The Awakening - Chapter 8 (8/11/2023)

[inconkit]

This story is a translation from an unfinished story I wrote in French a few years back. I've changed up a few little things, but it's still mostly the same. I'm translating it in small bits at a time, but I'm also planning to keep going once I reach the end of what I originally wrote. Hopefully you guys enjoy it! 

The Awakening

Chapter 1: A brutal awakening

Everything is foggy. I’m trying to wake up. I feel like I’m trying to swim up from the depths of the ocean. Darkness turns to gray, then to blinding light. I’ve opened my eyes. It takes a few attempts until I’m able to keep them open for more than a second or two. I think I also dozed off in between those attempts. I’m not really sure. Eventually though, it seems like I’m able to keep them open. Where am I? My vision is very clouded, but I can see I’m lying in a bed. I think it’s a hospital bed : the room does look a lot like a hospital room. I’m covered with a very light sheet. I feel so weak, I can barely lift my head. There’s a pole next to me, with a bag of solute hung onto it and a tube goes from it straight into my arm. I feel like I’ve been asleep for months. But as much as I try, I can’t remember being in any sort of accident or anything that might lead to me being hospitalized. How long have I been here? My vision is awful, but as I look around me, I don’t notice any flowers, cards or any of the kind of stuff you would typically expect if I had been in a hospital and I had been visited by friends and family. Either it hasn’t been long enough for that to happen, or, and it makes me shudder to think, I've been there for so long that this kind of “get well” stuff has been removed and not replaced. That or maybe movies have been lying to me all my life about how these things go. This thought is enough to make me smile weakly.

On that thought, I also realize that this hospital is weirdly silent. If this were really a hospital, wouldn’t there be nurses and people walking about everywhere? But I can’t hear anyone, as if I were completely alone. 

This thought wakes me up a little bit more, and I’m starting to feel tinges of panic making its way across the thick fog of my mind. With great pain, I try to move my arms, but try as I might, I feel like my arms have been replaced by wet spaghetti. With great effort, I move my head to look at them through my foggy vision. It’s hard to be sure, but from what I can see it seems like my arms are extremely skinny. I’ve never been fat, but those arms look like what you’d see in an african famine documentary! My heart starts beating faster as panic once again creeps into me. How long have I been here? 

I feel a piece of rubber near my hand. Moving my fingers to touch it, I think it’s another tube, and I think it’s going under the sheets. The discomfort I feel around my privates confirms that this must be a catheter. In fact, this piece of tube going inside me is so uncomfortable I wonder how I didn’t notice it before, though I’m still so numb to everything that maybe it isn’t all that surprising. For the first time the thought truly crosses my mind : I was in a coma. And looking at my arms, it seems obvious that I’ve been in that state for at least some time. Immediately I start thinking of those stories where people awaken after years in a coma and struggle to get back to their old life because it’s been so long. How long would it take for me to lose as much weight as I did? I try to remember how old I am. How.. old? I… I can’t remember. A vague memory of entering a brand new apartment flashes in my mind. And entering university? So I’m.. college aged? I try to reason. At most, I must have been asleep a couple weeks, maybe a few months at the max. People who wake up from a coma after years are extremely rare, and when they do they’re basically vegetables, unable to do anything for themselves. Vegetable. That word makes me feel a deep pit in my stomach.

The silence of the room becomes suffocating. I don't understand why I haven’t seen a nurse yet. Shouldn’t I be hooked up to a machine that would warn them if I woke up, or something like that? I try to scream, but the only sound I’m able to produce is a pathetic moan. This attempt at screaming sends a wave of deep nausea across my body. It feels like I haven’t moved a muscle in years. A fresh wave of nausea mixed in with panic besieges me at the thought that this might actually be the case. I keep moaning, with barely enough strength to do it. Suddenly, I hear a door open, and can see the silhouette approaching. It’s speaking to me, but all I can make out is complete gibberish. I try moving my limbs, but once again, I can barely move any muscle in my body. Suddenly, through the gibberish, I can hear my name: “Miss Filion”. This woman’s voice knows my name. I’m actually in a hospital. They’re gonna help me. I’m gonna get better. Relieved that I am safe, but mostly because of exhaustion, I sink back into a deep slumber.

I awaken once more, this time to a male voice. The owner of that voice flashes a huge smile upon seeing my eyes open. More gibberish follows:

“Miss Filion! Welcome back among us, my dear one! I am doctor Brodeur. I’m the one who took care of your case since you’ve arrived here. - Oh, we have retinal reflex! She can even follow with her eyes!”

As he was speaking his incoherent words, he pointed a small light in my eyes, and was waving it left and right in front of them. With great pain, I followed that light, having some vague idea that this is what I was supposed to do. I can hear how delighted he sounds after I do that, and it makes me weirdly proud. It’s weird, I feel like I should understand the words he’s saying, but somehow they’re all scrambled when I hear them. At least I can recognize the emotions in them. I attempt a weak smile to show the doctor I’m aware. I can feel spit dripping from the side of my mouth. 

“Miss, can you tell me what your name is?”

I can hear his voice. I can hear that he’s asking me a question. I can even recognize that he’s speaking English. But I just can’t make out the meaning of what he’s saying. My pride turns to distress. I can’t understand him. I’m a vegetable. Fuck no no no no no!

It seems that he’s noticed how agitated I’ve become. “Calm down, calm down! Everything is ok! You’ve been in a coma for a long time. You need to be patient!” A single word makes its way through to my broken brain: Coma. In a coma. I try to repeat the word: “aaaaaaaaah”. I’m pathetic. I can’t speak anymore. I forgot how to. I truly am a vegetable! But I did hear the word. Coma. And I am thinking to myself, speaking to myself using words in my head. Maybe I’m not completely a vegetable. I’m here. I am here. 

 The doctor, seemingly in reaction to my attempt at vocalizing, speaks what I suppose are encouraging words. I don’t know what he’s saying, and I once again feel myself drifting off to sleep.

[inconkit]

I am roused again. Another nurse. Not the same as previously. I don’t know how long I was asleep. This once speaks to me with energy. “Hi Miss Filion! I’m here to take care of you before your family visits!” It almost seems like I can understand her a bit better. I can definitely hear that she’s saying “Hi Miss Filion”, and I think she’s saying something about a visit? 

All the while chit chatting vigorously, she starts cleaning me up. I feel terribly embarrassed about the moist towel being rubbed on my body. It’s obvious she’s done this many times. I suddenly feel cold, and start moaning to protest it. The nurse reacts to my moaning by chit chatting even more energetically. She first started with my face, cleaning up the slobber on the side of my mouth that seemingly just lives there permanently now. She then goes to work on my skeletal arms, which she rubs gently with the towel. To my great embarrassment, she then lifts the blanket and my hospital gown, and starts working on the rest of my body, including my crotch by delicately cleaning around the catheter that is coming out of my urethra. Throughout this entire clean up, she says the name of each body part. I can understand many of those words. Arms, chest, belly, legs. I try to make noises to make her know that I’m understanding, but for now all I’m able to produce are unintelligible moanings and noises. Still, it almost feels like I’m getting back some control over my body. For the first time, I notice that on the drawer next to my bed there’s a Teddy bear. An old Teddy bear so used up it’s become bald in some spots from having been transported and hugged so much. My Teddy bear, the one I’ve had my whole childhood. Someone has visited. I’m not alone. 

The nurse turns over to the pole that stands next to my bed. For the first time, I notice the bag that she’s unhooking from the pole which clearly seems to be filled with urine. My urine. She replaces it with an empty one. She also replaces the bag of solutes. All those interactions and seeing all those things is suddenly starting to make me feel dizzy, overwhelmed and nauseous. My head starts to hurt. I close my eyes and once again the darkness overtakes me. 

A sweet and familiar voice wakes me up: “Lea? Lea!” That’s my name! I recognize it! And this voice… That’s my mom! My eyes open and I recognize the smiling face of my mom through the fog of my vision. For the first time since my initial awakening, I feel a wave of relief. My face lights up and I start moaning, the only sound I can make to show how happy I feel. My mom bends herself towards me and delicately hugs me, as if she were scared of breaking my frail, tiny body. “Lea, my precious baby girl, I can’t believe you’re finally awake!” When she’s done hugging me, I see tears in her eyes. She is sad. 

I can see my dad, standing aside awkwardly. Despite my vision still being foggy, I can see the tears shining on his cheeks. He gets closer to me, solemnly. “Oh my God, Lea. My God.” He also lowers himself to my level and kisses my cheek before hugging me delicately. While hugging me, he lets out a sob that sounds incredibly loud to my ears.

As he slowly moves away from me, I can see an indistinguishable figure, standing even more to the side. He’s got the long dangly arms of a teenager. His long shoulder length hair vaguely reminds me of someone, but the face is still too blurry for me to recognize who this is. The figure slowly gets closer to me, and when he speaks to me, I feel like someone removed all of the air from the room. 

“Hi Lea… huh… it’s been a while…” I don’t immediately recognize the voice, but something about it sounds horribly familiar. And this face its… it’s Mathieu? That’s my… brother? But it can’t be him! My brother is small, he’s… how old? He was a child! This teenager is no child! That’s not possible! I think again about the empty shelves next to my bed when I woke, about my freakishly skinny arms. No! I can’t accept that! That’s impossible! There’s no way I’ve been in a coma for so long. I feel a howl of terror burgeoning deep within me. As if my frail body was literally going to explode from the emotion. I’m barely aware that I’m actually screaming, tearing up and pushing my frail lungs to their absolute limit. I feel the tears pricking my eyes, the burning pain in my throat. I see the terrified face of my brother. A face that is way too mature. This is wrong. As I keep screaming, my body starts convulsing. My eyes roll back in their sockets and I feel myself falling back into unconsciousness, with the blurry image of my brother’s face seared into my mind. His utterly terrified face, who cannot understand why I am screaming. 
 

[inconkit]

 

Thank you to everyone who reacted or even just read to the first parts of this story! I hope you get to enjoy this second chapter I just finished translating!

 

Chapter 2: The harsh reality

The following hours get blurred up in my head… Or perhaps those were the following days? I don’t know, time makes no sense in my head thanks to those repeated loss of consciousness and the constant fog that bogs down my brain. In those brief moments of consciousness, I’m often aware of activity taking place around me. A nurse, the same one who was there when I woke up, often manipulates my body, as if to coax it into moving after years of being stuck in a bed. She moves my arms and my legs. This nurse is always very calm, very measured as she talks. I recognize her from her very curly hair. As she manipulates me, I sometimes hear her say the word “push”, and I suppose she expects me to do that. However, my weakened body is entirely unable to do anything but pathetic uncontrolled flailings. It also seems that I can’t fully extend my limbs, even with the help of the nurse’s guiding hand. It’s almost as if my body was stuck in a partial fetal position. My control over my head, however, is getting slightly better. I’d still be unable to hold it on my own, but while I’m lying down I’m able to turn it around a little to look at different things. Next to my bed, there is now a machine that makes a regular beeping noise. I suppose this thing is monitoring my heart, which I suppose is understandable after the convulsing I’ve had. Thinking about those convulsions reminds me of my brother, and every time I do, the beeps on the machine start going faster. I really don’t want to think about that. 

I also see Dr. Brodeur again. I’m getting better at recognizing him and even remembering his name, because he repeats it every time we meet. He speaks a lot, but I understand very little. Like the nurse, he also manipulates my body. He rubs some parts of it and watches my reaction, sometimes taps it with a little hammer. I can understand that he’s asking me a lot of questions, but I can’t understand them and I’d be entirely unable to answer even if I did. He shows me sheets of paper with text and images on it, but I can’t read any of it. In fact, with my blurry vision, I’m not even able to see the characters properly. He also shows me cards that have symbols on them that I know to be numbers, since they are very big on the cards, but distressingly I am completely unable to recognize those numbers, or the relationship that they have with the other symbols. When he says their names as he shows them to me, I can almost recognize the name, but I then immediately forget it. The same goes when he shows me cards with words, or even just letters. I can’t do anything anymore. Those moments often cause me to panic, and I end up screaming and crying. In fact there’s been a large amount of screaming and crying since I’ve awoken here, and every time I’m greeted with soothing voices, cooing and cajoling. Sometimes it does help me to calm down, but often it doesn’t. I feel humiliated, infantilized by my situation. I vaguely remember more convulsing at times, usually in moments of intense frustration. I can hear the beeps going wild, my body tensing up and then it’s back to the darkness. 

In Dr. Brodeur’s testing, however, not all is lost. I’m able to recognize most daily use objects. When he says the word out loud while showing me an image of an object, I understand what he means. I can differentiate between a bed and a chair, or between a boat and a car. Of course, I have no way of letting him know that I can differentiate between those, and Dr. Brodeur must think I’m entirely dumb to his charades. I try to make him know that I’m aware of what he’s talking about by vocalizing and agitating my body. However, I don’t have much control over what movement I make or what sound I’m producing. With that said, I’m usually able to communicate my basic emotional state to my carers. And when I recognize things Dr. Brodeur is showing me, I can show him that I’m happy, and he usually reacts by being happy himself. I can recognize objects, animals, scenes of daily life, and so on. I obviously can’t understand or answer any of the questions that the doc is asking me about those things, however. I’m also able to recognize if someone is an adult, a child or a teenager (which will reminds me of my teenage brother and fill me with a tinge of panic every time). However, I’m incapable of thinking of a specific age for them, as if numbers had just vanished from my brain. All of this takes time. I can rarely ever stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time, so all of these tests take place over a long period of time, separated by long, dreamless naps. 

The energetic nurse who took care of my first clean up, a small short haired lady as well as a tall scary looking woman with a stern face both take turns at waking me and cleaning me up regularly. They clean up my slobber, check on sore spots on my back and change bandages in those areas. They also change my pee bag, which is always connected to the catheter between my legs. Every time they touch the tube, I feel a great discomfort that often elevates to a sharp pain, and I feel greatly disturbed to feel this thing moving inside of me. However, this unpleasant cycle is one way for me to be aware that some time is passing. After all, this bag must take some time to fill in, so it has to mean that time is indeed passing. I’m also very surprised that I haven’t felt hungry or thirsty since waking up. With my constant nausea, I’m not really surprised that I haven’t felt any need for food, but I don’t remember ever drinking anything since waking up in this hospital. With that said, I don’t feel especially dehydrated, and my very full pee bags show that I’m not indeed missing on water. I have to assume that most of my hydration and nutrition comes from my bag of solutes then, which the nurses will regularly change and inject stuff into, especially when those beeps on my machine are going crazy when I get agitated. Every time they do it, I feel much calmer, often to the point of falling asleep almost immediately. 

Throughout those cycles of wakefulness-unconsciousness, there was also my mom. She isn’t always there, but when she is, I immediately feel incredibly comforted and much safer. Once I woke up to see my mom sitting right next to my bed, petting my Teddy bear as if this was a way for her to feel closer to me even as I was unconscious. I have a thought for the number of times she must have sat right next to me just like that, wondering if her daughter was gonna wake up one day. Other times, she’s right above me, petting my hair and smiling at me with the sweetest of smiles. Almost every time she realizes I’m awake, she lovingly talks to me with gratitude in her voice. I see her cry a lot, too, though I’m not always sure if she’s crying tears of joy or sadness. It’s probably both. I try to communicate with her by moaning and vocalizing, which will often make her laugh or exclaim sweetly. I’d really like to understand what she says to me, but just hearing her voice is enough to make me feel much safer. Sometimes, we just look at each other, peering into each other’s eyes. Even my foggy vision can’t stop me from seeing just how many emotions are crossing those motherly eyes. Her presence also makes me feel a whole array of emotions, and when she leaves it often leaves me craving for more, and makes me feel like crying out for her presence, which I often do despite being unable to actually communicate it to my nurses. 

After a while, I become aware that my periods of consciousness are lasting longer and longer without drifting away back into the darkness. My consciousness remains foggy, but I’m aware I can do more things than before before falling back asleep. Eventually, my energetic nurses announces with her cheerful voice: “Good morning Miss Filion! Today is your lucky day! It’s been two days since you’ve had a seizure, so we think you’re ready try going without your catheter! That’s gonna feel really good, you’ll see!”  

Except for her usual “Good morning Miss Filion”, I don’t know what she’s talking about, but she does seem even more cheerful than usual about what she’s saying. Instead of cleaning me up as she usually does, she immediately lifts my blanket and hospital gown and goes between my legs. While she often does that when cleaning me up, it’s the first time she goes there first. This makes me feel insecure and I express it with a worried moan. 

“Don’t worry my dear, it’s going to sting a little, but you’re going to be so much more comfortable afterward!” 

I’m starting to panic not knowing what she’s doing, especially since at this angle, I can’t even see her because I can’t lift my head to look down at her. Suddenly, I feel a tugging and a sharp pain between my legs, something worse than I’ve ever felt while she was tending to my needs. I don’t understand what’s going on and I start crying. She keeps working between my legs for a few seconds, and then goes back near my face to console me. The pain is gone, but I still feel it afterglow ringing through my body like waves in a pond. I’m still crying in fear more than anything. 

“It’s over, it’s over! I’m so sorry Miss Filion I know this was painful but now you’re gonna be so much more comfortable! Now all we need to do is put you in an absorbent brief so you don’t wet the mattress!” 

Her tone is soothing and reassuring, which does put me slightly more at ease. However, it seems like she isn’t done with me yet. I start getting scared again. What if she hurts me again? She fetches something that looks like a thick white plastic bag which she unfolds and starts placing next to me. She keeps talking to me as she does so, but I can’t see what she’s doing nor do I understand what’s going on. She turns me to the side and I can feel the plastic right next to me. She then flips me back so that I’m sitting on top of it, and then she flips the plastic sheet thing around my crotch so that the whole area is enveloped by it. When I hear the sound of tapes, I finally understand what’s going on. She’s putting me in a diaper. 

At once, I understand what just happened. She just removed my catheter. I realize that the permanent discomfort that used to inhabit my crotch is now gone, and instead is the weird sensation of wearing a diaper. I find myself filled with contradictory emotions. On one hand, I feel humiliated that I’m wearing a diaper, an object that, until now, was only for babies and elderly people. At the same time, I’m extremely relieved that I’m not forced to endure that catheter anymore and, given my current state, I doubt I’d ever be able to make it to the bathroom, or even just ask to use it. In fact, I’m now realizing I’ve never been out of this bed since waking up. I feel tears of humiliation swell up in my eyes. I wish I was able to communicate to her that I don’t need this diaper, that she could just bring over a bedpan or something when I need to go, but I know trying to communicate anything this complex would be wasted effort. Furthermore, given the terrible degree of control I have over my body, I doubt I’d even be able to prevent my body from just pissing itself. I feel like a complete moron, unable to take care of even the most basic of body functions. The nurse, who’s seeing that I’m still tearing up, tries to soothe me before leaving in her usual peppy voice: “There’s another step behind! Now I’m going to come back to see if you’re able to urinate on your own, and if you do, we’ll be able to start feeding you orally! Isn’t that great?” She’s tapping on her stomach and then points at mine as she talks, and I wonder if this means she’s planning to bring me food. The mere thought of food makes me nauseous, but at the same time, I understand that this would be another step toward gaining some semblance of autonomy over my body functions. I try to moan in a way that signifies my agreement, and the nurse leaves the room, seemly happy with the way things are going. 

[inconkit]

Chapter 3 : The nightmare

From the depths of sleep, I am witness to a strange scene. I’m still in my hospital bed, and see my nurse come over to me holding a plate of veggies. She looks at me and, with a demented smile asks: Who wants some good vegetables! The word is then repeated again and again like an echo. Suddenly, I’m back in one of my swimming competitions at the edge of the pool. I realize everything that happened to me, with the coma, the hospital and all, that was the bad dream, and now I have to get into position because the race is about to start. I get set at the starting line and look at the other girls around me. They’re all looking back at me. I hear the signal for the start of the race and jump in the water, but as soon as my body enters the water, I realize I have no control over any of my movements. I can’t swim anymore! I am underwater, looking back at the surface and I can still see all of the girls at the starting line. None of them have jumped in the water and they’re still looking at me, though my vision is now too blurry to make out any details about their face. I find myself thinking I should have brought my swimming goggles. I can hear the voice of my nurse again, but this time muffled by the water: “Look! It’s a delicious vegetable!” I see my nurse, patting herself on the stomach. I suddenly realize I’ve been underwater for far too long, and I can’t breathe! I need to breathe! I’m starting to panic. I try to swim back to the surface, but my body still refuses to obey my commands. 

It takes a while for me to realize I no longer am underwater. I try to scream, but I feel like I’m choking and no sound is coming out from me. The machine next to my bed goes crazy as the beeps speed up to high speed, and I can hear an alarm blaring. I can see my nurse, whom for once, doesn’t look cheery at all, frantically working at my side. She’s moving quickly and anxiously, and even through my own panic I notice her injecting something in my solutes. I still feel like my lungs are going to implode. Another woman I’m seeing for the first time runs into the room, screaming instructions. She’s holding what looks like a suitcase, which she opens to reveal rows of clear bottles. My nurse takes one of those bottles, stabs it with the needle of a syringe and then injects it directly into my arm. I feel the stab of the needle, and almost immediately, I can feel my body reacting to it. My throat opens up and I finally succeed at taking a long gasping breath. I then let out a loud scream of pain and terror. My scream turns into sobs, and the sobs slowly get less frantic as the two women attempt to calm me down with soft words. At most, I must have been around 30 seconds without air, but for the first time since I woke up here, I fully realize a terrifying truth: I might die here without having been able to pronounce a single word or even to leave this room. 

I keep sobbing and my body is shaking in terror. I want my mom to be here. I want her to hold me in her arms, to speak to me in her soft voice. I feel so alone. So incredibly alone. I’m so caught up in my own emotions I barely even notice that my nurse has started her cleaning routine with me. As such, I also barely register when she removes the diaper I’ve been wearing, cleans up my privates and then tapes on a new one. As the woman who came in to help appears to be leaving, my nurse says, with a voice that is clearly shaken by the events and sounds sad, if not pitiful : “Well, at least now we do know she’s able to urinate on her own, so there's that.“ The woman answers with a stern, worried voice : “Keep taking her vitals every 5 minutes, she could get in shock again.” The nurse, who appears to be done with her routine, looks at me with tears in her eyes: “My poor girl, if only you knew how much we want you to make it through.” I fall asleep once again, this time without a single dream. 
 

[inconkit]

 

We're getting close to the end of what I've originally written, even though I still have lots of ideas for how to continue this story. We'll see if I have the motivation to keep going after that, but I do want to thank you all for reading and reacting to my story! It means a lot to me! 
 

Chapter 4 : Rehabilitation

A female voice I’m hearing for the first time wakes me up: “Miss Filion? Miss Filion? Ah I’m so happy you’re awake! My name is Soraya and I’ll be your occupational therapist!” I open my eyes and realize the owner of that voice is a woman around my mom’s age with very dark skin and a soft face. I find myself immediately trusting her without being quite sure why. Next to her is the tall, intimidating nurse I’ve somewhat become used to, by now. I know why this one is here. “Anita, you’re gonna get her ready for me?”, the newcomer asks my nurse. I’m not sure what she said, but the nurse’s reaction makes it pretty obvious. She gets close to me with wipes and a fresh diaper. By now, I’m starting to accept I have no control over my body, including my ability to hold my pee. After my nightmare and the whole crisis that followed, I think the entire staff here has decided to give me a few days (or at least what I think is a few days) to rest and get used to my new situation before introducing anything new. The regular diaper changes and the clean ups that come with them still feel infantilizing and humiliating at this point, but I prefer those over the painful alternative. I can usually feel when my diaper is wet and I find the sensation rather unpleasant. I can sometimes get the hint of a sensation right before my bladder goes and I start uncontrollably wetting myself, but usually it just takes me by complete surprise and it’s not like I can do anything to stop it anyway. After changing my “brief”, Anita proceeds to washing the rest of my body as well as applying creams to the sores on my back. I think these sores are there because I’m spending too much time lying down. 

Soraya, the soft spoken woman, then comes back into the room that she had left, seemingly in a bid to leave me some privacy. I’m thankful to her for that. Ever since I woke up here, I feel like people keep seeing me naked and vulnerable, and it’s definitely not something I enjoy. “Ok, so today is gonna be a big day for you, because we’re gonna try to sit up together a little bit. Dr. Brodeur and Mrs. Graton have been telling me that you were very responsive, which is gonna help us a lot. I also heard from them that you have the prettiest smile on earth! Look at yourself, they were actually right!” 

I don’t know what she’s saying, but her tone of voice is so soothing and familiar that I can’t help but smile. Her energy somehow reminds me a lot of my mom. When she sees my smile, her face lights up even more and I realize that I trust her entirely. 

She sits down next to me. She speaks very softly to me, seemingly explaining what she’s going to do. Because of the exaggerated movements she’s using at the same time as she’s talking, I think I can grasp that she’s about to move my legs. Anita, the tall nurse with the stern face, goes near my head and puts her hands on my back. I feel a moment of worry not knowing what’s about to happen, but I feel like I can trust the soft spoken woman who’s obviously in charge of this moment. Without being sure how they did it, I feel my frail body being maneuvered into a hunched over sitting position. Almost immediately, I start feeling extremely dizzy. My body rests on Anita’s strong arms as I look at Soraya with fearful eyes. I can’t hold my own head, so it’s resting against Anita’s shoulder. Soraya seems to be speaking words of encouragement. To me it feels like I’m both about to pass out or throw up (despite still not having had any kind of food inside of me). They keep me in that position for a time that seems to stretch way longer than it probably is, until they finally let me go back to lying down in my usual partially curled up position. While still looking at me with her bright eyes, Soraya tries to explain to me: “We’re gonna have to keep sitting you up like this for a while before we can start feeding you orally again. We know eating is difficult for you, so we’re really gonna give it our best to make it work. I’m going to be coming back here with you regularly and who knows, maybe you’ll even get to have a short trip on the wheelchair!” I have no idea what she’s saying, and honestly I’m so exhausted by the work we just did that I mostly just feel like falling back asleep immediately. I still make an attempt to smile at her because I want her to know that I really enjoy her presence. As difficult as this exercise was, I really like her, and I can’t wait for her to come back. I fall asleep feeling satisfied. 

In the following days, I feel a little bit more aware than usual, even though my mind still feels blurry most of the time, as my vision is. My days are punctuated by waking up, getting a diaper changed, being cleaned up, getting “stimulation” visits and, of course, visits by Soraya, who has repeated the sitting up exercise a couple times with me. Unlike the peppy nurse (whom I know to be called Marie-Claude after seeing so often), Soraya has a much more authentic energy, and, most of all, an incredible softness. I feel like giving my best for her, despite not having much to do aside from letting her manipulate my tiny body. Despite this, I still try my best to show her that I’m progressing in some ways. While she’s holding me up, I try as best as I can to also hold my own body, as futile as it usually is. Despite the futility of it, I do feel like my body is slowly getting used to being in a sitting position. I also get to see my mom regularly, since she’s always been very present since my day one of being awake. Her presence always feels magical to me, and it always breaks my heart a little bit when she has to leave. I wish I could tell her how much I like Soraya, and tell her about the progress I’m working so hard to achieve. Instead all I can do is babble and moan like a baby as she speaks to me in words I mostly can’t understand. I wish she would meet Soraya, and see me when she’s working with me. I wish she could see that I’m making progress, however tiny it is. 
 

[inconkit]

 

This was the last chapter I originally had, which means I'm done with translation! This means that from now on, anything else I post here is gonna be brand new content. Thank you for coming along for the ride with me! I hope you guys are enjoying this story!  

Chapter 5: Taking a stroll

My wish ends up being fulfilled a few days later. At first I see my mom entering the room with a large wheelchair. It’s the type of wheelchair that went up very high with head support and straps all over. I am guessing it’s for me and I can feel my anxiety rising. Sitting on my bed with Soraya or Anita holding me is one thing, but getting out of the bed to get strapped in a wheelchair is something else entirely. After my mom, Soraya also enters the room. Marie-Claude, who was already in the room after finishing my changing and cleaning routine, exclaims: “Hey! You’re right on time, I literally just prepped our beautiful Léa to see you guys!” My mom and Soraya answer enthusiastically while looking at me. Marie-Claude winks at me and leaves the room. 

Soraya begins sitting me up on the bed while talking to my mom the whole time. I think she’s explaining to her how to do it herself. I see that my mom is listening carefully, but I feel like I can also see that she’s happy about my progress, which makes me really proud. At the very least, I am proud of myself. Over the last couple days, I’ve progressed to the point that I can stay sitting with less support than before. It’s even been to the point that Soraya is now able to sit me up without the help of a nurse. Soraya looks at me and starts talking: “Today is a big day, sweety! Your mama has brought you a wheelchair and we’ll be able to use it to sit in there and maybe even go for a small walk if all goes well!” 

As she’s talking, my mom approaches with the wheelchair and I understand that they’re going to transfer me onto it. I feel my heart beating very fast, which makes me happy I’m no longer connected to the beeping machine anymore. Moreover, I feel stronger than I ever have since waking up here initially, and I want to pass this challenge for my mom and for Soraya. I notice that there's an absorbant pad on the seat of the wheelchair, which makes me blush a little when I realize why. My gentle physical therapist then shifts her position and tells my mom: “Since she’s really tiny, you probably won’t need a lift to get her out of bed, but it’s still very important that you use the right method to make sure you don’t drop her or that you don’t hurt yourself. So first, you want to slip your arm under hers like this.” I can feel her getting her arm under my shoulder like she’s about to hug me. I reflexively try to hold back onto her, though I don’t really have the strength to do so in any meaningful way. “Oh that’s perfect” Soraya exclaims. “You see how she already has the reflex of trying to hold on to me? That’s gonna be very helpful for you. So after getting your first arm in place, you want to slip your other arm under her bum… Léa, I’m gonna grab you from underneath, ok?” I jump a little bit in surprise when she slides her arm under me. I’m aware her hand is now directly on my diaper since the hospital gown I’m wearing isn’t enough to cover my backside. I feel myself getting red. I am suddenly very grateful that my diaper has been changed right before this. Soraya keeps going: “Now, what’s really important is that you use the strength of your legs to lift her, keep your back straight, and then in one movement, you lift her and put her down on the chair.” In one expertly executed maneuver, I find myself lifted up and then sitting on the wheelchair. “Now another thing that is really important is that you always strap her up properly, otherwise she could fall and hurt herself”. Soraya is adjusting the straps and putting them around me as she speaks. I realize that my hunched over position means I can’t sit straight against the wheelchair at first. Because of that, Soraya has to adjust the back and the straps so that she can get my head to be aligned with the headrest, before strapping my head to it as well. By the end of the process, I end up sitting up in a moderately reclined position with my body slightly twisted to fit into the wheelchair. My solutes is still attached to my arm, and the tube dangles next to the wheelchair. 

Once I’m securely installed in my wheelchair, my mom asks in an enthusiastic tone: “Now, do you want to go outside your bedroom, baby girl?” I feel a shiver go through me. I didn’t understand every word she said, but there is one I did get: Outside. I don’t know how long I’ve been in this room, but the thought of leaving it is both terrifying and very exciting. I feel a wave of adrenaline go through my body and feel like I’m about to conquer the world. With my mom and Soraya at my side, surely I can do anything. For the first time since waking up here, I feel actual hope that things are going to get better. I’m still terribly weak, I still can’t communicate and I’m still entirely dependant on others for even the most basic of my needs, but from now on, I’ll no longer be chained to a bed. I try vocalizing my excitement, and end up on a long joyful scream of happiness. 

The walk turns out to be short, but rich in sensations. The hallway outside my bedroom is clean and somewhat empty. I see many closed doors, but a few are open and I see the shape of people in there. One familiar shape emerges from one of the rooms and close the door behind her. Marie-Claude, my trusty peppy nurse appears to reach a climax of pure excitement as she sees me in the wheelchair. She lowers herself to my level and showers me with words of ravishment. I usually find her enthusiasm a bit overwhelming, but in my current state of weird confidence, I answer with another scream of joy, which seems to delight her even more. I can’t see my mom, with her at the helm of my wheelchair, but I can hear her voice answering with pride and emotion. I can’t even imagine how long she had been hoping for a moment like this. 

The peak of this little stroll however, was still to come. After going next to many bedrooms and one large room that look like a mess hall, I suddenly find myself bathed in natural light. At the end of the hallway is a large living room with a huge television screen, couches and most of all, huge windows that let in natural light as well as the scenery of a large wooded area covered in snow. My own bedroom has a small window that never quite let in much light from the outside. Furthermore, down from my bed, all I can see is a piece of the roof that overhangs my room. Because of that, I really had no way to anticipate the view I got at that moment. My blurry vision doesn’t quite allow me to make out the details of the stunning view, but I still find myself swallowed whole by those large windows. 

I can’t believe I haven’t been out in so long. The reflection of the sun on the white snow hurts my eyes, but I can’t take my eyes off of the scenery. A single thought inhabits my mind. I have to get better so I can leave this place. I suddenly feel a rush of dizziness as I contemplate the immensity of what that would imply. In the tiny, limited universe that was my bedroom, I had almost managed to make myself believe that I had regained some semblance of normalcy, but faced with this gigantic world, filled with people, places and challenges, I can’t help but feel infinitely small and vulnerable. I realize that it’s very likely I’m never going to be able to do any of the things I used to be able to do before being in this state. Heck I can’t even remember most of what I was actually doing back then because my memory is completely fried. I’m suddenly taken by a flash in my head. I see myself skiing on a snowy hill with my dad. This memory is so crisp to me it almost feels supernatural, like some sort of revelation. I’m suddenly filled with a huge wave of sorrow for what I’ve lost. I can see the snow again, but I sure as heck will never be skiing on it ever again. This is too much for me. I can’t take the sight anymore. My body starts shaking as my vision is graying out. People around me are noticing and I can hear them speaking in worried tones. I can feel my mom stroking my hair, kissing my face and saying sweet words. But I’m fast sinking back to oblivion, and I feel like I’d rather stay in the depths for a while. In the safe darkness, and away from that terrifying light.
 

[keith60]

this story is good 

[Quite-Tiff]

I'm really enjoying the story, can't wait to read more.

[inconkit]

On 7/28/2023 at 9:13 AM, keith60 said:

this story is good 

 

17 hours ago, Quite-Tiff said:

I'm really enjoying the story, can't wait to read more.

Thank you so much for your feedback and support! This really means a lot to me! Next chapter is coming very soon, I'm pretty much done with it. I'm glad I found the motivation to keep writing this story after years of it being on ice. 

[inconkit]

There's a brand new chapter, after years of letting this story sleeping! 

 

Chapter 6: Back to Dreamland

I am in the darkness. I can’t see anything. I can barely even feel myself, it’s like I’m floating in an ocean of void. From there, I can hear a voice, distant and echoing. I recognize it as my mother’s voice. She sounds upset. Very upset. She’s screaming. “She’s our daughter Gérard! We can’t abandon her, what are you even talking about? I’m appalled you’d even suggest it!”. I feel a chill go through my body. I hear my dad’s voice answering. His voice is booming and terrible. “This… is not our daughter. It might have been our daughter one day, but our daughter is dead!” The word dead hits me like a knife in the chest. What… are they talking about? Dead? Am I dead? What is going on? 

My dad continues, his screaming voice just as powerful and terrifying. “She died in that fucking pool Julia! You have to get that in your head! Léa is no more! You’ve been tending to this… to this vegetable for months now! What good is that doing you? That’s all you’ve been doing! You don’t work anymore! You don’t cook anymore! You don’t even take care of Mathieu… Do you know how hard it’s been for him?” This time I can hear my dad’s voice choking on sobs. “Julia, you have a family to care for and all you do is take care of this… thing that just eats and crap without giving us anything back in return!” The chill that had filled me has now turned to ice. A vegetable? What is even going on? Why are they talking about me this way? I feel myself filled with complete horror as the argument keeps going. 

I can hear my mom’s voice, distorted with a rage I’ve never heard in her. “Take… that… back… Gérard. You don’t mean that, you can’t possibly mean that. She is our daughter. Don’t you ever talk about our daughter that way you… monster.” My dad answers, his voice still roaring in my ears. “Oh I’m a monster now? I’m a monster for taking care of every fucking meal because you won’t do it? I’m a monster for being the sole breadwinner of this house? I’m a monster for taking Mathieu to practice? I’m a monster for telling him that his mom won’t be there because she has to stay home to watch the vegetable that used to be his sister? I’m a monster for telling him that we still care about him even though he’s now second place to… this? He’s ten Julia, do you think he can understand why his mom is abandoning him that way? Where were you when he scored his first goal last Saturday? He lost his big sister, for fuck’s sake, and now he’s lost his mom too! Julia, I’m not asking you to kill her, I’m asking you to bring her to a center where they’ll take care of her!”

My mom then throws an agonized scream that tears my heart to pieces. “I… I can’t, Gérard. I can’t! She’s my daughter! She’s my precious baby girl… I can’t… I can’t let her go!” She’s sobbing so hard her voice  is difficult to hear. 

For a little while, all I can hear are my mom’s sobs. When I hear my dad’s voice again, he sounds much calmer, though the sadness that pierces through it might be even worse in some ways. “Julia, I know it’s been hard for you. But this center isn’t the end. You’ve heard the doctors. Léa is not going to wake up, so we have to think about the future. Our future. You have to take care of yourself, to take care of your own family.” My mom’s voice has also calmed down when she speaks. “A part of me knows that you’re right. I know it’s not reasonable for me to take care of her 24/7 like I do but… but whenever I think about letting her go, all I can imagine is… What if she dies? What if my baby girl dies and she’s… and she’s all alone? What if she dies and her mama isn’t there?” She starts sobbing again. My dad sighs very hard and answers her after letting her sob for a time: “She’ll be in a nice place, Julia. I’ve spoken with Mrs Gratton, the owner, and her place is solid. She’s a doctor herself, and has been doing this for decades. It’s small, they have something like fifteen beds at most and their staff is there 24/7. I’ve seen the place. It's clean and warm and welcoming. Léa would be well taken care of. And they’re willing to keep her until she… To keep her as long as she needs it. It’s expensive, but you know money isn’t an issue for me. Please, Julia, would you at least visit the place with me? You deserve better than a life of changing dirty diapers and cleaning up feeding tubes, and your family needs you.”

A long silence follows. My mom’s voice sounds defeated when she speaks: “I’ll… I’ll think about it. For Mathieu. I know I haven’t been a good mom to him since Léa’s accident. I… I’m sorry, Gérard. I know I’m not rational about this. I know she won’t wake up, I just… I just want to be there for her, do you understand? I’m still her mother. It still means a lot to me.” My dad’s voice sounds hopeful as he answers: “You’ll still be her mother. You can visit as much as you want. It’s only a 30 minutes drive from here. And then you can have real moments with her, and leave all the chores to the staff.” After some silence, my mom answers once again: “I’ll think about it. That’s all I can promise you.” My dad’s voice echoes in the void I’m floating in as he answers: “That’s all I’m asking you right now.”

As the last echoes of my dad’s voice, I feel void I’m in starting to swirl. I feel myself spinning around as I’m floating upward, away from the void and away from that terrifying conversation I just heard. I slowly become aware that I am in my bed, and that this was a dream. Even now it’s starting to fade, but I have a feeling this was more than just a dream. This felt like a memory, like something that really happened. I remember the saying that people in a coma can hear what you’re saying. It would seem that in that moment, I was aware somehow, as they were discussing my fate. My father’s terrible words still ring in my mind. A vegetable. Already dead. Never waking up. I suppose he wasn’t quite wrong. It is very unlikely to wake up from a coma. My situation is very unusual. I’m reminded of how awkward my dad was when he first saw me. He thought I was dead, and now here I am. Not quite myself, mind you, actually a whole lot less than whatever I might have been, and will very likely never be all that much better. But still me, looking back at him when he must have thought it would never happen again. As the specifics of the dream fade away, I think of their discussion about Mathieu. My poor brother. I’ve seen my dad a few times since waking up, but Mathieu never came back. And I guess I can understand why. My reaction must have been traumatizing to him. Have I really been gone this long? I feel tears in my eyes as I think about all the time that has been taken away from me. I feel lost, and sad. My bedroom is darkened, it must still be nighttime. I fall back asleep wishing my mom was with me. My sweet mama who fought so hard to be by my side. 
 

[inconkit]

Chapter 7 : Another big step

I wake up that morning without much of any recollection of my nightmare. I still have general bad vibes from it, and I think I also remember being angry at my dad for some reason. Any thoughts about my dream are swiped away when I realize that the reason I woke up is that my Marie-Claude, my cheerful, chatty nurse, is currently in the middle of changing my night’s diaper. As usual, it is soaked, and as usual, I didn’t notice it happening in any way. After a few days, if not weeks (time is a little blurry for me and it’s hard for me to tell) of being in diapers all the time, I’m starting to get used to what it means. Whenever a nurse comes into the room, I’m entitled to a diaper check. If I’ve been awake for a while, I sometimes know that I’ve wet it previously, having felt it happen, but since I spend a lot of time sleeping, the state of my diaper is usually a bit of a mystery. With all that said, one thing that being in diapers has highlighted even more is the fact that I haven’t had a single bowel movement since waking up. Not that I want it to happen, but it does feel pretty unusual. With that said, it does make a lot of sense considering I also haven’t had any kind of food or even water orally. I’m supposing all my water and nutrients are coming from the solute bag that permanently accompanies me, but I didn’t know this was possible until I experienced it. I do think I remember Marie-Claude saying something about eating a while ago, but I don’t really trust my broken brain to actually remember anything with any kind of certitude, especially considering that I can’t understand most of what everyone around me is saying. 

As Marie-Claude finishes taping the fresh diaper around my crotch, chatting away the whole time, I can see Soraya entering the room. As usual, seeing Soraya fills me with warm feelings. Since my first time in the wheelchair, Soraya has been getting me into it a few times more. It is still an overwhelming experience when she does, but at least I can now manage without fainting. Usually, we only go for a short ride around the center and I’m immediately brought back to my bedroom. Unsurprisingly, they do avoid the living room, which makes sense considering the sensory overload this was for me last time I was there. With that in mind, it wasn’t any surprise for me when Soraya started manipulating my tiny frame to get me into my wheelchair. What was unusual is what happened after I got strapped in it. After getting the last strap in place, Soraya looked at me and pointed at her mouth while saying “How about we try hydrating you orally, today?”. Despite being unable to understand the words she said, the gesture she made at her mouth makes it obvious: She wants to make me drink today. 

Soraya keeps talking, presumably explaining to me what she’s going to do: “Since you have been having such a huge reaction to feeding tubes while you were in your coma, we’re gonna have to go directly from solutes to oral hydration. We’re gonna have to be very careful, but you can’t stay chronically dehydrated the way you’ve been, especially now that you’ve started being more active. But don’t you worry, we’ll start you easy and I’ll be there every step of the way.” I often wonder why everyone bothers saying so much stuff to me when it seems obvious I can’t understand most of it. The way they change their tone of voice to make it more singsongy whenever they’re talking to me makes it obvious that they intend the words for me, but it doesn’t seem like they’re making any special effort for me to understand them. I suppose it’s not dissimilar to the way people talk to their dogs or infants. They know I don’t understand, but they still enjoy talking to me. And maybe they see it as a way to keep me stimulated or something? I know I do appreciate the talking, if only to make me feel less alone. I might not get the meaning of most words, but I do get the tone of it, and it’s a bit reassuring to know they care enough to talk to me this way. I sometimes feel like their tone sounds a little bit too close to baby talk, which is somewhat humiliating, but considering that I’m pretty much reduced to a drooling infant anyway, it makes sense that this is how they’d communicate with me. Some, like my chatty nurse Marie-Claude, lean very heavily towards the “baby talk” while others, like Dr. Brodeur, almost never use it. Among everyone however, Soraya seems to strike the perfect balance of speaking in a soothing way that doesn’t make me feel too infantilized. In fact, her voice fills me with a nervous confidence and a desire to make her proud. 

She’s now looking directly at me, and she sounds serious. “Now your throat and stomach have been empty for weeks. Normally, you never should have been on solutes as long as you were, but we didn’t know you were gonna wake up. Today we’re gonna feed you thickened water. It’s literally just water with a bit of jelly in it to make it easier to swallow. We don’t know yet if you’re able to swallow, but we’re gonna try, because unless you start feeding orally by yourself, we are gonna have to get the feeding tubes out to prevent your digestive tract from atrophying any more than it likely already has. Now you don’t remember it, but your body really dislikes feeding tubes. So we’ll do all we can to avoid it, ok?” There isn’t much I can understand in there except that they’re going to feed me water, and that it seems to be a really big deal. I start feeling nervous. 

I see Marie-Claude enter the room with a tray that has a glass of what looks to be water on it. I also notice a piece of cloth folded next to the glass. After bringing the tray next to my wheelchair, my cheerful nurse takes the piece of cloth and unfolds it. It's a weirdly shaped, pink sheet with plastic backing and, seeing the shape, I finally realize that this is a bib. She starts wrapping it around my shoulders and fastens it behind my neck. Why I’d need a bip to drink water is beyond me, but I feel like there is much I don’t quite yet understand about the situation.  She then takes the tray and slides it on the arms of my wheelchair, which seems designed to be able to take it. And just like that, my wheelchair has basically been converted to a high chair. With the tray so close to me, I can see that next to the glass of water is a straw and a spoon. First, Soraya takes the straw and dunks it in the glass. She then says: “I have little hopes that this will work, but if you are able to drink from a straw this will definitely make things much easier in the future. Now I’m gonna bring the straw to your lips, and I want you to try drinking from it!” As she’s talking, she brings the straw close to my lips and mimes sucking from it. I know what she wants me to do, so I try to do it. The first challenge is to close my mouth around the straw. Ever since I woke up, my mouth has been stuck in a semi open position from which I’ve been drooling ever since. With a lot of effort, I think I’m somewhat able to close my mouth around the straw, though it doesn’t feel very secure and I doubt I could hold that position for long. I then try to suck from the straw, but I realize that my mouth just doesn’t seem to have the strength nor coordination to do it. I can feel that I’m moving my tongue and I do when swallowing my saliva, and I’m trying my best to use it to suck water up the straw, but it’s just not possible, and no water makes it to the tip of the straw. Frustrated, I spit the straw out of my mouth and let out a scream. Why is this so hard? Why can’t I even drink water? I get agitated as frustration is filling me. Why me? Why can’t I be normal? I’m barely aware of the world around me, or of the fact that I’ve started bawling and kicking my legs and arms as much as my feeble muscles would allow them. I feel so angry and powerless I can’t help myself. 

After a few moments I regain a bit of my consciousness of the world around me and I notice that Soraya is gently stroking my hair while trying to soothe me. She seems completely calm. Her words do succeed at making me calm down. “It’s ok Léa, it’s ok, it’s alright. I know this is frustrating to you, I know my poor dear. You’re gonna be ok. We’re gonna try another way, ok? I thought this might not work and I got us a plan B.” At this point I’ve finally managed to get my emotions back under some semblance of control and I’m just listening to her voice. I see Soraya pick up a spoon from the tray in front of me and realize the straw wasn’t the only method they had thought of to feed me. Spoon feeding water to someone sounds like an awfully tedious chore, but it might actually be better than unsuccessfully trying to feed off of the damn straw. 

Soraya picks up the spoon and dips it in the glass. The spoon is covered in brightly colored silicon, and seems to be deep enough to contain a fair bit of water. Despite the blurriness of my vision, it seems like the water behaves in a strange way as she dips the spoon in it. The way it’s moving, it almost looks like it’s viscous, like a sort of watery pudding. Now that I look at it better, it also has a very whitish hue. Is this even water? I’m pretty sure I heard her say water, so why doesn’t it look like water? I’m now doubting that I’ve actually heard right, which I suppose wouldn’t be so surprising given my stupid brain. As she approaches my mouth with the spoon, I wonder what the heck is in there. It’s definitely nothing I’ve ever seen before. When the spoon reaches my mouth, she lightly taps it on the side of my lips, coaxing them into opening. I’m still insecure about whatever is in there, but I know I completely trust Soraya, and know she wouldn’t feed me anything dangerous, so I accept the spoonful of stuff in my mouth. The texture and taste surprise me, and I reflexively spit it out, which makes it drip down onto my bib and prompts Soraya to laugh. It wasn’t exactly bad, but my brain really doesn’t know what this was. It was mostly tasteless aside from a very subtle sweetness to it. The texture was definitely the weirdest aspect to it, however. It was like having oatmeal, but without any of the oat in it, with nothing but the starchy thick water left. I wonder what it is, but feel bad for spitting it out. Soraya, however, doesn’t seem phased out in the least by it, and already has another spoon ready. 

This time I’m ready for it, and I brace myself for the weird taste as she brings the spoon to my mouth. As with the straw, I feel like all the movements to properly swallow the spoonful of weird water are there, but sluggish and uncoordinated. Even with the very small quantity contained in the spoon, it feels like too much and most of it dribbles out of my mouth and onto my bib before I can finish swallowing. The tiny quantity I end up swallowing ends up being barely more than I would swallow with my saliva. However, my mouth does feel moister than it has in a while, and I feel like I’m progressing, especially given Soraya’s cheering. The taste is still a bit off putting, but I’m ready when Soraya arrives with a third spoonful. This time, things line up much better, and I must have been able to swallow about half of the content of the spoon, with the rest dribbling down to my bib like the previous ones. Soraya almost seems ecstatic about my progress, and I can’t help but feel proud of it. It feels like another step, however tiny it may be, towards gaining back some semblance of autonomy. Soraya keeps feeding me spoonful after spoonful. Most of the thickened water still ends up on my bib, but I can feel my mouth and throat moisten from the liquid, and it makes me realize how dry they’ve been this whole time. 

After a few spoonfuls, my stomach starts feeling full, which I realize I haven’t felt once since waking up from my coma. At first I find the sensation interesting, but soon I realize my stomach is not taking it. I feel a wave of nausea hit me, and just as Soraya is about to bring another spoon to my mouth, I have one hiccup which is quickly followed by what was very likely everything I’ve just ingested. The whole thing, now mixed in with saliva and stomach acids has joined the rest of my spills on my bib and tray. Soraya quickly starts saying reassuring words, probably assuming me to go on another tantrum. However, I’m feeling too messed up to have a tantrum. I feel myself slump in my chair, and, as is now usual for me, lose consciousness once again. As the lights go off, however, I feel something of a subtle pride. Sure I did puke everything out, but I did manage to drink a few spoonful of whatever that stuff was before that. I did it. Maybe I can do this. Maybe I’ll be fine. 
 

[inconkit]

Here's a short chapter for you guys. I hope you guys enjoy it! Thank you again for reading and reacting, it means a lot to me and keeps me motivated. 


Chapter 8: Settling in

The following days were pretty much routine. As weird as my situation was, I was getting into the routine of sleeping, waking up to a diaper change and clean up, having my frail body stretched and moved, and now was added the new element of being strapped in my wheelchair turned high chair with a bib on to ingest thickened water. At first, my stomach was unable to take more than a few spoonfuls of the stuff before throwing up, so it seemed like Soraya was aiming to start with very little of it and progressively get to more. And after a few days, it did become more. Of course, most of it still did end up on the bib because of my horrible muscle coordination, but what I did manage to successfully ingest became more and more, and I was able to do that without fainting, though I did puke again a few more times. I was also noticing the effect of having better hydration. The more water they got into me, the longer it felt I was able to stay awake before falling back asleep again. Of course, it also showed in my diaper, which I noticed now had to be changed more often than before. I suspect it still isn’t enough for them to remove my saline, however.  The plastic bag is still permanently attached to my arm with a tube, without any sign of being removed. 

There’s also the issue of the water stuff they’ve been feeding me, which doesn't look like it has any nutritional value to it. It makes me wonder if I’ll ever eat again, though once again I seem to remember my nurse saying I would. I suppose my stomach is still too fragile to handle any kind of food yet. With that said, at this point in time, I do notice that my tolerance for water has gotten better. It takes a very long time to feed it to me, which makes me wonder if they’ll ever find a more efficient method than just spooning everything into my mouth like an infant eating gruel. The thought crosses my mind that since I’m already infantilized as much as I am, they might as well get the baby analogy all the way and try feeding me from a baby bottle. The thought makes me chuckle a bit. I’m still feeling a bit weird about the whole infantilizing thing that comes with my condition. On one hand, I’m really grateful to be alive, and I know everybody is taking great care of me, given my circumstances. I also do have moments of real levity, especially when my mom visits or when I’m around Soraya. On the other hand, despite my extremely blurry memory, I do still get flashes of my old life from time to time. In those moments, when I vaguely remember going out with friends and family, going to school, walking to the bus stop… In those moments I feel pangs of deep sadness. My current situation has made my life so small in comparison, reducing it to one room, a few people and a rigid routine of basically being treated like a baby. In those moments I miss my past autonomy very deeply, and sometimes even wonder if waking up was even worth it if it means being stuck that way. Having those thoughts can sometimes send me into a bit of a frenzy, and I often end up breaking into bawling, which always gets someone to show up to try to calm me down. Those tantrums of mine often make me wonder if there might be something wrong in my brain with emotional control. Considering how broken the rest of my brain is, that wouldn’t be very surprising. 

There’s also all the constant aches and pains, which are just a fact of my life now. My crooked back especially seems to be taking very poorly to moving again after what must have been years of near complete immobility. My body is also covered in bed sores, which are slowly getting better as I’m moving towards a more active lifestyle, but which still hurts a lot. Worst of all, however, are the headaches. Those can happen seemingly at random, and feel like someone is drilling in my brain with a power tool, and they are often the sign that I’m about to have another one of my all too common seizures. If the emotional pain of my lost life makes me wonder about the purpose of being awake, the physical pain of those headaches definitely make the idea of staying down in the darkness even more enticing. 

The only real levity through all of this really is the warmth of the people around me. As much as it can sometimes make me feel silly, I really do appreciate how everyone makes such an effort at being nice to me. While my poor emotional control sometimes makes me lash out into tantrums when I get frustrated, and their efforts to calm me down with cooing noises and soft words can aggravate me even more rather than reduce my anger, I still do feel very grateful for their presence in my life. Be it my peppy nurse Marie-Claude, my mom or Soraya, they have become my whole life, and I know I owe my very survival to them. I do literally trust them with my life, and this brings about a level of gratefulness I don’t remember ever having felt in my entire life. This bedroom and institution now feel like my entire universe, and I do wonder if I’ll ever even feel ready to go out in the real world. I try to avoid thinking of the great white expense I glimpsed from the living room window, which I have returned to a few times now, but always avoid looking at because of how terrifying it seems. I also try to avoid thinking about my brother, who reminds me how long I’ve been out. This often leads me to think about my friends, whom I can barely even remember. How would I react to seeing them? How have they changed? It feels a bit weird that none of them have visited yet, when I’ve now been awake for at least a few weeks now, though I feel thankful for it, thinking about my reaction to seeing my brother’s face. For now, I think I really do prefer for my world to stay small. It feels safer that way, and closer to the darkness that I’ve lived in for the past years. 

[Hugo]

Hi!

 

Any chance, that you would continue this story? It would be great tho know, how the protagonist's life continues to evolve.

[inconkit]

 

3 hours ago, Hugo said:

Hi!

 

Any chance, that you would continue this story? It would be great tho know, how the protagonist's life continues to evolve.

Thank you for your comment! I have to admit I've allowed the writing of that story to fall by the wayside, but I haven't forgotten about it and a new chapter might be coming up soon! These kind of comments sure help with my motivation! ^^