Growth Spurt

Dr. Morrisson approached the middle-aged lady sitting in the waiting area. She was staring blankly into space with a haunted look in her eyes. She appeared to have aged ten years since he first met her two days ago, when her son had been admitted.

“Mrs. Horley,” he began, then waited for her to shift her eyes up to him. Slowly her eyes became focused and she looked at the neurologist. “Jeremy’s sleeping now. He’s not in pain at the moment, however it required a large dose of sedatives.”

Enough sedatives to bring down an elephant the doctor thought but didn’t give voice to.

“Can I see him?” she asked. Her eyes started to wander again as she remembered the horrific screaming coming from her son’s throat.

“Yes, of course,” Dr. Morrisson replied. “First though I’d like you to come to my office so we can discuss options and where to go from here.”

Mrs. Horley followed Dr. Morrisson through the rabbit warren of hallways until they reached his office. Three days ago her son Jeremy had been a perfectly happy and healthy man. They had a good relationship, although Jeremy’s relationship with his father was a bit strained. He lived close to her, and every morning he came over for breakfast on his way to work as an accountant.

Mrs. Horley only had the one child, and he was a complete and utter joy to her. It had taken her years to have a baby, and only she knew the mysterious circumstances under which she’d found the newborn Jeremy.

She was dismayed at the deteriorating relationship between her son and his father. She was also dismayed at Jeremy’s lack of ambition: he could be something so much bigger and more important than an accountant.

Each morning Mrs. Horley would light-heartedly berate her son for his lack of ambition, and he’d reply that he was happy with the way things were. Then they’d get on with breakfast and the lighter chitchat.

Two days ago he’d popped in for breakfast, kissed her on the cheek, and commented on the smell of the bacon. Then he clutched at his head, collapsed on the floor, and started screaming relentlessly with pain.

“After you,” Dr. Morrisson said, opening his office door and shaking Mrs. Horley out of her thoughts. She entered his office and saw another man seated in there. He rose as she entered.

“This is Dr. Woodcock,” Dr. Morrisson said by way of introduction. “He’s a surgeon.”

Mrs. Horley nodded at the new doctor and took the seat next to him. They both waited while Dr. Morrisson took his place behind his desk.

“Jeremy’s brain is swollen,” Dr. Morrisson began. “The pressure is building and we need to ease the strain on his skull. I’ve asked Dr. Woodcock to perform a procedure that will ease Jeremy’s pain and give us the opportunity to investigate why this is happening to him.”

“What sort of procedure?” asked Mrs. Horley. She was instantly alert and attentive: more than she had been for two days.

“I need to give Jeremy’s brain room to expand,” Dr. Woodcock said, “so I will cut out a section of his skull.”

Mrs. Horley sat silently for a few seconds, stunned at the turn of events. “How much will you cut out?” she asked, looking from one doctor to the other.

“We don’t know,” answered Dr. Morrisson truthfully. “We’ll start with a small section, and if that doesn’t ease his stress then we will keep removing sections until he isn’t suffering.”

“And this is absolutely necessary?”

“Yes. We need Jeremy conscious and alert to assist us with the diagnosis and treatment of his condition. This is the only way we can bring him out of sedation.”

“How will you know when you have taken out a large enough section of his skull?” Mrs. Horley asked tentatively.

“We’ll bring him round after the first section has been removed so he can tell us,” Dr. Woodcock replied. “He’ll be conscious for most of the procedure.”

* * *

This is all my fault thought Mrs. Horley. She was seated in the waiting room adjacent to the operating theatres. She had lost track of time and was lost in her thoughts.

I knew my husband wasn’t good with children. I never should’ve left Jeremy with him when he was a baby. I know it was an accident, but he did drop Jeremy on his head. How many times did I tell that man not to throw Jeremy up in the air like that!

Random scenes from the last two days rushed through her mind. The first was Jeremy being rushed into emergency from the ambulance.

Twenty-five year old male. 165 centimetres. 70 kilograms. Hypertensive. Unconscious. His mother reports he screamed with pain and lost consciousness thirty-five minutes ago.

The paramedic had multitasked effortlessly. He managed to console Mrs. Horley and at the same time attend to Jeremy quickly and thoroughly. He was rushing Jeremy into ER before the ambulance had even stopped rolling.

Next was the young intern.

Does Jeremy take drugs?

NO!

Smoke?

No.

Drink alcohol?

Not excessively.

Can you think of anything out of the ordinary that he might’ve done or been exposed to that could be a factor?

No, but I don’t hover by his side twenty-four hours a day.

What was he doing just before he collapsed?

Smelling bacon.

The young intern (Mrs. Horley couldn’t remember the young lady’s name) was new and showed real compassion and sympathy, unlike the hardened professionals who had been in the healthcare industry for years and just had a thin veneer of compassion and sympathy.

That’s good though thought Mrs. Horley. You want them to be detached and professional so they can treat your loved ones with a clear head.

Mrs. Horley heard footsteps approaching, and then she heard Dr. Morrisson’s smooth comforting voice.

“We’ve finished the procedure,” he said. “Jeremy’s on his way back to his room, and he’s conscious and not feeling much pain at all.”

“Can I see him?” she asked, looking up at the doctor expectantly.

“Yes of course: just as soon as he’s settled and comfortable. The nurses tell me that Jeremy’s father hasn’t visited him since he arrived. Is he on the scene?”

“My husband works long hours,” Mrs. Horley replied enigmatically.

“We’d like him to come in as soon as possible so we can run some blood tests on the both of you. We may find some genetic traits or predispositions that can help us fight whatever is happening to Jeremy.”

“There’s no need for that,” Mrs. Horley said quickly. “Jeremy was adopted as a newborn.”

“Oh I see. Someone will come and get you when you’re able to see him,” said Dr. Morrisson.

“Dr. Morrisson, how much of Jeremy’s skull did you have to remove?” Mrs. Horley looked at the doctor with fear and trepidation.

“We had to remove the entire top of his skull and some of the back,” the doctor replied. He turned and disappeared as abruptly as he had arrived.

Mrs. Horley put her head in her hands and started weeping.

* * *

Mrs. Horley had to scrub and put on a hospital gown before she could enter Jeremy’s sterile room. She entered at the side of his bed, and took in the scene before her. Jeremy was seated upright with his head bandaged and held completely still by some metal apparatus. With all the bandaging his head looked enormous. She did a quick involuntary gasp.

She walked to the side of Jeremy’s bed and his eyes turned toward her. She grasped his hand in hers.

“Mum,” he whispered softly, recognition slowly dawning in his eyes. “I have a headache.”

“I know darling,” she said, fighting back tears. “The doctors will fix it soon and you’ll be back home before you know it.”

“They said I had brain surgery,” he whispered. “What’s wrong with me?”

“They don’t know, but now that you’re alert they should be able to find out.”

Mrs. Horley sat on the side of Jeremy’s bed and chatted about inane local happenings to take his mind off things. After a few minutes Dr. Morrisson came in, and he had a seriously worried expression on his face.

“Jeremy,” he started, addressing both of them with his eyes, “the results of your post-operative MRI concern me. Your brain doesn’t show swelling or pressure: in fact it looks perfectly normal.”

“That’s good isn’t it?” queried Mrs. Horley.

“Yes and no,” replied the doctor. “Although it’s perfectly normal, it’s much larger than an average human brain. Jeremy’s brain is growing.”

* * *

Mrs. Horley sat in a comfortable chair in Jeremy’s hospital room, reading the same sentence over and over in her romance novel. She wasn’t paying attention to the book; instead her mind was racing elsewhere.

Jeremy had always been a slight child. He didn’t suffer growing pains or growth spurts like other children did. He had a small frame, even as a grown man. He had the usual childhood illnesses and bumps and scrapes, and had never caused any trouble with his behaviours or worries with his health. He was loving and affectionate, both as a child and a man. She decided to delve deeper into her memories to see if anything at all could explain what was happening today.

Looking within herself and into the past was not something Mrs. Horley did often, and she decided to try and do some auditing while she was there. She wanted all memories involving Jeremy to have highest priority, and was surprised to find there were some gaps when she looked at her memories of Jeremy chronologically. Not gaps because the day involved was just an ordinary school day where nothing of note occurred, but gaps because it felt like her memories of those times had been erased.

She was pondering what this meant when she heard Jeremy’s soft whisper of a voice.

“Mum,” he said, “my chest hurts.”

Mrs. Horley went to his side and took his hand. “In what way sweetheart?” she asked him.

“In the excruciating way my head hurt earlier,” he replied softly and slowly, panting between each word.

Cautiously, Mrs. Horley lifted the sheet covering her son’s torso and held back a gasp of shock. Jeremy’s abdomen was swollen and distended to the point where his skin had a shiny sheen, like it was stretched to breaking point.

Noting this and Jeremy’s short shallow gasps of breath, Mrs. Horley pressed the button to summon assistance.

* * *

Once again, Mrs. Horley was seated in the waiting room adjacent to the operating theatres. She was still in shock, and Dr. Morrisson’s words kept running through her mind.

Jeremy’s heart and lungs are growing and pushing down, crushing his other internal organs. We need to go in and cut his rib cage down both sides to ease the pressure.

My poor baby she thought. The pain must have been excruciating!

Tears flooded her eyes, and she allowed herself to think for the first time that Jeremy might die. She felt a stab of anguish through her heart.

I must access those gaps in my memories. Absolutely have to! Jeremy’s life could depend on it.

Mrs. Horley delved into her mind and found a gap. She was unable to see anything in it or pierce it at all. Then she remembered her friend Dorothy’s words when Mrs. Horley had asked her how she remained so calm and happy with all the trauma in her life.

Guided visualisations Dorothy had answered. I use imagery to force my brain to behave how I want it to.

It can’t hurt thought Mrs. Horley. Looking at the gap in her mind, she visualised it as a healing wound covered by a scab. Then she picked at the edges of the scab slowly until it had lifted up all the way around, and then she peeled it back.

Jeremy was five years old and Mrs. Horley had just come home from doing the grocery shopping. When she walked in the house with the first load of groceries her husband had said “that careless boy of ours walked into a door.”

She flew up to Jeremy’s room and was devastated to see him with a black eye and bruising on his cheek. His eyes were red from crying and he looked miserable.

“What happened?” she asked, just on the quiet side of hysterical.

“I walked into a door,” he replied, sniffling.

Mrs. Horley’s eyes flew open. Other gaps in her memory started revealing themselves to her.

I fell off my bike he had said when he was seven years old and she was rushing him to the emergency room with a broken arm.

I burnt myself with Daddy’s soldering iron when he was nine years old.

I fell down the stairs on one particularly bad occasion when he had injuries all over, including broken ribs and internal bleeding.

My baby isn’t accident-prone or clumsy she realised. My husband is abusive!

* * *

Jeremy was sleeping in his seated position. His head was held perfectly still by the metal apparatus and his chest was bandaged. Mrs. Horley could see stretch marks working their way down his abdomen from where the internal pressure had been relieved by the deliberate cutting of each of Jeremy’s ribs. His breathing was easier, but his chest looked huge under the bandages and she was certain his bandaged skull looked even bigger than it had before.

She was sitting on his bed and stroking his hand. I’m a monster. This abuse went on for years and I did nothing about it. I hid it away in my mind and ignored it. Tears streamed down her face.

Mrs. Horley had been sitting and holding Jeremy’s hand for an hour when Dr. Morrisson entered the sterile room.

“I’ll be completely honest with you Mrs. Horley,” he stated. “We have no idea what is happening to Jeremy, and we have no idea how to treat him. We are busy researching articles and contacting colleagues in the hope of finding a treatment.”

“I appreciate your frankness,” she replied. “I’m allowing myself to accept that he may die, so I’ll spend every second I can with him and hope for a miracle. Please let me know the moment you have any news, or even the slightest glimmer of hope.”

“Of course,” he replied simply.

After a few minutes of discussing options and possibilities with Dr. Morrisson, Mrs. Horley noticed that Jeremy’s eyes were open. They were large and saucer shaped, and looked like they were being pushed out of his head from behind. The sight of her son with such bug eyes exposed some more of the gaps in her memory.

In each memory Jeremy had bug eyes and a pained look on his face, just like he did now. She would return home from work and find Jeremy crying in his room. In each memory the words were slightly different and the language changed as he grew older, but the words were essentially the same each time.

My bum hurts.

* * *

Reeling from the revelation, Mrs. Horley sat in silence while Dr. Morrisson checked Jeremy’s eyes.

“Mum,” came Jeremy’s whisper through the fog in her mind. “Don’t cry. I’ll be fine.”

“I know sweetheart,” she replied automatically, stroking his hand.

“Mum, Dr. Morrisson, I think you should step back a bit”

Mrs. Horley and Dr. Morrisson exchanged glances. “Why?” asked the doctor.

“Please,” Jeremy said gently but with a stronger voice, “just stand back for a minute.”

When his mother and the doctor had stepped back, Jeremy started to glow. Any part of his skin that was visible started to emanate light, and his eyes looked like the headlights of a truck in the rearview mirror. Everything in the room started to shake, and all the equipment that Jeremy was connected to started to fall away from him.

Jeremy stood and moved to the centre of the room where he extended his arms outward. Light streamed off him, becoming so bright that Mrs. Horley and Dr. Morrisson had to shield their eyes; unable to look directly at him. Eventually the light subsided and Mrs. Morrisson risked taking a look at her son.

Standing in the middle of the room was the epitome of male perfection. The being before Mrs. Horley was 195 centimetres tall, had a classic chiselled physique, and her son’s face. The hospital gown was torn to shreds and littered the floor around him, and there wasn’t a single sign of injury or surgery on his magnificent body.

“Mum,” Jeremy said, “you have to let me go. I can’t hold on like this much longer. It hurts!”

“What do you mean? Are you my Jeremy?”

“Yes I am,” he replied in his usual voice, “and I know what’s happening now.”

“Jeremy!” Mrs. Horley exclaimed. She rushed over and hugged her son, wrapping her arms tightly around his abdomen. He slowly dropped to his knees so that they could hug mutually at the shoulder. “What’s happened to you?”

“Exactly what you wanted to happen, Mum. I’m a bigger man. You just didn’t know what the consequences would be.”

“I’m the product of your Will,” he said in reply to her quizzical look. “You spent years wishing for a baby, until I was brought into being as your baby.”

“How?”

“Your Will is strong. Things you wish for come true, if you wish long enough or hard enough.”

“You’re not making sense! What’s happening to you now?”

“For years you’ve wanted me to be a bigger man.”

The last of the gaps in Mrs. Horley’s memory expanded and opened to her, like flowers on a sunny day.

I want a baby! She had screamed at her husband. She raised her hand and pointed at her husband. If you won’t let me adopt then I’ll find one for myself!

She had rushed upstairs, tears streaming down her face, and was stunned to find a newborn baby wailing on her bed.

I wish you had more ambition she had said to her son the morning he collapsed in pain. Pointing at him, she said I wish you were a bigger man!

Realisation dawned in Mrs. Horley’s eyes. “Oh my God,” she cried. “I’m so sorry darling.” She wept into her son’s shoulder.

After a few minutes, Jeremy grabbed his mother by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “You have to let me go now Mum. I’m suffering. The pain is unbearable. Even with the strength of your Will, there’s nothing you can do. I can’t go on like this.”

Slowly nodding her head, Mrs. Horley hugged her son for the last time. “I love you,” she whispered in his ear.

Standing back next to the stunned doctor, Mrs. Horley held onto the doctor’s arm for support. Jeremy looked his mother in the eye and said “I love you too Mum. You gave me a great life.”

Jeremy started to glow again, and Mrs. Horley looked him in the eyes until the light was too bright. She and the doctor shielded their faces from the glow. When the light dissipated the centre of the room was empty.

Without a word, Dr. Morrisson left the room and walked back to his office.

What will I put on the death certificate? he mused to himself.

* * *

“It’s about time you got back woman!” Mrs. Horley’s husband was seated at the dining table. “I could do with a cooked meal.”

Mrs. Horley had driven home slowly from the hospital. She hadn’t seen Dr. Morrisson again. She just walked out of the hospital from Jeremy’s room, got in her car, and drove home.

“Our son was a good man,” she said sharply to her husband, turning to face him and look him in the eye. “Twice the man you will ever be. Probably more!”

Mrs. Horley felt the hate and bile rise up in her at the sight of her husband. She raised her arm and pointed a finger at him.

“I wish you could feel every injury and assault you’ve ever inflicted on our child.” She spoke with a cold voice that was full of venom and hate. Her husband’s eyes grew wide with shock and disbelief.

“How dare you speak…” he started to say, but he was interrupted midstream by a savage pain in his arm. This pain was quickly followed by a burning sensation on his arm, and an ache in his kidneys.

The shock and pain caused Mr. Horley to drop to the floor. As she watched, Mrs. Horley saw bruises appear, bones poke through skin, and wounds open up. Her husband screamed with pain.

When the screaming stopped, Mrs. Horley calmly walked to the phone and dialled emergency services.

“Please help,” she said calmly. “My husband has fallen down the stairs.”

Copyright © Brett Kiellerop October 2009. All Rights Reserved.