the history of scott's nub: #2

my "hangout" at cooper

after a long & sleepless night, mike & i got up & drove back across the bridge to cooper hospital in camden. i should have known the severity of scottie's situation when they told me he was brought to cooper, rather than any other hospital in south jersey that was closer to where he was splitting logs. you'd think a medical facility in one of america's worst cities would be avoided at all costs. but people in dire or critically unique situations were usually sent there. like when about a month before scott's accident, the governor of new jersey got in that horrible car accident on the parkway & he broke his leg, sternum & collarbone among other ribs & vertebrae. i was thankful that my brother was at least in some capable hands.

we parked in the carport & walked to the front desk. we got a couple of guest passes & were directed towards the elevators to the intensive care unit. when we first looked at scottie, he looked like he was an overfilled water balloon. he had been pumped with so much fluid for his surgery that it would take a few days for it to seep out. his right had was bandaged with such a large dressing, by glancing at it you would guess that he lost his entire arm. he had plenty of ivs & monitors hooked up to his bloated body. years later i, this scene would haunt me when seeing scottie at the university of pennsylvania hospital. it was something i never expected to witness again. once was hard enough, & i couldn't help but cry at his helplessness, at my helplessness.

scott being scott

he was super groggy. i remember him looking so defeated, so exhausted. but he managed to smile at me, with his clear blue eyes that we shared & tried to comfort my sadness. i was amazed by his strength, but i was also terrified. the memories of scottie's threat of suicide & ensuing hospitalization were still right below the surface of my thoughts. i was scared that if his fingers didn't take, or even if they did the oddity of having only 4 fingers would spiral him into a depression that he wouldn't be able to handle. he already felt like he was an outcast, it was already difficult for him to conform. how would this affect his mental state?

after the fingers were removed

i got a closer look at his hand when the nurses changed the bloody bandages. the surgeons had managed to salvage & attach scottie's middle & ring fingers. they looked purple & swelled. he was on heparin, a serious blood thinning drug to ensure that the appendages were getting enough plasma. this caused his hand to bleed strongly & steadily, & for scott to have numerous blood transfusions. i was assured, for the time being, that the fingers were taking. but we wouldn't be sure for a few days whether or not they would be able to be saved. scott was hopeful, joking that he'd be like a cartoon character from the simpsons, all have only 4 fingers.

my mom finally made it up from florida after her own personal ride from hell. her boyfriend's father, who had been battling a terminal illness had gotten severely worse in the motor home. scottie was so angry at my mom. i remember him barely looking at her when she walked in the room. i can't even recall now why he was so upset with her. maybe she was the most likely scapegoat, the most easy to be resentful toward because she was his mom & she would never turn away from him, never stop loving him. my mom didn't let his bitterness drive her away & of course she did stick by him.

in our delusions & optimism, we had tricked ourselves into believing that scott would have his simpson hand. we thought that with the steady flow of new blood that his mangled appendages would have to take. we trusted that somehow his tiny damaged veins & nerves & muscles, that had been joined intricately & painstakingly in surgery, would be able work perfectly again. we could envision scottie back at his drum set pounding away with his friends. or at his blank canvases, getting ready to paint dark, abstract artwork that would be hauntingly beautiful. but we had to believe, we had to live in these daydreams because the other option was too painful, too terrifying to consider.

decaying fingers

we spent slow & suspenseful days in the hospital, waiting to see if scottie's fingers would be accepted back to his body. the moment they were finally rejected, the putrid smell of death permeated my brother's room. my brother's 2 attached fingers were dying, rapidly. the surgeons, for one bullshit reason or another, took their time in removing the lifeless appendages. they began to shrink & wrinkle, like grapes becoming raisins. the stink of rotting flesh poured from my brother's hand. if i took too deep a breath, i had to silently choke back my urge to vomit.

view of philly from camden

scott had to watch his final hopes decay right before him, on his dominant hand. his dream of becoming a simpson, a tv show that he had loved for years, would soon be lost. unfortunately, this wouldn't be the end. this would be the start of a whole new set of surgeries, obstacles, complications, & decisions that scottie would have to make; that would affect, in one way or another, the rest of his short, young life.