drug-induced sleep, missing her name on the radio by only minutes.
The balance of that day was a patchwork of partially grasped perceptions and half-remembered events.
At four o'clock that afternoon she was awakened and speared with another injection. Three hours later, although the following day she would have no recollection of it, she awoke without urging and shared a meal with her father. That night, before receiving the injection that would keep her down until early the following morning, she got a phone call from Cass.
Karen and Cass had met the same year Karen's mother had died. At the time, Cass had been doing some volunteer work for the CNIB. She and Karen had clicked almost instantly, and despite their age difference became fast and true friends. Cass would be forty on her next birthday, which was less than two months away. To Karen's lasting regret, Cass had run off to Grand Prairie, Alberta, a year ago with a fellow she'd met in Ottawa. She'd fallen hard for this guy, as she usually did, left a good job and a close circle of friends to follow his dream. And although Cass claimed differently, Karen had the sinking feeling he'd proved him another in a long line of losers.
"Cass?” Karen said happily. They hadn't spoken in weeks, though Cass had known Karen was on a transplant waiting-list. "Is that you?"
"You were expecting maybe Lady Di?" Loud music thrummed in the background—as always, fifties rock and roll. "How's my little pal? Oh, Christ, this is so exciting! Why, didn't you call me? When will you know if it's gonna work? Are you all right? Jesus, I. . . I wish I was there. . . And Karen knew that her friend was crying.
"Are you okay?"
"Shit, yes," Cass said. "Of course I'm okay. You're the patient, not me. I'm just happy for you, that's all."
Karen started to ask how things were going for Cass. . . but wound up letting her fear out instead. The old molds were hard to break.
"Don't get too excited," she said. "There's no telling whether it's going to work or—"
"Can that shit right now," Cass cut in with mock ferocity. "It'll work. Just wait and see."
"Will you be coming down?" Karen asked, wishing Cass were already here.
There was a pause. In the background, The Chiffons sang "He's So Fine."
"I. . . I'd like to," Cass stammered. "You know that. But. . . things are a little tight just now."
"I could send you the airfare," Karen offered, realizing only as she said it that her earlier suspicions were accurate—things were not working out for Cass and her beau.
"It's not the money so much, kid. It's just that. . . well, I can't get away right now. But I'll come see you. Real soon. You can count on it."
Later, half asleep, Karen got a visit from Dr. Hanussen. She recognized the smooth feel of his hand on her forehead.
"How is my pretty patient tonight?" he asked in that lulling voice.
Karen felt her face flush; because she had never actually seen herself, compliments tended to irk her. "Like a junkie," she told him.
"Yes," he said almost deferentially. "The day nurse has informed me. I have reduced the dosage of your sedation, but I must impress upon you the importance of rest, at least until the end of the week."
Karen nodded sleepily. His voice was a soothing lullaby.
"I have great hope for you, Karen. I am flying home to Germany in the morning, but I will be leaving you in the capable hands of Dr. Burkowitz, who will keep me informed of your progress by telephone. It will be three weeks at least before the grafts are tried. . . before they are exposed to the light. . ."
Too groggy to grasp all of what the doctor was saying, Karen found herself concentrating on the feet of his hand on her forehead. As he talked, he stroked her in a way that was not so much intimate as it was infinitely soothing. The hand of God, she later remembered thinking. Touched by the hand of God.
And if it all worked out, if after three more weeks in the lightless prison of her mind she was allowed at last to
The balance of that day was a patchwork of partially grasped perceptions and half-remembered events.
At four o'clock that afternoon she was awakened and speared with another injection. Three hours later, although the following day she would have no recollection of it, she awoke without urging and shared a meal with her father. That night, before receiving the injection that would keep her down until early the following morning, she got a phone call from Cass.
Karen and Cass had met the same year Karen's mother had died. At the time, Cass had been doing some volunteer work for the CNIB. She and Karen had clicked almost instantly, and despite their age difference became fast and true friends. Cass would be forty on her next birthday, which was less than two months away. To Karen's lasting regret, Cass had run off to Grand Prairie, Alberta, a year ago with a fellow she'd met in Ottawa. She'd fallen hard for this guy, as she usually did, left a good job and a close circle of friends to follow his dream. And although Cass claimed differently, Karen had the sinking feeling he'd proved him another in a long line of losers.
"Cass?” Karen said happily. They hadn't spoken in weeks, though Cass had known Karen was on a transplant waiting-list. "Is that you?"
"You were expecting maybe Lady Di?" Loud music thrummed in the background—as always, fifties rock and roll. "How's my little pal? Oh, Christ, this is so exciting! Why, didn't you call me? When will you know if it's gonna work? Are you all right? Jesus, I. . . I wish I was there. . . And Karen knew that her friend was crying.
"Are you okay?"
"Shit, yes," Cass said. "Of course I'm okay. You're the patient, not me. I'm just happy for you, that's all."
Karen started to ask how things were going for Cass. . . but wound up letting her fear out instead. The old molds were hard to break.
"Don't get too excited," she said. "There's no telling whether it's going to work or—"
"Can that shit right now," Cass cut in with mock ferocity. "It'll work. Just wait and see."
"Will you be coming down?" Karen asked, wishing Cass were already here.
There was a pause. In the background, The Chiffons sang "He's So Fine."
"I. . . I'd like to," Cass stammered. "You know that. But. . . things are a little tight just now."
"I could send you the airfare," Karen offered, realizing only as she said it that her earlier suspicions were accurate—things were not working out for Cass and her beau.
"It's not the money so much, kid. It's just that. . . well, I can't get away right now. But I'll come see you. Real soon. You can count on it."
Later, half asleep, Karen got a visit from Dr. Hanussen. She recognized the smooth feel of his hand on her forehead.
"How is my pretty patient tonight?" he asked in that lulling voice.
Karen felt her face flush; because she had never actually seen herself, compliments tended to irk her. "Like a junkie," she told him.
"Yes," he said almost deferentially. "The day nurse has informed me. I have reduced the dosage of your sedation, but I must impress upon you the importance of rest, at least until the end of the week."
Karen nodded sleepily. His voice was a soothing lullaby.
"I have great hope for you, Karen. I am flying home to Germany in the morning, but I will be leaving you in the capable hands of Dr. Burkowitz, who will keep me informed of your progress by telephone. It will be three weeks at least before the grafts are tried. . . before they are exposed to the light. . ."
Too groggy to grasp all of what the doctor was saying, Karen found herself concentrating on the feet of his hand on her forehead. As he talked, he stroked her in a way that was not so much intimate as it was infinitely soothing. The hand of God, she later remembered thinking. Touched by the hand of God.
And if it all worked out, if after three more weeks in the lightless prison of her mind she was allowed at last to
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