The Photograph

I had just come to the Jhonson’s house when I saw baby Rowan trying to prop up his tiny legs straight, grabbing onto the handle of a drawer for balance. The Jhonsons haven't left yet. They were showing off their expensive baby food as if they were only for display. When Mr. Jhonson glanced over to Rowan, he dashed over. At the time, I thought it was for Rowan’s safety or better, (in the Jhonsons minds) for the safety of the expensive drawer handle.

The moment the Jhonsons left, Rowan climbed back up the drawer to reach for the handle. I felt the urge to see what was inside that drawer. Let’s not call it being snoopy, instead, I figured the kid might have a toy in there. I got Rowan into my arms and tried to make the surprise element a bit of a peekaboo game. There was going to be a toy in there, right?

I slowly opened the drawer, singing in a baby voice, “Peeeeeeeeeeeekkkkkkkkaaaaabbboooo! Oh, what’s this?” There was a piece of photograph paper stuck to the back of the drawer. The photograph had a smiley face on it and was stuck with tape. I felt bad for taking the tape off the photograph, but I had the urge to see what was on the other side. Bad idea…what I saw made me almost drop the baby. I felt my throat clench, so tight that I found it impossible to breathe. On the back of the photograph lay a horrifying picture of…me? Except…covered in blood, with x’s on my eyes. Behind the x’s, however, I saw that my eyes were open. I had dark circles under my eyes like I had woken from a nightmare. I could make out that I wasn’t looking directly at the camera. When Rowan suddenly began to cry, I sat him down on the rug and handed him his stuffed giraffe. The photograph was smudged in blood. I touched that blood, then I touched the baby, then the giraffe. I quickly snatched the giraffe out of Rowan’s arms and turned on the kitchen sink’s tap, using dish soap to clean the deep red off the bright yellow giraffe. I heard Rowan crying back in the living room. I put the giraffe inside the dishwasher to dry it off and comforted Rowan. I saw that Rowan had blood on him too and got him into the tub. By then, the baby and the giraffe were clean. I gave Rowan his clean giraffe and I took the picture back into my hand. As I observed it for longer, I realized much more than I should have. I noticed that the picture was slightly blurred, meaning it was taken in a hurry. I took notice of the fact that I was on… a hospital bed? I was wearing a normal outfit- tshirt and jeans…on a hospital bed? Things didn’t add up. I tried to recognize how old I was in the photo. I looked about 9 or 10 years old. I racked my brains to remember if I had been in the hospital when I was that age. I must have been in the hospital for my occasional asthma checkups, but this, obviously, looked much too serious for asthma. I looked at the picture again, frustrated. My eyes scoured through the background of the picture. I found that the pillowcase had a logo on it with the words ‘Meriard Health E.R.’ I was in the E.R.! My mind suddenly came back to the feelings when I opened the drawer. For so long I had been anxious and concentrated. Now, I feel all kinds of scenarios pop into my head. Books of people who could feel pain in a coma, stories of all kinds of medical conditions, and movies of medical rescues rushed into view. First of all, when was I in the E.R.?! I tried to focus on my medical visits, all going according to plan without any signs of anything wrong. Why the heck do the Jhonson’s have this photograph! Maybe one of them clicked the picture? Why were they in the E.R. with me? Are they the reason why I’m covered in blood? I thought of running home with the photograph…what would Rowan do? I thought of calling my mom…the Jhonson’s had security ca- the Jhonson’s had security cameras! I scooped up Rowan and bolted out the door just like Mr. Jhonson bolted to save the drawer handle. Now I know what he was really doing. I opened the door, breathing hard. I ran up the stairs and found my mom in the loft, reading a book. She looked worried when she saw me and Rowan. I plopped Rowan down in my mom’s lap and found my dad in his (what he likes to call) office room. He looked equally as worried.

All of my emotions came out as a shout, “Get in the loft, dad!”

Rowan started to cry but I ignored him as I interrogated my parents. I showed them the picture, “What the heck is this?!”

My mom was close to collapsing and my dad looked frightened and… guilty?

“Dad, what’s going on?”

After a long while of my dad suddenly interested in the color of our couch and my mom looking at her palms, my dad answered, “Serina, we have a secret…” my mom looked at my dad like he turned into a zombie, “and it involves the Jhonson’s.”

I looked at my mom as if just looking into her eyes gave me answers. I stared at both of them, expecting someone to continue the story.

My dad spoke first, “We were at home, trying to make dinner, when a guy broke in. He had a knife and threatened us with it until we got outside the house. He took your mom's purse but didn't find my wallet. He took your mom's jewelry, my watch, and your iPad. When he came out with your iPad you told him to give it back. When me and your mom told you to come back, you turned your back, he picked up a brick, and threw it at the back of your head.”

I was listening attentively but, on the inside, my heart felt heavy, full of anger for what a robber had done to me and my parents. My dad was a strong man, I had never seen him cry, let alone stutter his words. I nodded at my dad to continue but he had started to get teary. Once my dad started to cry, my mom started balling.

“Oh, Serina! The robber could have stolen anything from our house, but he did them most damage to you! He nearly stole your live!” my mom cried, trying to process her own words.

“Mom…did anything happen to you and dad?” I asked, scared for the answer.

She hugged me and said, “No, Serina.”

“C-could you tell me the rest, Dad?” I asked, holding back tears of relief.

“You fell unconscious, Serina. The robber fled and we took you to the hospital where, like your mom said, you had to get surgery. Your skull had cracked and your brain had suffered because of that.”

“What happened to my brain?”

“A part of your brain, the temporal lobe, had gotten damaged.”

I remembered my Science class talking about the temporal lobe. It stored all the memories.

“When it got damaged, you forgot the incident completely.”

“Since it wasn’t in my long term memory.” I finished. “Then why is this related to the Jhonson’s?”

“Mr. Jhonson was the surgeon.”

I had a rush of feelings. I felt grateful towards Mr. Jhonson for keeping me alive, I felt angry that he kept the photograph a secret, let alone take the photograph in the first place, and I felt confused with all of my unanswered questions. “Why did he take a photograph of me? Why am I awake in the photo? You said I was unconscious.”

“Mr. Jhonson didn’t take the photograph, the nurse did. She was responsible for taking patient records. Normally, you wouldn’t take pictures for patient records. But, in rare cases, when there’s a serious injury, you would. This nurse was an intern, she didn’t know how to work professionally. And you were awake because it was after surgery. The blood, also from surgery, was because they couldn’t change you out of your clothes.”

Just that moment, someone started to pound on the front door. We all rushed downstairs quietly. I peeped through the peephole, it was the Jhonson’s. I didn’t know what to feel. I ran back upstairs and got baby Rowan into my hands. My dad opened the door.

“Where is your daughter!” Mrs. Jhonson shouted.

“Here,” I gave back Rowan to Mrs. Jhonson.

Mrs. Jhonson whispered something to my mom and my mom nodded, “Have a seat.”

Both of them came inside and sat on our not as expensive sofas.

“Serina…ask us anything,” Mr. Jhonson said hesitantly.

“What does Rowan like to watch?”

“Pardon?”

“I said ‘What does Rowan like to watch?’”

“Uh…nursery rhymes I guess?”

I turned on the TV, putting on a channel that I knew Rowan liked. What I also knew was the correct answer to my question: the ‘Wheels on the Bus’ song. I simply asked to question to embarrass the Jhonson’s a little bit.

“Ok,” I said after putting on the song, “What’s the story about this?”

I showed them the photograph. Mrs. Jhonson smiled and Mr. Jhonson looked like he didn’t want to tell the story.

“I’ll explain,” Mr. Jhonson said with a sigh. And he did. “Your parents rushed you to the E.R. after a house robber had thrown a brick to your head. The picture was taken by my intern, Hannah. She was to take photos of your head injury for research. When you awoke, we had finished your surgery. Your coma lasted only 6 hours. Surprisingly, your surgery was only 2 hours. So, you were in a coma for 4 hours after surgery. I asked Hannah to get you dressed into a hospital gown as she was an intern as a nurse, and she…didn’t. I walked into the room after around 3 hours to check on you myself. Hannah was just sitting there like she’d done something wrong. And she had. She was supposed to give you your medication shot before dressing you in a gown, but…”

“But what?”

“She gave you a lethal dose of it.”

“So, what happened?”

“So, she was just sitting there, drawing on the photo she had just taken, after she realized her mistake. She seemed to be in…shock?”

“How did you know it was an overdose?”

“Well, I looked over to see what she was drawing. She was drawing x’s on your eyes. And your eyes were open, so, that means you had woken from your coma. I knew she had done something wrong and I saw that your heart rate was going down significantly. Your lips were also starting to turn a bit purple. So, that means you fell unconscious after getting out of your coma due to drug overdose. I called the Poison Hotline while doing CPR on you to keep your heart pumping. They told me which antidote to give you, so I told Hannah where to find it, I checked to see if she handed me the right one, and injected it.”

I stood up, immediately aware of the fact that Mr. Jhonson had saved my life twice. I got up to give him a hug, he got the message and did the same. That hug made me feel grateful. Grateful for being alive to see my parents everyday, see my family, make a living, hang out with friends, be neighbors with the Jhonson’s, I could go on and on. On top of all that, the man who saved my life twice was the same man who paid me $16 an hour to babysit his son. I might as well be doing the job for free. I whispered to him, “Thank you for giving me my life back.” We both started getting teary, in fact, everyone in the room was getting teary. Rowan too! His ‘Wheels on the Bus’ song had just ended and he didn’t like the song that played next. My mind wandered on, thinking about how lucky I was to be alive. The fact that I nearly died twice was inconceivable.

Both of us sat back down, I replayed the ‘Wheels on the Bus’ song, and Mr. Jhonson finished the story.

“When you woke up from your coma, we realized that the overdose of medication might have further increased your brain damage. So, you had brain damage not only from your damaged temporal lobe, but also from being in a coma and getting a drug overdose. Yet, after months of treatment, your brain recovered.”

My dad gave me a clap on the back, the kind that said ‘you're strong.’

“That’s why, Serina, you don’t remember the incident at all. You obviously don’t recall the surgery or the robbery, but, you also don’t remember the recovery phase since your brain was still trying to heal. I’m surprised that you remember anything from your single digits!”

“So, what happened to Hannah? She helped out in the end, right?”

“Hannah had a severe case of depression, it seemed that being a nurse and helping people was the only thing that helped cure her depression. When she hurt instead of helped someone, her mental health took over. But, because of her desire to help out with the antidote, the court let her resume medical school but only allowed her to do another internship once she finishes her pre-med. And, for Hannah’s mental health, I took the photograph away from her. That’s why I have it.”

I gave him a ‘you did the right thing’ type of smile.

“Oh yeah, we also shaved off a section of your hair to perform surgery. After surgery, we shaved off the whole thing, and during your recovery, your hair grew back almost instantly. But, the only part that didn’t grow back was a small section around your scar.”

“My scar?”

Mr. Jhonson looked at my parents, probably mentally asking them how I didn’t know about ‘the scar.’

“If you feel around the back of your head, there's an almost unnoticeable bald spot.”

I ran my fingers through my scalp, trying to feel a lack of hair in any spots. I found an area that felt a little thin on hair. I stood up and turned around to show Mr. Jhonson if this was the bald spot.

“Yep, right there if I remember correctly.

Just then, Rowan grabbed into the edge of our sofa and, again, tried to prop his tiny legs straight. This time, he slowly let go of the sofa and once both of his arms were off, he was just on his legs, without any support! He was standing! Rowan put one foot in front of the other, again and again. He was walking! The Jhonson’s were thrilled! Everyone was staring at Rowan in awe.

“I guess he’s walking home tonight!” Mrs. Jhonson exclaimed. Rowan walked over to his mom first where she gave him a big hug. He did the same to his dad.

“Well, we’ll make a move then!” Mr. Jhonson said enthusiastically. “Oh and, Serina, we need you to babysit tomorrow from 7 to 9.”

“Sure thing!”

“And one more thing…Rowan’s favorite song is actually ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep,’” he gave me a wink and the Jhonsons walked home.

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