answer intently, occasionally jotting notes in the leather folio.
At last the questions turn to Len Bias. I become even more animated, talking as much with my hands as with my mouth, going long stretches before needing time to rest. I tell her about my family, my college basketball career at Maryland, my soon-to-be career with the Boston Celtics. I talk about the cocaine. About Brian Tribble. About that night in my dorm room, two days after the draft. I tell her about the seizure, and about my heart jumping the tracks. She asks more questions and takes more notes, and then there is a long, heavy stretch of silence between us. Emily stares off into space, lips pursed, looking genuinely uncomfortable and concerned with all of this.
"Thank you," Alice says at last, looking up from the leather folio. She turns off the recorder and returns it to her pocket. "I believe we are done for the day. You need your rest and your strength - both of you. Emily, are you keeping a journal?"
"I am."
"Good - I would like you to continue sharing this information with your husband. Any memory that you can share, no matter how trivial it might seem, is going to be a key component of his recovery."
"Understood."
"It won't matter," I say flatly. "I'm not Jason Schuler."
Alice stands up. "And I'm going to need something from you - at least until the assessment on Monday, I would like you to go by the name Jason Schuler. And at least until the assessment is over, this is your wife, Emily Schuler. Do you think you can do that for us?"
"I don't think so, I just don't think I can do that."
"Think of it as role playing. Acting. At the very least it should help keep you mind occupied and off of everything else. What do you say? Can you do that until Monday?"
"Will you help me contact my parents?"
"Trust me, I'm here to provide all the help that you'll need."
~ ~ ~
