'Twas the Stroke Before Christmas
Part 3

by blinkie (Steve Chiappa)

Editor’s note: At the end of the last chapter, blinkie, on his way to Connecticut with his wife and son, had just had a stroke on the Garden State Parkway. The ambulance came quickly and he was treated promptly, but he blacked out at the hospital, still worrying about delivering the cold cuts to the family Christmas celebration.

There was no white light. There were only dreams. My mother and grandmother spoke to me. They told me I wasn’t going to die and I believed them.

So I slept or was in a coma, depending on whom you ask. I dreamt of ice-cold root beer, of warm beaches, of happy days.

When I came to I couldn’t open my eyes. There was coldness to the room and I was aware of something jammed in my mouth that spread the coolness throughout my body.

Two men were standing over me. I assumed they were doctors. “How’s he doing?” the one asked the other. “Not good,” came the reply, “This one’s not going to make the night.”

One of them pried my eyes open and the light was blinding. He shined a light in my eyes and asked me to follow the beam of light as he moved it up and down and from left to right.

I willed my brain to command my eyes to follow the moving light but nothing happened. I tried to tell the doctors that my eyes weren’t moving but no sound came out of my mouth. In fact, my mouth wouldn’t open at all, and my tongue was clamped tightly between my teeth.

It was at that moment that I began to realize I was paralyzed, and I became extremely frightened. I wasn’t afraid of being paralyzed — for some reason that didn’t bother me — but I was terrified that no one would know I was still there and could understand everything that was going on.

“No response at all,” the one doctor said to the other, “this is really kind of hopeless.”

“Mr. Chip-a-wah,” he shouted loudly, “Can you hear me? Try to give me some sign that you can understand what I’m saying to you.”

I tried to scream back at him that I could understand everything he was saying, but no sound came out of my mouth. Then he turned to the other doctor and said something that terrified me.

“See, I told you,” he said authoritatively, “He doesn’t understand anything I’m saying. He’s nothing but a vegetable. I suppose I should talk to the wife.”

“No!” I screamed, “Don’t talk to my wife you stupid fuck. I can understand you.” But my scream was only in my mind. The doctors hadn’t heard anything; they just turned and walked away. I kept screaming silently until I passed out.

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