“Yeah, I’m going to need you to come back. Justin’s ... we need to go to the hospital.” Brian’s voice came through my cell phone and I looked at Ben while I started sliding out of the booth. We hadn’t gone home yet. The night we had had - fuck the night Brian and Justin had had - called for some lemon bars and coffee, at least . Ben threw some cash on the table and followed me as I tried to get any information I could from Brian.
“Brian, Brian - what’s wrong?” Ben kept shooting me worried looks all while helping me navigate to where we had parked.
“We need to go to the hospital. I - I need you.” His voice was so flat it was full of emotion.
“We’re on our way. We’re coming Brian...just, just hold tight? It’s going to be okay.” I reassured him with promises I knew I didn’t have any power to keep and he didn’t call me out on it. That worried me more than anything.
As we drove down Liberty Avenue, I couldn’t help but reflect on all that had changed in ten years. Jesus, it felt like just yesterday we were racing to the hospital to meet Gus, Justin only a teenager, not like he looked a day older now.
When we got to the loft, we took the elevator and pulled out the lever that stopped it so we wouldn’t have to wait for it when we were leaving. Brian slid open the metal door before we even knocked; he had been waiting for us. “What took you so fucking long?” He bit out. I opened my mouth to protest, answer, whatever, and he rolled his eyes. “Nevermind. Grab that red folder.” He ordered, gesturing to a file folder on the computer desk, and then began grumbling to himself. “He always makes me take that thing everywhere we travel. I’m always telling him he’s too worried about something going wrong. Guess he’s going to get to be a smug bastard about it.”
I grabbed the folder and we looked around for Justin, who was still on the bed. Ben started to make his way there and Brian held up his hand and moved swiftly past him. “I’ve got him, you drive.” He scooped up Justin from the bed and began carrying him to the door.
“He can’t - can he walk at all?” I asked. Brian paused and murmured something into Justin’s hair. Justin did not respond but Brian gently set him down and Justin appeared able to stand on his own, although Brian kept a firm grip with his arm wrapped tightly around his waist. They slowly made their way through the door and onto the elevator and Brian looked up. “Well what the fuck are you standing around for? Let’s go.”
Ben drove while I sat in the passenger seat backwards, watching Brian as he held Justin, carding his fingers through his hair and murmuring to him, too low for me to make out what he was saying, assuming he was saying actual distinct words at all. He looked up at one point and caught my eye. His expression was blank and that scared me more than anything Justin was doing, or not doing. He was disappearing behind his walls and Justin needed him.
”Hey,” I said softly and, when he didn’t respond, more loudly, “Hey!” His eyes flashed and narrowed. “We need you, he needs you. Stay with us.” Brian nodded slightly and looked down at Justin again. I followed his gaze and saw a grimace of pain across Justin’s face and my stomach clenched.
We finally reached the hospital and pulled in front of the emergency department. I hopped out and rushed around to Brian’s door to help him help Justin out. Justin leaned heavily against Brian as they walked in and to the charge nurse’s desk. As Brian began explaining what had happened, I rushed back to the car to grab the file folder before Ben left to go park the car. When I returned, Justin was being helped into a wheelchair and being pushed through the doors and away from us. I stood beside Brian and he said softly, “They’re taking him for an MRI and an EEG. Want to be sure it’s nothing neurological.” That made sense given Justin’s history. We had been told after the bashing that he was more vulnerable to head trauma and that subsequent head trauma was more dangerous for him than the average kid. He said even more softly, almost to himself. “I told them he’s allergic to that contrast dye. They better not inject him with that stuff.”
I nodded. “Here’s the folder.”
“Thanks,” Brian said without shifting his gaze from the doors that had by now stopped swinging.
“Brian,” I said with a quiet but firm voice. I was beginning to realize that my job was going to be keeping Brian with us, not allowing him to disappear into wherever he goes when things happen...when things happen to Justin. Brian can be all business and firm and decisive when it comes to Justin, not getting wrapped up in the anxiety of it all, and I think he often does that for Justin. And then sometimes, and especially when Justin isn’t around, he can disappear into the land of worst case scenario. And if I can’t understand that...I know how that feels and how hard it is to resist that canyon of doom. I struggle, teetering on the edge of that, every time Ben or Hunter so much as sneeze.
I saw Brian take a deep breath and let it go and it was as though something resolved inside him. He turned and looked at me. “Where’s that folder, Mikey?” I handed it to him and he took it over to the charge nurse.
“Here’s paperwork that needs to be scanned into his chart - it’s his power of attorney and our partnership papers.” That was the first time I heard Brian say aloud that he and Justin were domestic partners, even though they had been for years and everybody knew it too. “He’s been here before...in 2001 and 2006 but his list of allergies has been updated.”
The nurse glanced up at him and back at her computer. “Sir you can complete the intake paperwork.” She handed him a clipboard without looking back up.
“Yes, I understand, I will. But those papers don’t include anywhere to document this stuff. He is incapacitated, I need to be able to be consulted for decisions.” She nodded in a resigned way and took some of the papers Brian had placed in front of her. Brian persisted, “And his allergies, these are not going to fit in that little box on your form.” He stood there, seemingly calm to anyone who didn’t know him, but it was obvious to me that he was a rubber band about to snap. The nurse glanced at him and took the list of allergies. Satisfied, Brian grabbed the clipboard and sat down.
Ben returned from parking the car and we each sat on either side of Brian. Brian shifted around to get his wallet and pulled out his insurance card and, in doing so, seemed to be reminded we were even there. He quickly finished the forms and returned them to the nurse and stood in front of us. “I’m going to call his mother and get her down here. I don’t know what she can do but I don’t relish losing my ball if she finds out Justin’s been in the hospital without her knowing.” He pointed at me. “You, call your mother and do whatever you have to to make sure she does not come down here. You will update her and whoever else when we know more. We do not need to start camping out here en masse before we even know the lay of the land.” He paused. “And I’m going to have a goddamn smoke. Justin’s on me to quit but too bad. He wants me to quit then he should stick around and keep me in line himself.” He pointed at Ben. “Come get me if there’s any news.” He turned and walked through the automatic doors.
It took a few hours but after all the neurological tests, they ran a bunch of other tests on Justin. I tried to figure out which was worse, waiting those three days after Justin was bashed to find out whether he would live or die, or waiting for these test results, not even knowing who the enemy was this time. Maybe that’s not a fair question.
I could see the tension rising in Brian as it became increasingly obvious they had no idea what the fuck was going on. Brian has limited trust in doctors and even less trust in the doctors at Allegheny General (and who could fucking blame him really?) and was vibrating with anger.
The nurses handling Justin’s care would have no way of knowing though; all his ad man sell-the-folks-their-own-asses was on full display and was impressive. Getting the nurses on your side is absolutely crucial when someone you love is sick. Doctors may have god complexes but nurses really do run the ship. The cracks in the facade came through eventually, around 7 AM, when Brian requested that Justin be given PEP, since we didn’t know for certain what had happened in the back room. The nurse explained that Brian could only make life-saving decisions about Justin’s care as Brian worked his jaw and his eyes narrowed to nearly nothing.
Jennifer was curled up asleep in one of the chairs in the emergency department waiting room - Justin had not been formally admitted to a room so we were all still where we had started. Ben and I had each been on our phones calling into work. I had a kid who often watched the shop when I couldn’t be there and he could open and close that day and, since it seemed we would be here at least another day, Ben was deploying his teaching assistants to guest lecture and proctor exams. When I looked up and saw Brian’s body language shift into full battle mode, I got off the phone as quickly as I could - the shipment of Superman figures could just sit in a box for a day or two - and rushed over to hear the tail end of their disagreement.
“I will get his psychologist on the phone!” Brian shouted as he patted his pockets for his cell phone, which was already in a death grip in his hand. I timidly put my hand on his back and made eye contact with the nurse and tried to communicate that I would get him to calm down.
“Brian...Brian, c’mon, you’re not helping anyone right now. You’re exhausted.”
“Stay out of it Mikey.” He huffed and began scrolling through his contacts.
“Brian if you get thrown out of the hospital, you’re going to do exactly zero good to Sunshine.” I tried to reason with him.
“I said stay out of it.” He snapped. “I’m just going to call his psychologist and she will explain….”
“Brian, it’s four in the morning in Los Angeles. I don’t think she’s going to be willing to explain anything at this hour.”
The hand holding the cell phone dropped to his side and he huffed out a sigh. “It’s life-saving.”
“I know, I know. But the chances…” I began, trying to reason that the odds of transmission added to the advances made in medications in the past decade, made this less of an actual death sentence.
“They need to understand it’s life-saving.” Brian was stuck in some emotional place that I could not recall seeing him. “It is life-saving.”
I wrapped my arms around him and he dropped his forehead to my shoulder and whispered, “It is life-saving...he will leave me.” I heard a hitch in his breath and when I tilted my head to look at him, his eyes were squeezed closed.
Ben walked up and put a hand on each of our shoulders. “I spoke to the nurses; they’re going to start PEP.”
I turned around and looked up at him. Brian’s eyes were as wide as saucers and he looked at Ben disbelieving. “What did you tell them?”
Ben shrugged. “I just asked them what they would do if Justin had come in as a Jane Doe with suspected sexual assault.”
Brian appeared speechless, for once. Ben tilted his head. “I thought it might be hard for them to make the leap that a man can be the victim of a sexual assault. But our campus rape treatment center has PEP as a standard part of any rape kit. I assumed it’s the same protocol here too.”
Brian muttered, “Thanks,” which is huge coming from him! And he quickly walked outside to have another cigarette.
I looked up at Ben and wrapped my arms around him. “My hero.”
“Sometimes it’s easier for cooler heads to prevail. I know Brian’s been there for you when I’ve been sick. We’re family, when one of us can’t, another one can and will.” We moved over to the chairs and I leaned my head on Ben’s shoulder and he leaned his on the top of my head and we tried to get what little and uncomfortable sleep we could. We somehow slept through the drama of Justin having an allergic reaction to one (or all - it’s Justin, who knows!) of the three antiretrovirals. Luckily, Brian can manage one of Justin’s allergic reactions blindfolded and with one hand tied behind his back, or on zero hours of sleep, as the case may be. With a quick phone call to Justin’s friend Daphne, who specializes in HIV/AIDS research, he even managed to convince them to not discontinue the regimen and had her lecture them on the risks of creating a drug resistant virus. I guess big shot HIV/AIDS specialist from UCLA (and I’m sure that’s how Brian introduced Daphne before passing the phone) trumps Pittsburgh ER doctor.
Brian finally woke us up when Justn was formally admitted and had a room. As he walked us to the psychiatric unit, I learned that Justin had been diagnosed with a trauma-induced catatonic state. “Very rare,” Brian said with, I swear to god, pride in his voice. The three of us and Jennifer crowded around Justin’s bed. It was hard not to notice his was the only room with visitors on this floor. His arms and face were covered in hives and there was a bit of wheezing when he breathed. I would have thought he was snoring except his eyes were open and we were told that he was in fact awake. How aware he was of his surroundings was unclear. Brian bent over him and listened to his breathing and looked closely at the hives, as though he was counting each of them. The nurse walked in and Brian snapped up and looked at her, “Can he have any diphenhydramine for this reaction? He tolerates that well.”
The nurse at least looked sad when she shook her head. “We can’t give him anything that might make him drowsy, it will interfere with evaluating his progress and recovery.”
I had expected Brian to raise a stink about that, I mean look at how he had been so far since getting here, but he actually let it go easily. “Yeah, yeah that makes sense. Okay.”
And the nurse, as nurses do when they realize they are dealing with someone reasonable, allowed: “But we can put some calamine lotion on those hives and give him a breathing treatment.”
Brian looked her in the eyes and nodded, and believe me, that was the equivalent of one of Justin’s sunshine smiles at this point and the nurse seemed to understand. She patted him on the arm and left saying she would see about putting an order in. Jennifer made eye contact with him and whispered, “Thank you, Brian.” And Brian immediately looked closely at Justin’s IV drip and shuffled around a bit and I saw Jennifer make a small half smile. I don’t know why it surprised me that she’s gotten to know him so well over the years.
Justin was lying there, eyes open, one of his hands tangled up in the hairs at the back of his head, and his face twisted up like he was in pain, even though they assured us and Brian over and over and over again that he was not in any pain. I could tell Brian didn’t truly believe them since they couldn’t even tell us what, if anything, Justin knew about what was going on. God, Justin, please know what’s going on. Brian lifted his hand up as though he was going to touch Justin but then lowered only until it was hovering just above him. Like a priest doing the sign of the cross for last rites. I shook myself a little at that morbid thought and hoped to god or whatever that I hadn’t jinxed Justin. Brian kept his hand hovering above Justin as he moved it back and forth, as though he was rubbing Justin’s shoulder, comforting, but never touching him. I wondered who was actually being comforted by this. I wished hard that Justin was aware enough to see this. More than all his pent up anger as he advocated for what Justin needed, and even more than knowing with absolute clarity what Justin needed, this revealed how much Brian loved him, needed him. I hope Justin knew that. And maybe he did. I’ve seen them practically boning each other but who knows what kinky shit these two save for behind closed doors, like declarations of love.
Time moves differently in hospitals. It either creeps along or unfolds too quickly to truly follow what’s happening. So let’s just say, sometime later, I had sent Ben home to take his meds and sleep, and Brian had done the same with Jennifer (well, except for the meds) and Brian and I were sitting in Justin’s room. I was sitting in an incredibly uncomfortable chair at the foot of his bed and Brian was in a slightly less uncomfortable looking chair by his elbow, as close as he could get to his head with all the machines and IV’s he was hooked up to. By some miracle, I must have dozed off in that rigid seat and, when I woke up, Brian was sitting in the same spot, his elbows on his knees, and his hands clasped together, almost as though he was praying, if Brian had ever prayed. Tears rolled down his face and he whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
I immediately shut my eyes again and pretended to sleep so long that I actually fell back asleep.
Early Monday morning the attending psychiatrist finally presented a treatment plan. Brian had been on the phone a ton with Tori since Justin got the diagnosis of being in a catatonic state. Brian said he didn’t trust the doctors here given that they had misdiagnosed Justin as suicidal all those years ago and it was hard to find anything about catatonia online. Small relief washed over Brian’s face when the treatment plan was exactly as Tori had predicted.
“First line of defense with a catatonic state is a high dose of benzodiazepine. This is especially well-suited for Justin for a couple of reasons,” the doctor presented. “First, we know he tolerates benzos well.” He glanced at Justin wheezing away and covered in calamine lotion courtesy of now two day’s worth of antiretrovirals he was allergic to. “Additionally, the second line treatment is ECT.” I glanced at Ben who whispered “electroconvulsive therapy” in my ear and I shuddered. I didn’t realize they did that anymore! I thought that went the way of putting leeches on people. “While ECT is typically a very safe and effective treatment for many psychiatric conditions,” the doctor rushed to say, probably used to people having the same reaction I did. “Due to Justin’s previous head trauma and history of seizures, the risks are less well-known than with a more typical patient.”
Brian nodded in agreement and ran a hand over his mouth before he spoke. “Okay, so how soon can we start treatment?”
The doctor smiled a little at Brian’s impatience. “I can write the order and we can inject him before lunch today.”
Brian took a step toward Justin’s bed and then back and then, like he had made up his mind, towards the bed again. “Yes. Yes. Okay. Let’s do that.”
We all kinda picked at the lunch Ben had brought us from the diner, that Ma had prepared and sent with a note threatening all sorts of bodily harm if one of us didn’t immediately call her once Sunshine came to. I had thought about teaching mom how to text but that would be like trying to teach JR not to rip the heads off her Barbies. The nurse came in and showed Brian the IV bag of medication before hanging it - the nurses only made the mistake of not having Brian double check it once before they learned. He connected it to the IV in Justin’s arm and explained that the medication would drip in slowly as they wanted to use the least possible amount to do the job and that we were to alert him as soon as we saw any change in Justin. Since it was being administered directly to his bloodstream, we would know as soon as it was effective. Sometimes I think real science is so cool, who needs science fiction - I don’t think it often, but I do think it sometimes.
Brian stood as still as a statue while the nurse was speaking and after. Just standing at the foot of Justin’s bed, one arm wrapped around his waist, his lips rolled in, and his other hand covering his mouth, his turkey on whole wheat, no mayo, forgotten. After about fifteen minutes Brian suddenly moved to the head of Justin’s bed, startling the shit out of me!
He hovered his hand above his shoulder, just as he had done the other night, and whispered, “Sunshine?” He cleared his throat and spoke more clearly, “Justin?”
I don’t know how to explain it but even though Justin’s eyes had been open and he had been blinking just like any other person, he suddenly blinked and his gaze focused and it was clear he was with us. “Brian? Brian...what’s going on?”
Jennifer, Ben, and I nearly fell over ourselves running out of the room to get the nurse and the doctor. We waited, holding hands, in the hallway, while they examined Justin. Okay, we stood there for a few minutes and then realized that the exam would probably take some time. Jennifer called whichever relatives had been alerted that Justin was in the hospital and Ben put his arm around her when she got tearful. I called ma and she shrieked and hollered into the phone as I held it away from my ear.
Finally, we were welcomed back into the room. Jennifer rushed immediately to Justin and hugged him. “Oh sweetheart, you had us so worried!”
“Sorry, mom.” I saw Brian’s mouth tightened at that. He hates when Justin apologizes for stuff that’s not his fault. I reached over and grabbed Justin’s hand and gave it a squeeze and Ben pat his leg.
Brian cleared his throat and we all turned. “Um, so Justin remembers most of Saturday night but ah…”
The doctor jumped in. “He doesn’t remember the precipitating trauma.” Jennifer’s hand fluttered up to her mouth. “This is normal and to be expected.”
“Will he recover that memory?” Jennifer asked. Brian muttered something under his breath to the effect of why anyone would want to remember that.
The doctor shot her a patient smile, one that had clearly been practiced. “That’s not how memory works. When we dissociate during a trauma - as it appears Justin did - our brain does so to protect itself and it doesn’t form the memory. There is literally no memory to be recovered. The memory was never created.”
“But - but he recovered some of his memory from prom?” Jennifer wondered out loud. I could see Brian was about to snap at her and I get it, it was a moment of “let’s talk about all of Justin’s traumatic events at once...right after he comes out of a catatonic state.” I put the hand that wasn’t holding Justin’s on Brian’s arm. Jennifer is sweet but doesn’t always think before she speaks. No wonder her and my mom get along so well.
The doctor gave another patient smile. “Memory that’s lost due to injury is a different matter than what we’re discussing here. Now,” she said in a decisive tone that signalled a shift in topic, “the dissociation experienced during a trauma is different from the state Justin was in following the trauma. What Justin recalls from his catatonic state is a bit muddled but we will continue to assess him. We will wait until the benzodiazepine has worked its way through his system.” She shifted again to address Justin directly, which I could tell from the small movement at the corner of Brian’s mouth that he appreciated. “Justin I expect you’re going to fall asleep very soon and very soundly, this is quite a sedative.” Justin nodded and yawned as if on cue and goddamnit if Brian didn’t laugh. Justin looked up at him and grinned and I saw tension that I hadn’t even realized had been there fade from his face.