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Part One
It feels like days. I'd give anything to have this end but, at the same time, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world right now. Well.... given the situation of course. Obviously I'd much rather be at home with my wife. Maybe, if things were different, we would be on a vacation right now. She loved to travel. Nothing made her feel more alive than touching down in a strange city and trying to act like one of the locals. I can still remember the smile on her face as we sat in a café in Paris on our honeymoon. She looked up at me and smiled wider than I've ever seen her smile before. She laughed and took a sip of her coffee before sighing and saying "I love this." And now I look at her... unresponsive in a bed beside me.... and I can't help but wonder what she's thinking. Is she thinking anything? I have no idea and no way to ever know. What goes through someone's mind when they're in a coma? Do they realize what is going on? Do they understand the situation they're in? Is she screaming inside her head right now, terrified that she'll never come out of this? Or is it peaceful? Is she just alone with her thoughts, no longer bothered by the chaos of modern life? That's how I like to picture her: relaxed and calm and at peace with her situation. It's a good thing she can't see me though. If she could see my nervous shuffling, my occasional emotional breakdowns, my bouts of uncontrollable tears and the look of complete and utter desperation in my eyes she would probably be terrified. I know I am. I've never been so scared in my entire life. Even when I was lying in a hospital bed just like this one, my neck throbbing with unbelievable pain, I wasn't this scared. I knew I would get out of that. I knew that somehow, someway I would be able to walk again. I don't know how or why, but I just knew it. Right now.... right now nothing is a certainty. She could be in this coma for another few months or longer. She could snap out of it tomorrow. The doctors have said that the swelling on her brain has gone down and it's possible that she could wake up when her body is ready. Of course, she could also die. And here comes another one of those bouts of uncontrollable crying. I instinctively turn away from her as the tears begin to stream down my face. Why? I don't know. It's not like she can see me. But she's still there... she's still a person... she still my wife... and I can't just sit beside her and cry. I can't. I have to do something to retain my dignity... and to retain hers. It's a very strange situation right now. I know she's there. I know she's my wife. I can see her. I can feel her. But, at the same time, she's gone. Her eyes don't open. Her breath is shallow and assisted by machinery. Her skin is slightly cold. She's lying right beside me, but she's not really. She's somewhere in between life and death. Somewhere I cannot go. And so here I sit, keeping a silent vigil beside her body. Sometimes I talk to her. I have no idea if she can hear me or if she is capable of understanding anymore, but I still talk. I tell her when it's sunny outside. Every morning I open up the window blinds beside her bed and I tell her about the weather. "It's a nice day today Jessica." To be truthful, a day I spend inside a hospital at the bedside of my comatose wife can never be considered a "nice day." But, for her, I keep up appearances. I tell her about the news, I tell her about my life, I tell her about our dog. My days are filled with one way conversations about what our friends have been up to, and how our relatives are doing and what the government is debating today. "There are some kids playing in the field beside the hospital, Jessica. I think they're playing soccer. It's hard to see from here, but they're kicking a ball around for sure. Are you feeling okay today?" She never answers. Honestly, I never expect her to. But out of common courtesy I feel the need to ask her. I always say "hello" when I walk into the room. I always tell her I'll "be right back" whenever I step out for a moment. And I always say "goodnight" when I leave in the evening. I have to. To walk into the room, see my wife, and not say a word would seem too unnatural. It seems to impersonal. She's still there. Behind all of those medical devices is my wife. She may be surrounded by tubes and drips and monitors... but she's still there. Or is she? These days are long. I usually spend them by myself. Sometimes I read the paper. "There's a hockey game on tonight Jessica. It's gonna be a good one!" Most of the time I sit at her bedside, lost in my own thoughts. In many ways I am in a coma with her. I speak only to her. Occasionally a doctor or nurse steps into the room, but they're usually too busy to bother with me. They do their work and then rush out again. Otherwise we are alone. Both of us trapped in our own worlds inside our heads. I have no idea what she is thinking, but I am fully engrossed in my own thoughts. And my thoughts are as random as they could possibly be. I think about her. I think about what she must be thinking. I think about the night she got into the accident; how I wasn't there. I think about the months that have passed since that night and I wonder when I will ever get to hear her voice again. And then my thoughts drift. They spiral into depression and I find myself thinking of ending it all. For both of us. A darkness seeps into my brain every so often and it lingers there for days. It clouds every single thing I do, making it all seem meaningless. Nothing is worth anything. My life is ruined. I sit beside my unresponsive wife and I cry. My body is broken down. Sitting still for hours every day is reeking havoc on my neck and my knees. I bones crack and ache every time I stand. And yet my mind wanders further. It eventually slides past the dark cloud of depression and it descends deeper into madness. My head starts to hurt. My heart starts to hurt. Soon I can no longer feel the pain in my joints.... my mind is focused on a greater pain: the void inside my heart and the despair within my soul. I long for many things. I desperately want Jessica to wake up. I feel so alone. Without her, I have no one. Without her, I have nothing. No one to love. No one to love me. No place to go. I cannot stay in my house for long, for it is no longer a home. It is a shell that begs to be occupied by a family once again. But the family it seeks has been destroyed. It has been silenced by a reckless alcoholic behind the wheel of a pick-up truck. And I'm left with no place to go. No one to turn to. I want to spend the rest of my life at Jessica's side, but this is getting to me. Sitting in this stiff, plastic chair for hours at a time, staring at these white, sterile walls, listening to the gentle whirl of some machines and the rhythmic beeping of others... I can't do it any longer. I can't. I can't. I'm sorry Jessica. I have to go. I have to. I'm in pain. Emotional pain. Physical pain. Spiritual pain. The dark cloud that looms over me isn't leaving this time. It is just getting darker. There is no light. There is no hope. There is nothing but pain. This hospital room has become my jail cell. I can't believe I feel this way, but I need to leave. I'm sorry Jessica. I know that what you are going through is a million time worse than how I feel right now, but I cannot do this any longer. My will to live is dying inside this building. My sanity is slowly drifting away. I need to go. I need to be Home CONTINUE |