Is It Monday

I want to keep my eyes open but it’s impossible most of the time. A tiny piece of fluff dances back and forth as the fan whirrs around, and I try to look to my right as it floats away but it’s lost. Am I lost? I can’t think straight – if it’s Monday then what did I do on the weekend? I should have played netball – do I still play? Maybe it’s Tuesday – cheap movie night. What did I last see at the movies? Was it‘Jaws’? I think that was further back than last week – maybe, maybe not. Is it January? What day is it? I silently cry out – then nothing…no thoughts, just blank.

I am a butterfly carried gently by a cool breeze, landing on the soft green forest floor. No sound can be heard anywhere. It’s as if time has stood still and I’m not sure if I’m alive or not. The urge to wake is strong but a barrier persists and I can’t quite reach it to push it away. I feel desperation for some reason that I can’t understand. I’m willing myself to open my eyes.

“She’s awake” I hear voices. “No she isn’t, it’s just that her eye lids are quivering but she does wake up sometimes now. You just sit and wait. I’m going to get a coffee, call me if her eyes open”.

The slight touch of a hand on my face, brushing my hair off my cheek seems to give me the will power or whatever it is to lift a lid. It feels like a heavy weight as if my eyelashes are made of metal. I look with one eye at the person in the chair next to me but can’t turn my head so it’s a strain.

“Oh Bella you’re awake my beautiful girl. Here let me move so you can see me properly. That’s better. I’ll ring for the nurse to let her know you are awake. Sandy’s just gone for a coffee but she won’t be long”.

Another voice comes into the room and it sounds authoritarian. The light seems too bright for the sunshine through a curtain, so I think it must be night time. I remember vaguely that the last time I opened my eyes it was day time. I’m sure it was the same day but I don’t know. “Hello Bella. I’ve come to empty your bag, and then put another fluid bag up so you can start to fill it up again! “Excuse me Mum” the nurse said to Bella’s mother, “I’ll just pull the curtain while I change Bella’s bag – won’t be long”.

Bella’s mum Jean was used to the curtains being pulled for bag changing, dressing changing, checking different tubes and taking blood pressure. It had been going on for a long time now and who knows when it would end. She had slowly come out of the coma they had put her into and was now awake and compos although it was a long road ahead. The night of the accident when she answered the knock on the door to see two policemen standing there, shiny badges and solemn faces, ready to give her the bad news about the accident seemed a lifetime away.

She remembered thinking they had lost Bella and how the anxiety and fear she felt was almost unbearable. She still felt like that sometimes.

The familiar sound of the curtains being pulled back, the plastic curtain rings sliding across metal rails joined the sound of the whirring, gentle beeping and beating of the machines next to the bed. Sandy brought in two coffees for her mother and herself. “Oh Bella, you’re awake. I can’t wait for the day that you can join us for a cappuccino!” she said smiling as she took her sisters hand. “But I will help you to sip your water. Here I’ll bend the straw for you, sip slowly love. Gosh you’re thirsty. It is a bit warm in this room though”.

My mind seemed a little clearer, more awake - whatever I was given from the tiny plastic cup tipped onto my tongue, has given me a little clarity as well as dulling the pain throughout my body. My sister sat on the edge of my bed and looked me over. “You are doing really well Bella”. I was trying to remember when I last saw or heard the voices of my sister and mother – yesterday I think…or was it last week? Worry crept into my head…’I don’t even know what day it is?’

I think of what my sister said and try to understand what ‘well’ could mean. I was lying on my back with my head in some sort of neck brace looking either straight ahead or up at the ceiling. As far as I could ascertain I had tubes attached to me and inserted goodness knows where and I didn’t really know much about anything. Well if they think I’m doing well now I hazily contemplate what I was like in the beginning.

I want to talk but words won’t come from my mouth, just quiet little sounds. I’m saying “What happened to me and what day or month is it?” but my mother leans right into my face, nearly suffocating me with all of her hair, so it doesn’t make it any easier.

“It’s ok my darling. Don’t try to talk. We’ve been told that you hurt your vocal cords in the accident. Get your rest, that’s the main thing. There will be plenty of time to talk”.

I try to reach for her arm to squeeze it and let her know that I understood what she was saying but I don’t have the strength to move my arm, and once again I’m floating away. High up into the clouds I drift, weightless, looking down on the forest where I’ve been before. I hear voices humming in the background and I look around to see no one. The fluffy clouds are damp on my face as I softly land against them and my face feels damp and moist.

“I think she was dreaming” I hear someone say “When she opened her eyes there were tears in them and some were rolling down her cheeks. That must be a good sign that she can dream and show emotion” they said, hopeful.

They all eventually left, my mother promising that my father would be in as usual after he finished work. I can’t remember him coming in to see me before now.

I can make out the familiar dark suit and grey hair of the man walking into my room. I feel comforted by the sight of my father. Somehow his strength of character and caring nature envelope me as he leans down to kiss my forehead. “Hello my beautiful girl. I’m so glad you are awake this visit. I’ve wanted to see your bright brown eyes for a while now and the nurse just been told by the nurse that you are awake much more during each day which is a great sign. You really did have us worried Bella”. He pulled his chair closer to the bed and I could smell the familiar after shave he wore. “Before I forget to tell you sweetie, I have love and hugs to give you from Jennifer, Lilian and Geoff, and Leah said to tell you she will be in to visit you as soon as you are allowed extra visitors, and….” My father’s voice was growing quiet and my eyes were shutting. His soft melodic voice trailed off to a slight whisper.

When I awoke he had gone. I had no idea what time it was but when the night nurse came in she said he had left several hours ago and said to tell me he would be back tomorrow.

When I could stay awake for longer than a few minutes I learnt the extent of the accident and of my injuries. It was pretty bad, one of those accidents I used to read about, somewhere, and think “wow, they’re lucky to be alive”.

It took months to get to the stage where I could  have physio – painful, tiring and repetitive exercises. My body was gradually getting stronger physically but my memory was very ‘hit and miss’. I couldn’t remember a lot of things from the past and was told that because of the trauma to my brain, long term memory would perhaps one day kick in fully and surprise me, but to me that wasn’t good news.

It’s a strange feeling when you are sitting talking to a friend and even though they seem familiar in many ways, they don’t feel like old friends. Julia tried hopefully to get me to think back to our days at University and the fun we had together in the common room and long late nights at the pub but I just couldn’t. Even though each person told you ‘it doesn’t matter about the past, all that is important is the fact that we have the’ here and now’ and we will always be friends’ it really did matter to me. Frustration lived inside you, just simmering below the surface bubbling to the top at times, mixing with the disappointment of how things still were.

I had heard the same old words over and over from caring and concerned family and friends ‘Don’t worry about what you can’t remember. You’re lucky to be alive and we are over the moon that you are here with us. We don’t mind that you can’t recall certain things we all did together” they would tell me, smiling and hugging me, but part of me wasn’t here and I missed that bit of me.

They all collected me from the hospital, relief and love written on their faces as we walked through the glass door from where I had spent the last seven months and back to relative normality. I did feel happy that I was alive and ready to start again and one of the most important feelings I had was one of relief when I could once again name what day it was.