Coma Girl: part 2 by Stephanie Bond Read Free Book Online

patients sleep all the time, but that’s not true. I sleep mostly at night, when the hospital is quiet. But just as I was pre-coma, I fight sleep, because now I’m afraid I’ll never wake up again.
    Eventually, though, my mind shuts down on its own, and then I sleep. And sometimes, I dream. So far, my dreams have all been about doing things I used to do—simple things, like brushing my teeth and walking up and down stairs. I’ve heard it’s common for people who are wheelchair bound to dream about running and jumping.
    And sometimes I dream about people I know, most often Duncan, Roberta, and Mark Ruffalo.
    Okay, I don’t know Mark Ruffalo, but I’d like to.
    Anyway, I was having this nice dream about Mark Ruffalo when suddenly someone’s voice rudely cut in.
    “Mom.”
    Confused, I resisted leaving my dream, but the voice cut in again.
    “Mom.”
    So I left the dream behind and lifted myself to the most conscious state I could, where I was aware of what was happening in the ward.
    “Mom.”
    I don’t recognize the voice, but it’s female. My first thought is one of my ward mates has a visitor, a child I haven’t heard about. But from the sounds around us—or rather, the lack of sounds—I realize it’s the middle of the night, hardly the time for visitors.
    “Mom… Mom… Mom…”
    So the only other explanation is… one of my roomies is talking?
    “Mom…. Mom… mom ! MOM! MOM! MOM!”
    The door burst open, admitting two sets of feet.
    “What the heck?” said one voice.
    “Oh, my, God,” said another. “One of them is awake!”
    “Which one?”
    “Let me check—Parks… Audrey Parks.”
    Audrey had been hollering throughout and continued to yell, “Mom! Mom! Mom!”
    “Call Dr. Tyson, stat. I’ll try to calm her down.”
    But Audrey was still yelling for her mother when Dr. Tyson arrived twenty minutes later.
    “Audrey,” Dr. Tyson said loudly, “I will get your mother, but first you have to quiet down.”
    That shut her up—a good sign, I realize, because it means she hears and understands.
    “My name is Dr. Tyson. I’m going to stay with you until your mother and father arrive. Let’s get her to a private room,” she directed in a lower voice, “where we can examine her. And contact her family immediately.”
    “It’s a miracle,” one of the nurses said.
    “I’m sure there’s a medical explanation,” Dr. Tyson was saying as they moved the bed out into the hall.
    Then I remembered Audrey’s father’s visit last week and his announcement that her mother has Alzheimer’s. I believe Audrey had heard him and somehow, internalized the realization she might never see her mother again if she didn’t get out of that bed. After two years of apathy, it had taken several days to get her brain synched up with her mouth, but there was no doubt in my mind, love had been the impetus, and sheer will had carried her out of her stupor.
    So no matter what explanation Dr. Tyson manages to put on it, it is a miracle.
    I’m in awe, and so happy for Audrey, even though she probably has a long road ahead of her.
    And I’m also sick with jealousy. I wanted to be the one to spring up and startle the staff, make a fool out of Dr. Tyson. And I know the chances of two miracles happening back to back are nearly nil.
    Audrey stole my miracle.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

August 19, Friday
     
     
    “DONNA SAID SHE JUST sat up like effing Lazarus and started talking.”
    “Man, that would’ve freaked me out.”
    Two orderlies, Nico and Gabriel, whose voices I now remember as being the first ones I heard when I became aware of my surroundings, were in the ward cleaning and removing equipment that had been adjacent to Audrey’s bed.
    “Wonder what made her wake up after two years?” Nico asked.
    “Who knows? Donna is convinced it’s a miracle. She said a nun was in here the day before.”
    Little did they know, instead of asking God for a miracle, Sister Irene was plotting a thrill