When I answered the robocall, I wasn't sure whether the call saying "a family member" was hospitalized was genuine or not. Instead of calling the number provided, I looked up OHSU online. Yes, it was true. And it was Tes.
It's been three years since I've had direct confirmation that Tesfaye (Tes-FA-yah) Desta Burt was alive. My guess is, he's been on and off the streets in that time, probably in Portland, still unable to lead a normal life because of his schizophrenia, choosing to silence the voices he hears with alcohol rather than taking the medications prescribed for him. People had said that they thought they'd seen him, but this was the first time that legal authorities had confirmed his existence.
They confirmed that he'd been in and out of jail and hospitals in that time, and that while in jail on one occasion, he had been assaulted by another prisoner and had lost an eye, which reminded me of Oscar Wilde saying that if this was how Her Majesty treated her prisoners, she shouldn't be allowed to have any.
He'd been found unconscious on the street, having survived either a hit-and-run collision or an assault, with head injuries and a torn artery. His brain had suffered a shock and was not functioning normally. He was unable to walk, speak or sit up unassisted.
When I visited him the first time, he seemed to recognize me but was unable to speak. He could make a few seemingly random vocalizations that sounded more like speaking in tongues than actual language. He was also held in restraints to keep him from falling out of bed.
The next time, he was using single words correctly, and a few days later he was speaking in complete sentences. He was also able to get up and walk in the hallway. His restraints had been replaced by a mesh enclosure which allowed him freedom of movement within the bed but prevented him from falling or from taking off walking unescorted. It was only unzipped when there was someone in the room with him. He'd also begun feeding himself, although he was using his hands rather than utensils.
The plan is for him to go into a two-week intensive rehabilitation program once his body has made a sufficient recovery. Where he goes after that is problematic: each of his sisters lives in Portland, but neither of them can provide him with a room of his own, and each has a rambunctious three-year-old. He could come here, where there is more room and more quiet, but I tire quickly these days. I don't know what to do.
The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Reply hazy, ask again later. I hate this."
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