On the negative side: he's obsessed with the moment of impact (which he doesn't remember) and keeps insisting he never had a head injury. He's like a dog with a dirty sock. "The witnesses are lying," "the driver was drunk or distracted," "I was 'clear as a bell,'" "if I had this brain injury like they say, why don't I have any bruises or scars on my face or scalp?"
• WHY would the witnesses lie? What's in it for them?
• If the driver was drunk or distracted, why not hire a lawyer? (Said with complete confidence that no lawyer would take this case)
• Your blood alcohol is part of your hospital record
• You were in a coma for two weeks, and during that time the superficial scratches on your head healed
Over and over, every time we talk. And he calls me all the time. I'm ashamed to admit that if he calls before 9:00 AM or after 10:00 PM, I don't pick up.
I always reassure him that I love him. That I am on his side. That I cannot imagine how terrifying it is to lose two weeks to a coma, based on a cataclysmic event he can't even remember. I tell him that I know how hard his life has been over the last two years -- he lost two close friends and his writing partner, he survived Irma and worried about his family suffering through Maria, and now this. I've been with him through those traumas, so I know. My heart is with him.
After I hang up, Reg reliably calls. He wants to "set the record straight," which really isn't necessary. I know Henry had a traumatic brain injury. I know he was at fault in this accident. But Reg wants to talk.
Today he advised me not to talk to Henry about the accident or the hospital anymore. I almost laughed out loud. I did say, "You know, I'm not the one calling him to discuss it. It's the other way around." If I never again have one of these flights of fancy conversations with Henry about those events, I'll be fucking delighted!
But Reg is Henry's husband. He is in charge of Henry's care. And so from now on, I will try to deftly change the subject when Henry brings up the collision and the hospital.
Still, after the two calls today, three hours had gone by. I was exhausted.
I must focus on the positive. In less than two weeks, I'll be down in Key West for Christmas. I have told both Henry and Reg and that I plan on spending a few hours each afternoon or evening in their home. Reading with Henry, having lunch or dinner, watching movies ... Everything low key. I don't want to commit to spending all day or all evening in case Henry gets tired, and I don't want him to feel like my host. But I insist we will celebrate Henry's birthday and Christmas. I am bringing that normalcy with me.
Henry is going to get well. I've seen evidence of it. And I want him to remember this time in his life as not all bad.