Chapter 6 This is a miracle!

The door opened as Don reached for the handle. He took a quick step back to avoid collusion with whoever was behind the door. Jasmine appeared, confirming his suspicion. Her face lit up in a smile that reached her eyes and knocked down his brain. She had a metal tray in her hands like she did when they met for the first time. He didn't need to be told to know that the tray carried the medication to be administered to the patient. In this case, the contents of the tray were empty and Don concluded that Jasmine was done with Edith for the evening.

"Hello, Jasmine." He smiled back at her. She nodded and uttered no word, but turned in a swift step to the right and went her way. Don entered the ward where his daughter lay.

Three days had passed since Edith slid into a coma. Jasmine rendered her help from that first day till that moment as she promised. Don acquired a peace of mind that he didn't have in the past, except when he still had the support of Joan. He could teach his lectures and cover up a lot of things he missed with the assurance that Edith was safe with Jasmine. Edith wasn't alone, but with a nurse that was willing to see her get well. He could wholeheartedly commit himself to his work because he didn't have to worry about getting back to Edith, but he didn't. His mind slid to his daughter every once in a while. He could concentrate on nothing and at the end of each day, he found himself rushing back to her bedside, wanting to be there when she woke up.

She lay on the bed, attached to machines, the only difference in the rising and falling of her chest. She started to breathe on her own after the first eighteen hours and the hospital stopped administering oxygen. He noticed no other improvement and tried not to lose hope that he ever would. Don didn't realize he was mimicking the motion of his daughter's heaving chest until his breath seized in his lungs. He coughed, released the pent-up oxygen, and allowed himself to breathe normally. He moved closer to Edith and used the seat beside her. He studied her face and the rest of her body. He felt sorry for his baby but more sorry for himself. There was no way he could live a normal life if Edith didn't wake up. He pecked her forehead. She twitched. It was a tiny twitch that he wouldn't have seen if his face wasn't so close to hers. Before he could react, she went into shock. Her body violently threw itself against the bed. Don felt his heart in his mouth.

He stood motionless for a couple of seconds, watching the absurd display of his daughter in confusion. He regained consciousness and hit the emergency button by the hospital bed multiple times. The button was designed to call the quick attention of the doctors and nurses in charge of the patient. Don kept hitting the button with utmost urgency. His eyes flickered from Edith to the door and Edith again. He became hysterical when no one seemed to show up after a couple of seconds but his fingers didn't leave the emergency button. Relief swept through him when the door of the ward opened and Jasmine came in with a doctor and some other nurses.

She pulled him away from where he stood and took him to the rear end of the room, far away from where the doctor was attending to Edith. Don didn't know when it started but he felt warm liquid tracing a trail down his cheeks. He trembled. His hands shook in trepidation and his legs couldn't stay still. He stared at Edith and his mind traveled across many possibilities that could stem from what happened to his baby at that moment. He didn't even care that he looked like a baby too. He didn't care that he acted like that in front of a woman he was starting to like. Edith was and is his life. He wasn't willing to let her go. But he didn't have to, because Edith became still. She stopped shaking and everyone watched for a few seconds.

The doctor checked her pulse again, and Don moved closer to them. "Is she fine?" His words evaporated from his lungs in a desperate gasp.

"She's stable." The doctor nodded and the team dispersed. Jasmine was left with Don and Edith.

She tapped Don and pointed to the chair. He sat and looked up at her. "I was so scared. I get more scared every day. Like each passing day is only a day closer to the day she dies. My heart aches, Jasmine. I don't think I'll be able to handle myself if she dies. She's all I have and all I want is for her to get out of the coma and call me dad again."

"Is that why you are so worked up?"

He couldn't explain how Jasmine's face looked angry and sympathetic, and pretty, all at the same time. He would have spoken, but his tongue failed him, he nodded instead. "Your daughter isn't brain dead, Don." At the sound of his name on her lips, his heart did a double flip and he had to resist every urge to clutch his chest. He had only managed to convince her to call him by his name. He wasn't supposed to complicate things.

"She's responding and it's only a matter of time before she wakes up, fine and healthy. Maybe not completely healthy, because this can't heal her syndrome, but see..." Jasmine's fingers guided Don back to his daughter. With his eyes on Edith and her shock alleviated, all he could infer was how normal she looked. It was easy to conclude that she was a mere child having a peaceful nap, not buried in a coma.

"She has started to breathe on her own, without the support of tubes and machines. She's fighting for her life, Don. She's not struggling to die, but striving to live. You can't give up here. You shouldn't surround her with your fear and disbelief. You should fight along with her in hope, with readiness to accept the life she is striving to bring forth. Don't give up." Her words, her expression, and her eyes proved how sincere and serious she was. He was short of words. He chose to be blanketed in silence and allowed his nodding head to do the talking.

"I'll be back after I see the rest of my patients. Maybe we can go for a stroll and have some coffee. That'll probably clear your head and give you a reason to be hopeful again. Any word from Joan?" Don shook his head for a change. "I think she's the one you should give up on, not Edith."

When Don didn't say anything more, Jasmine left the room. Don buried his head in the sheets on the bed.

When he opened his eyes, he was in his house, getting up from his bed, the same way he did every morning. His bedside was empty but the atmosphere smelled like freshly baked pie. He visited the toilet and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He loved the joy that twinkled in his eyes and the smile that lingered at the corner of his lips. He left the bathroom and checked the dining room.

A little girl sat in one of the chairs looking in his direction. He couldn't see her face but he caught the smile on her lips. "Hey, Dad!" He heard her cheerful voice and loved the tingles that erupted in his chest. He longed to reach her and catch a glimpse of her face. He wondered if it was his daughter.

She chuckled, clapped her hands, and called him dad again. Her voice pulled and drew him closer. He floated through space with every step that he took, but the distance only became longer as she called him. "Dad!"

Don felt weird. He could hear her. It felt like her voice was pulling him, but the closer he went, the farther she was. He couldn't reach her. He tried and struggled but he couldn't reach her. He ran, but as close as the voice was, he couldn't hug her or even hold her the way he wanted to. His eyes sprang open and confusion diffused his reasoning. He found it hard to lift his head. His arms were void of strength. He heard the voice call him once more.

"Dad!"

He slowly brought his head up. His eyes took time to adjust to the surroundings. He was in the hospital. He must have slept off. Was that a dream then? But why was he still hearing the voice of the little girl?

"Dad!"

At the sound of the voice, he felt little fingers touch his arm and he pushed them away in fear. He rubbed his eyes and looked in the direction of the hands that tried to hold him. "Dad," Edith called.

He thought she had protruding eyes. They stared at him with an intensity that tore through his soul. He saw confusion in them and he realized why, but elation sent speech far from his lips. He stood and threw his arms around his pretty little daughter. She hugged him back. He couldn't see how she smiled from ear to ear. He didn't want to see. He only wanted to vibrate to the beating of her heart, the sound of her breathing in his ears, the feel of her arms around his body, and the tears that were starting to fall from his eyes. He wanted to scream. He pulled her away from his hug and traced his hands around her face. He planted a kiss on her forehead and hugged her again.

"I missed you, honey. I did. I thought I would never hear your voice again." He sniffed back the tears and retrieved a hand to wipe the ocean that decorated his cheeks. He didn't care that he looked like a baby. He returned the hand to smoothen Edith's hair. "I missed you." He chuckled.

"Me too Dad. I couldn't wait to see you again." Edith replied. Don froze in the hug.

Edith was saying more and sounding more mature than normal. The last time she spoke, before going into a coma, her words were sluggish and lacked the intelligence that was supposed to be present in an eight-year-old. She used to speak like a child ever since her syndrome got worse when she turned six. That was the reason Joan ran away; she was too scared to take care of her declining child. It didn't make sense that she sounded like her age after coming out of a coma.

Don pecked her forehead. "What happened?" He looked into her eyes. "Why did you go outside that day?"

"How many days has it been, Dad?"

"Three days," Don sat back in the chair. His hands held onto Edith's, afraid to let go even for a minute. "You were in a coma for three days."

If Edith was surprised, she didn't show it. "Do you believe in the existence of a god or a supreme being?" She said instead.

Don shot her a quizzed look. She grinned and urged him to go ahead.

"Because of you," He said and traced the silkiness of her hair with his fingers. His heart thumped in his chest. The questions she asked made everything weird. He didn't know what to make of it but knew he needed answers.

"Me?"

He nodded in response. His mind rode in a million places, going over a million things and possibilities. Many things didn't and weren't making any sense. His hands glided over the emergency button. The one he'd used earlier when Jasmine went into a shock. He wanted to talk to someone, Jasmine, or the doctor. He needed an explanation for the seeming normalcy that Edith portrayed.

"I prayed or did something similar to prayer, asking for you to be healed, but your situation grew worse." He continued as he waited. "So yes, I might have believed for a while, but then, I also stopped believing for another while." She urged him to continue explaining with the look in her eyes. He wished the doctor would come in right then. "Not like I ever really did, but if the prayers couldn't save you, how could I be sure that someone was listening?"

"But look at me now dad, I am back. Isn't that an answer to your prayer?"

Don didn't want to talk to Edith about god or the prayer or her normalcy. He wanted to speak to a doctor. "There are many explanations, Edith." He stood from the chair and gave Edith's hand a little squeeze. "I need to get the doctor, Edith. He needs to figure out what's going on."

Don came back into the ward with the doctor assigned to Edith a couple of minutes later. The doctor ran various tests on Edith, on her brain, her blood, and others. The results of the tests were mind-blowing, something the doctor had never seen, talk less of Don.

"This is a miracle!" The doctor said and Don found himself unexplainably irritated. How was he supposed to explain the recovery of Edith to the world? A miracle? It didn't make sense. How could she be thrown into a coma and brought back completely healed of Rett Syndrome? Something didn't add up, he didn't want a god for the equation to be balanced. Anyone who witnessed Don's reaction to the doctor's news would have thought he didn't want his daughter to be well.

The doctor left. Don and his daughter were brought back into the ward Edith occupied for the last few days.

"I want to write a book," Edith said.

Don sighed. "A book? You're eight years old for God's sake, Edith. You just recovered from a coma. The doctors say a miracle has swept you out of a disease that's held you back for almost six years of your life and the only thing you can think of is to write a book?" He sighed again. "The universe has to be kidding with me right now, right?" He threw his arms by his side and sat retired beside Edith.

Edith ignored his tantrum and probed him further, "Have you ever wondered why people don't believe in religion, but rather, live life with the mind that it may not exist in the next minute?"

It took Don a full minute to register Edith's question, but by then, before he could answer she started to answer the question herself. "I think people are full of fear. They don't want to rely on another being as the religions put it. They want to be the author of their lives, able to do what they like and make an impact with their efforts."

Don stared at his daughter, dumbfounded. "It's the same reason people beat themselves up when they can't achieve the goals they set, the milestones they set up for a lifetime, and sadly when other people seem to be doing better than they are." Her head shook from side to side while she demonstrated with her hands, emphasizing each word that escaped from her lips. Don studied her.

She stopped elaborating and looked instead at him with a smile. He smiled back at her, his fingers combing through her hair in adoration. "I just think there is a lot to address in a book, dad. Look at you–" His hands halted in motion.

"Me?" His fingers pointed to his chest.

"Yes, dad. You didn't know, did you?" He looked at her, uncertain how to respond. He wasn't even sure he knew what she was talking about. Her next words came when she laid her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes with all sincerity. "You didn't know that you are the best dad in the world, did you?"

Don had never been more dazed by mere words. It became hard to comprehend what was happening to him, he had been faced with situations that kept him awestruck, astounded, and speechless but this was the height of it all. The tears formed in drops at the corner of his eyes.

"I tried to tell him," Jasmine sauntered into the hospital ward, interrupting the father and daughter's emotional moment. She smiled at Edith first, and the innocent girl grinned back although shy. Her face shifted from Edith to him. Their eyes connected and remained that way, "He wouldn't listen to me."

He sniffed and some teardrops unleashed their wetness, dampening his cheeks, "Thank you for everything, Jasmine. It's just been three days, but I don't know if I could have survived it without your help."

"It is what I'm here for, Don. Don't talk like I'm not a nurse." The trio laughed. "Don't you think you should introduce me to Edith now? I deserve that at least."

"You just said it yourself," Don said. He turned to Edith and held her hands. She was sitting up in the middle of the bed, grinning and squeezing his hand. "Meet Jasmine!" His face shifted to Jasmine's. "The nurse that was assigned to you while you remained in a coma. Trust me, she was a lot of help."

"It's nice to meet you, Jasmine," Edith smiled even brighter. She retrieved her hand from Don's hold and extended it for a handshake with Jasmine. "When do you think the doctor will allow me to be discharged?" She asked.

"In a day or two?" She crumpled her jaw lines in her attempt to pretend she was thinking. "You look completely fine to me," she moved closer to Edith and examined her.

"Right?" Edith said. "You should put in a good word with the doctor. I can't wait to get home and start piano lessons."

"Piano lessons?" Don shot Edith a confused look. "What piano lessons?"

"The one you'll register me in."

"I will?" Don looked at Jasmine who grinned so hard, it reached her ears. He would have to, but he didn't understand his daughter. First, she wanted to write a book, now it was piano lessons. What was she going to demand next?

"And the cello too, dad." There he had it, what she would ask next.

"What do you want to use these things for, Edith?" He scoffed.

"To learn, dad. I think I need to gain musical skills. It's not too much to ask, is it?" Her words were stern, and Don couldn't argue. He understood that she inherited that virtue from her mother. But everything was happening so fast, he didn't know what to do. He missed Joan. She always knew what to do.

The thought of Joan made him sad. He wished she would be here to see the swift development that had taken place in her child. How she went from acting like a two-year-old to acting like a sixteen-year-old. But Don could not be sure, the development scared him as much as it excited him. It was even more awkward that the doctor believed Edith's Rett syndrome was gone. He wanted her to be free from it, but Don couldn't help but think that she was only facing another variant of the syndrome. Perhaps instead of acting much younger than her age, she was acting older.

Nonetheless, he was happy. He was happy to see her smile and comprehend everything that she said. He was glad that she wasn't scared of her surroundings or confused about where she was. He was secretly glad that she was untethered about her mom not being there. He was glad that she was back to life and had overcome a coma.

He was scared too. He hid the fear that traumatized his mind. The thoughts that maybe, just maybe she would go back to the way she used to be. But he was deciding to keep his hopes high. If she could be fine now, he would believe that she would remain fine, forever. He looked into her eyes and hugged her tight. Perhaps a supreme being did exist up there in the sky, or wherever, and he really made her fine. Whichever it was, he was glad.

***

Edith was discharged two days later as Jasmine predicted. Don was sorry that he wouldn't be seeing Jasmine anymore, but he could live with it. She wasn't willing to go more than friends and if she lingered, he would want more. The distance was best for them, especially for the sake of his child.

He got a private piano teacher for Edith since he couldn't afford the expenses of a music school. The private piano teacher gave him a discount since she was also a lecturer at the local University. He couldn't decide if he was making the right choice or stressing someone who just recovered from a disease that taunted her, her whole life. But when her teacher commended her for being a fast learner, his worry was gone.

He registered her in a community school and Edith caught up with school activities so fast, her teachers were wowed. Don didn't know whether to rejoice or be worried.

Her exceptional attitude continued for the rest of the first month she spent at home after waking from her three-day coma. The recovery was shocking because Don was starting to get convinced that his daughter truly wasn't hooked by Rett Syndrome anymore. She was free, the intelligent human he always believed her to be.

The only hitch was that her intelligence was beyond explanation. So far, Edith's grade teacher confirmed that Edith learned way beyond her peers in many things. The private teacher he hired to tutor her in cello because she remained persistent about learning, reported that she played like she was made and created to play the cello. Hers was a natural talent.

All those comments moved Don and when Edith came home with her first report sheets from school, he had been so elated, he called Joan. For the first time since she left, she picked up his call. He thought it was a miracle, a continuation of one that started from Edith's, but the coldness in her response told him otherwise. She was brutal, warning him to never call her again. He didn't get to speak so much as a word.

However, what scared him the most was the new development Edith brought to him all in one day. She received an invitation to play the piano at a national art festival. The art festival was organized every year at the university museum where Don worked. Edith's piano tutor was affiliated with one of the music professors who organized the festival at the university, and she recommended Edith when an opening for a pianist was announced.

The professor had no problem accepting her recommendation since Edith's tutor was a pro herself. She was more wowed when she realized that the pianist was only eight. She couldn't wait to explore the talent embedded in the little girl. Don was glad until her cello teacher came to him with similar news. An orchestra needed a cello player for a concert that would be held in less than a month and she recommended Edith because her skills were on par with what the orchestra sought. Don would have refused the offer if Edith didn't show up at that moment to rant about how much she wanted to be a part of the orchestra and play in the concert. He couldn't refuse her.

The last string that strummed his worrisome self was the information Edith brought to him at the end of the day when they finished dinner. They were still in the dining room and Edith was typing away on her laptop, the one she forced him to get for her a day after her recovery, as usual after every meal. Don once asked what she was always typing and she would reply that it was her book. She didn't give up on the dream, not once.

When he asked her what her book was about or what she wanted to put in her book, she never told him. She told him that he would see it when her first draft was ready. For an eight-year-old, she acted too mature. He questioned if he gave birth to her sometimes. She was still typing and then she said, "My teacher thinks I should write SAT."

Don spat the half cup of water in his mouth into the sink. "What?!"

"You think I should too, right?" She didn't look up beyond the laptop on the table.

"You're only in grade three, with ten years before you are rightly due to write that exam. Why will she suggest that to you at all?"

She looked up, her eyes tinged with guilt. "I may or may not have written the mathematics test for the eighth grade and aced it.

"Why did you write the test for the eighth grade?" His voice rose a semitone.

"I entered the wrong class," she paused and Don stared. "On purpose." She ended in a whisper. "Okay dad, I just wanted to see if all my practice will pay off. I've been doing extra reading, and I wanted to know if I was making progress."

He walked over to where she sat and held her face in his hands. "Honey, you know you don't have to work extra hard at this, right? You should be getting yourself together, slowly, with no pressure. You don't have to cover up for the lost years like you don't have so many years ahead of you."

"But dad, what if I don't have very many years ahead?"

"That can't be true, Edith," he kissed her forehead and looked into her eyes. "You struggled to get here, you overcame Rett syndrome to be the wonder you are right now, death can't overcome you. Not when the universe is on your side." She nodded and he thought he saw tears in her eyes.

That was when he realized that Edith was filled with as much fear as he was. She probably thought that she was only getting a small chance at life and she needed to do all she could to prove that it was worth living. He feared that she feared for her life the way he did. Or maybe he had made his fear too obvious and it had affected her. He wanted to say something that would cheer her up, make her relax, and live life subtly, but before he could say a word, she draped her hands around him, wrapping him in the tightest hug he had ever received. He hugged her back with the same energy and buried his face in her hair. How he loved her! She released herself and looked into his eyes, guilt was back in them again.

He sighed in wonder of what else she had done.

"There is one more thing I might have rushed." She looked away. Situations like this made Don wonder how his daughter could be bold and daring, doing all the right things at the wrong time, only to hold an unexplainable shyness in her eyes after the deed was done. He held her, waiting to hear what she had to say. "I finished my book now." She turned the screen of her laptop to Don.

He looked and saw only two words on the screen, 'The End'. "Do I finally get to read it now?" He asked.

"Yes!" She beamed. "You get to be my first proofreader." He loved the excitement in her voice. He couldn't get enough of it, and he was relieved that her crime wasn't more than the book. "I forwarded it to your mail. Read it when you have time." She yawned.

"You should get to bed," Don said and pulled himself to his feet. Edith stood up too.

She trudged ahead and led the way to her room. When they got in, she lay on the bed, rested her head, and slept in no time. Don kissed her forehead, turned off the lights, and left the room. He wanted so badly to read his daughter's book. He rushed his night duties, cleaned the kitchen in a hurry, checked all the doors and windows, and when he was satisfied, he retired to his bedroom.

He used the bathroom, took a light shower, and less than thirty minutes later, he was scrolling through his email, trying to find the book his daughter had written. Don didn't know what he was expecting. Or maybe he did, a coloring book, or a childlike story book or a novel at the most, but it was definitely not what he encountered when he opened the document. The introduction page captured everything that seemed like sleep and tossed it in the garbage can. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep that night as he read on,

"We all know about science, but not many people know about Pseudoscience. Pseudo is a term that means false or fake. But does this mean that Pseudoscience is 'fake' science? Probably not.

Pseudoscience is any form of knowledge that is said to be science but doesn't fit into the full criteria of science. It sounds like science but isn't exactly science. It may be difficult sometimes to determine if a particular field of knowledge is pseudoscience or complete science and there has been a long ensuing dispute regarding some areas of knowledge that have been tagged as pseudoscience. One of such is astrology, which shouldn't be mistaken for astronomy.

Astrology deals with the stars and their effect on day-to-day living..."

He read on, until the last line and shut his laptop. He didn't know what to do, or how to react. His daughter had written something on Astrology and Pseudoscience. Don knew nothing about it and he was sure that neither Joan nor anyone Edith had encountered knew a thing about what she had written. At least, not to the extent to which his daughter seemed to know, enough to write over two hundred pages on such a complicated topic.