Take 2

I write how I speak. That is a good and bad thing. My thoughts are scattered and fragmented and I am constantly in a state of flux. I am trying to chronicle this properly - because I think it is important for others to know. As much as I hate to admit this, somewhere - someone out there is going to go thru this and I want them to have this. I need them to have this - so they don't stumble in the dark like me.
Alone.
Like in 5 Days Until The End Jason got worse. I let them perform test. His body looked bruised and beaten with all the blood and fluids and serums they removed from him. It looked like they beat the shit out of him - and I felt like I helplessly watched and allowed it. I know it was for his own good - but that doesn't help any.


On the 5th day of treatment for the viral meds the Dr and the team came in as they always did. This time, he looked me in the eye and he said things that caused the rest of the day to go black:


"Well, we have done many, many tests. We don't know what is wrong with him. We thought it was an anti-viral but he did not respond to the medication. He has some sort of virus but what we gave him is the only medication there is. We have contacted other departments and we are calling other hospitals to ask for their input. What we are prepared to do is treat the symptoms we see and hopefully in a few months when some of the studies come back we will have an answer for you as to why he is like this. If you allow it next month we would like to present him at a conference to some neurologist around the world and see is someone somewhere can come up with a test or a solution we overlooked. We are trying really hard but for right now I don't have an answer for you, ok?"


The people here do that. They look you in the eye and tell you something crazy and end it in "ok?"
Like you are really supposed to answer that. My face said everything. Armageddon is a facial expression. I hope none of you ever have it - but I did.

Months...
Leave him this way...
We don't know what is wrong with him...
The only treatment we have...


In my head it was like a broken VCR tape that kept rewinding and playing at all those points. That went on for hours - and I don't remember much.


I remember reminding myself to breathe because the spots come sometimes when I stop. I have to breathe.


Time stands still here. They told me a week had passed and I had not left here. I watch the nurses change their twelve hour shifts and many had come and gone but to me it had been a day.
As it was described to me my stare was blank. I looked broken and mechanical. Cleaning Jason, swabbing his forehead and straightening him in bed. I was expressionless except for tears that fell every now and then. They kept bringing me meals and I promised to eat but always left them untouched. And bottles of water I always through away unopened.


Later that day Dr. Honig came - a specialist. He is an older gentlemen with a quick and easy smile. Thinning silver hair and a quick wit. He is a jokester who is quick to laugh and likes to make little puns and jokes. He asked to come in from behind the curtain and talk to me. I had no idea who he was at first. I couldn't figure out what he was saying. I sort of just watched people's mouths move and not pay attention to the language.


"I think I know what he has.' Somewhere in his soliloquy the words registered. I remember his lips moving and him smiling and laughing a few times. I didn't return the smile and I was not understanding what he was talking about. But that phrase tweaked my interest. My eyes came back into focus and the world went from black and white to a wash of color. Its like the matrix with slow muted sounds and all of a sudden someone turned on real time.


"What?" - I choked it out. My throat was dry and had closed on me.


"Have you ever heard of ANTI-NMDA Receptor Encephalitis? It is an auto-immune disease where essentially the body attacks the brain."


He gave me the run down of how they think the disease works. Jason tested positive in his blood for antibodies but they were waiting for a definitive spinal fluid test to confirm. Dr. Honig didn't want to wait. He offered treatment immediately.


I lamented. ANYTHING I was willing to do for my son. He left and I was afraid. Afraid to be hopeful because they were "sure before" and we ended up here.


The world became grey again... as quickly as it flooded with color. I prayed. I cried. I sat with Jason. The family room was filled with people here for him - and I stayed with him. Not wanting to miss a minute if he came back to the real world.


I played his music. The Drake, the Bobby Shmurda nonsense he played at home that I always yelled at him to turn off. I played it all but I can't listen to the Hotel Bling song Drake has. That was the song that played the last time I spoke to him. The last time he was the Jason I remembered.
It was after he ate his Chipotle and turned his head. I told him I loved him and he responded "I love you too."


Then Drake began. "You used to call me on my cellphone..."
His breathing slowed and he entered REM sleep and I watched him the whole time. I watched him slip from the coherent Jason I bought in here into this. That song was the gateway. That song gives me nightmares. It was the theme music that ushered in this new Jason that no longer knows me.
I fucking hate that Drake song.