Don’t Take Any Chances
I had a kid patient many years ago. Right after high school, I got a job as an orderly in a rehabilitation hospital. Most of the patients were paralyzed—some paraplegics, some quadriplegics, some hemiplegics (strokes), and some brain-damaged.
One of the most seriously injured cases was “Joe”. He had suffered a severe head injury. His family, especially his mother, was convinced Joe could communicate, but none of the staff believed it.
His mother insisted on holding a bedside birthday party for him, complete with cake and party hats. We all thought it was a cruel charade, but we were ordered to attend and did so.
We sang “Happy Birthday”, and his mother “fed” him cake that he couldn’t chew. It was sad and it made me a little angry that the family couldn’t accept what was the obvious truth—that he was alive, but not cognizant.
When we were leaving Unit 1, I thought I heard whispering coming from the direction of Joe’s bed. I walked closer in the dimly lit room and heard a terrifying noise: The very low strains of the Happy Birthday song. Joe was whistling, sort of tunefully “hissing”, very softly.
From that moment on, I was very careful to speak directly to him, with respect. He still didn’t seem to be “in there” but I wasn’t taking any chances. Story credit: Reddit / KaBar2