Day 17 - Only Laugh - Chapter 17 (1245 words)

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ONLY LAUGH WHEN IT HURTS

By Wayne Webb

CHAPTER 17

The water was draining away from his face, he could feel the weight of his body returning around him, heavy and immobile. He didn't remember going swimming, just here he is slowly ascending through water.

Slowly, so very slowly rising up, the water thinning as the light grew brighter. It felt surreal, like it was happening in slow motion. Was this drowning?

A slight panic tried to take hold, but instead he just kept rising, like his state of mind had nothing to do with his body. Perhaps he should flail his arms, try a free style stroke to get to the surface faster, yet his hands and arms did not move in response.

There was plenty of time to assess his situation and formulate some ideas, that was how slow and languid this rising felt like. His lungs were not bursting, he felt no need to panic, though his mind suggested it was an appropriate option. The light was getting stronger, brilliant white sun over head. Around the edges of the pool, (Am I in a pool?) heads were towering over silhouetted bodies, three no four of them craning towards the apex above him, were he was surfacing in the direction of the sunshine.

The faces came from shapes to coloured blurs and then settled on impressionistic paintings of what people would look like, approximately. He drew a deep breath, and then tried to brush the water away from his face. His arm was barely moving, it had a leaden quality about it, thickened syrup infused his bones and it lolled about rather than obeying explicitly.

Water was not dripping and then it came to him that he did not feel wet. It didn't feel like a dream, not that he could think right here and now. Everything was still a little blurry, but second by second the haze was lifting and he could see faces in greater detail.

Faces he did not know. Behind them the sun was not a sun at all, but a white lamp in a ring, shining down on him suffused brilliance and clinically clean. So this was not a pool outside but a room inside. His head swivelled like it was on rusted wheels and the weight of his head felt like a burden as it moved trying to support it's own mass.

As focus returned he saw his legs stretched out before him, not underneath him as expected. This sudden reorientation in his head made him reel and he felt the floor give way beneath him and he fell down to the ground.

No, that's not right either.

I'm not on the ground, I am lying down on a bed.

A hospital bed? How did I get here? Did I pass out while swimming? Did I drown?

The unknown faces wore white coats and a nurses uniform and a pinprick of light waved unceremoniously close to his eyes and the doctor leaned in also far to near for comfort.

“Tony, can you hear me?”

Are they talking to me?

“Hello, can you hear me?” Fingers snapped jarringly around his ears, making him jump slowly and slightly as much as he could to get away from the invasiveness of this examination.

“What the hell?” He tried to say but all he heard was a rasping noise of sandpaper scratching on wood. He tried clearing his throat and lifted a hand to massage his neck, he needed water. Something snagged his arm and he looked down to see an intravenous drip tube stuck into his arm. An arm that looked thin and bony and not like it belonged to him, but to some prisoner of war or eating disorder patient too far gone to see it's despairing nature.

Is that my arm?

This was very confounding, what the hell was going on?

“Get some water please nurse.” One of the uniforms left leaving the three other head surrounding him.

“Tony, do you know where you are?” The eyes were boring into him looking for something, recognition perhaps? Maybe only even a sign of cognition if nothing else.

“Who?” He croaked out finally.

The faces dropped back, looking at each other two of them shaking their heads at the third who smiled a little smugly at this development. He took over confidently bringing himself front and centre.

“Can you tell me your name?” Followed by an intent stare as burrowing as the previous head had been.

“I..”

Oh now that is, um, interesting. I do not recall, I cannot recall, I...

There was no look or feeling of panic or hysteria, yet academically the man felt that it was a justified response given the situation.

A different nurse brought him a non-spill cup with a straw and water flowed welcomingly into his mouth, absorbed immediately and then trickling into his throat. That felt cool and soothing, lubricant for his feelings as well as his dryness.

“Can you tell me the last thing you remember?”

“I... uh...” Speech was coming easier if tiresome, like each word had to be shouted at a great volume. “I was … um … swimming. I think?”

“Right, right, yes.” He turned to someone the man could not see from his position and added “You getting this, hit record... no on the left... the red... just make sure you get it all.”

“Right, yes. Can you tell me your name?”

He had a minute or two to think but it made little difference.

“I guess I can't.” Bizarrely calm, knowing it should be worrisome but unaffected.

“Well it's to be expected, we can keep an eye on ...”

“Why can't I move?” He gestured weakly, his arms rising a little more than an inch from the bed.

“Well as I said it's to be expected, some amnesia, some weakness of the limbs and general deteriorating of the body. Your brain activity has been quite strong and the amnesia is not necessarily a sign of brain damage.” The doctor was ticking off a mental list now, not really conversing to the patient, more reciting his ability and knowledge to the others there. The unseen students or interns or whatever he had would be taking furious notes and formulating their own lists, validating them against the senior consultants one.

“Did I drown?” He still felt confused by how he got from the pool to here.

“No, no. Look we have to keep an eye on you for a while and see if your memory comes back. It's entirely possible that this is just you in the process of waking up. It's been almost 22 months and it's our experience with coma patients that you need to leave them to find their way at first. The patient can often describe symptoms that...”

“Excuse me?”

“Yes?”

“Are you talking to me, in the abstract about me?”

The doctor looked amused.

“Well your mind is obviously function quite well despite the localised memory issues.” His smile was lost on the patient.

“I've been in a coma for two years?”

“You were … in an accident. And yes, as of Wednesday it will have been twenty two months since the bus... since the incident.” The doctor looked at his colleagues across the bed and then quickly added “Today is Monday. If that helps at all.”

It did not.