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“Ifhe wakes.”
No…no…no!
I demand my body to wake from this awful nightmare, but I can’t because Iamawake. This horrible reality is real—it’s my reality. My mind allowed me a moment of reprieve, but now I’m back—back in hell.
I fake sleep as the nurses prattle on about Samuel’s condition, each word tearing down the pillars of strength I tried so hard to build.
When they finally leave, I raise my weary head from the mattress and peer up at Samuel, who is illuminated by the soft glow of the light above his head. Slipping my hand into his still one, my engagement ring catches the light, confirming what I have to do as I vow, “They’re wrong, Sam. You will wake and when you do, everything will be all right. I won’t give up on you, on us. I promise.” My eyes are dry, I can no longer cry.
I don’t know whether he can hear or feel me, but I don’t care. Squeezing his fingers, a new sense of determination hums through my body and I vow to prove those nurses, those doctors wrong.
Four
Day four is absolutely nobetter than day one, two, or three, especially since there’s been no change in Samuel’s condition. Dr. Kepler said this was perfectly normal and these things take time, but I was impatient. I was also a woman on a mission to do all I could to speed up any small progress Sam might make.
I had read that many people who came out of a coma confirmed they could hear and sense everything that was going on around them. They may not have been able to communicate, but they were very aware of the world moving around them. This fact cemented what I had to do.
Since my discovery, I made it my job to talk to Sam every chance I got. And if I wasn’t talking, or reading, or singing to him, his parents, my parents, his friends—hell, even books on audio and my iPod were doing it for me. It didn’t matter that there were no improvements. It just felt good to know I was doing something to help Sam. I’ve barely left his bedside, only taking a break when I needed to use the restroom or stretch out my legs. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Today he’s listening to a mix of Top 40 on my iPod. I figure if anyone can wake someone from a coma it’s the annoying voice of Kanye West.
I’m sitting in the world’s most uncomfortable chair doing a crossword puzzle. My aching muscles scream in protest as I tuck my leg beneath me, getting comfortable for another long day ahead. Just like I do every other day, I plan on replaying our future to Sam. I share my dreams and goals, and where I see us in fifty years. It doesn’t matter that he can’t reply because I know he feels the same way. I avoid talking about the past, as I only want to focus on our future.
“Okay, I need your smarts to help me with two across, nine letters. Phonological awareness consists of…blank…and analysis skills.” I tap my pencil against the paper, racking my brain for the answer.
I peer up while I’m in the midst of asking for a little help, but I suddenly freeze, wheezing in utter disbelief. As the painful seconds tick by, I’m almost afraid to breathe. And I’m definitely too frightened to move. But when I see it again, I jar upright, rubbing my eyes.
“Sam?” I whisper, terrified that what I saw was my imagination playing a cruel trick.
Rising at a pace akin to a sloth, my eyes never waver from Samuel as I beg him to do it again. I beg him to…move his eyelids. It was a mere flicker, but it was a flicker of hope. “Samuel, can you hear me? It’s Lucy.”
I stand, blinking in disbelief as I swallow down my panic and sheer anticipation at what comes next. Shuffling closer and closer, with arms rigid by my side, I furl my fingers into my palms, my nails imprinting crescent moons into my flesh. But I welcome the pain as it confirms that this is real.
“Sam?” The air is charged with a heavy undercurrent, weighing down my entire soul. I gasp and almost fall over my feet. I saw it. The flicker of hope shines brighter than before.
Diving for the call button, I buzz the nurse before skidding on the linoleum as I run towards the door. “I need a doctor!” I shout louder than I have ever bellowed before. The entire hallway looks my way, the nurses thankfully understanding that this is an emergency as they scamper off in different directions.
Dashing back into Sam’s room, I sprint over to his bed, securing his hand in mine. “Sam, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can.” With everything that I am, I will him to give me a sign that he can hear me. Please god, give me a sign.
“What’s happened, Ms. Tucker?” Dr. Kepler asks, rushing into the room.
“He moved his eyes!” I reveal, clutching Sam’s hand. “Three times, I think! But definitely twice.”
“Did he open them?” He reaches into his pocket and produces a pen light. He politely pushes me aside.
“No, but his eyelids flickered. That’s a good sign, right? Right?” I ask again, almost begging when he doesn’t answer.
I intently watch on, biting my nails as Dr. Kepler gently lifts Sam’s upper eyelids and moves the light from side to side. “Samuel? Can you hear me?” he shouts, continuing his examination. “Samuel Stone, can you hear me?” Removing the ear buds, he claps loudly, inches from Samuel’s temple.
The wait is excruciating and I bounce on the spot, looking over his shoulder, awaiting a sign. Nurses and another doctor come charging in, pushing me against the wall as they frantically talk about things I have no knowledge about. They tear off Sam’s sheet, ignoring his modesty as they run a gadget which looks like a knitting needle along the soles of his feet.
The room is pandemonium for minutes, but when the panic dies down and they replace the blanket, tucking Samuel back in, I know the news is not good.
“Doctor?” I ask, beseeching him to tell me good news.
He sighs, writing something down on Sam’s chart. “Ms. Tucker, nothing has changed.”
“No, that can’t be.” I point to Samuel’s bed. “There must be some mistake. I saw it. His eyes, they moved.”
