I was so disoriented by my dream, it took me a minute to realize that two doctors and a nurse were surrounding my bed, embroiled in their conversation with my parents. My mother looked like her eyes themselves would turn to tears, and my father looked defiant; but he was always defiant, headstrong: a cocksure churl of a guy. I don’t know why mom married that man.

I labored to open my eyes – all the whirring machines trying to lull me back into unconsciousness – and listen to what they were saying. “Unfortunately, Mrs. Verinche, the subarachnoid space is continuing to expand-”. The ‘blubber-acknoid’ what? “starting to impede the pia mater to the point that-”.

It took another minute to decipher the snatches of sentences I was hearing: “what that means, is the dorsal and ventral roots will be constricted – those are for sensory and motor functions.”

My eyes focused, my stomach retched, my hearing sharpened to a knife point: “Surgery is this boys best hope, Mr and Mrs Verinche, or he’ll be fully paralized.