All I see is white; the brightness of this colour almost blinds me, the mist limits itself to the height of my ankles as it sweeps through my bare feet. Silence crams the air as I wait. Still I hear a noise, in the distance someone is speaking, to me? No, not to me, I am nowhere; there is nothing here, no atmosphere or surroundings, no wall, ceiling, floor, no colours. Surely nobody can speak to me, here.
“I am afraid, Mrs Pemberton, that your son has fallen into a coma, we have measured him as a 3 on the Glasgow Coma Scale, this means that he is able to hear, however he appears to be disorientated and cannot communicate at this level. There is no way of knowing when he will wake up but for now try and speak to him continuously, it’ll help.” The nurse told an anxious mother, as she stroked her son’s tangled, uneven cut hair. The nurse closed the door behind her leaving an empty echo which showered over the silence in the room, and the mother was left alone with her son. Not knowing what to say or do, she pulled up the hard, black seat beside him. She kept her eyes on his tranquil face,
“You’ll come out of this” she whispered softly to herself.
I can’t make sense of anything that is happening to me. Someone is speaking to me, definitely to me, I think, I hope. A sense of dread develops as I picture myself, here, all alone. But there is someone, I can hear a voice.
She stayed in that position as time passed, she couldn’t look away. ‘Speak to him’ she reminded herself. ‘Everything’s fine at home, though all your friends are worried about you! They’ve delayed the footy match until next Friday and they’ll miss you if you’re not there. Well, I have the newspaper; I’ll read you the sports section if you like?”
Football? I recognise that word; another voice is speaking to me now. Two voices. But they both sound as though they are nowhere near one another. Although this one is much clearer, much closer to me. The second voice tells me the date and time when I listen to their stories, and so I assume that time goes by here, although I feel no different, day by day.
“I just spoke to the nurse again today, nothing really new, apart from the tests that they’ve been running show that your brain activity is increasing. Which is good I believe, still she didn’t tell me much, she had to run off and see to another patient. It’s been nearly two months since your accident! You were missed at another football match yesterday; the team are on a losing streak without you! Please wake up soon, its summer now, the sun is out nearly every day, perfect weather for us to play a game outside, in the garden.” The mother held her son’s hand as she waited for the nurse to return to check his monitors.
Today I feel different here. The mist is clearing and I feel more awake. The first voice is closer, though I’m still not able to understand what it is saying to me. The bright colour of white that I first encountered is dimming slightly, however no matter how hard I try I cannot help but to see nothing and still no one where I am. The second voice I can hear and understand everyday now, they tell me of the news and what they’re thinking. I have never run into boredom here, it has not been important to me, to be bored, because I can do nothing here, it would have made no difference to me. However now, while I am waiting for a change, something different to occur, an event to happen, it is impatience that is felt by me. I am still not completely aware of where I am, who the voices may be or what I have done to be here and the second voice pleads me to wake up and I wish I could if it would answer my questions and relieve my impatience except I don’t know how to go about doing so.
“Our tests and the monitors seem to show and confirm that there is definite brain activity and that his health may be improving, however Mrs Pemberton there is, of course always a chance that he may not awake.” The Nurse looked up from her clipboard as the mother turned her head towards the nurse to listen to her. The mother lowered her head, her blonde hair flopped before her eyes and beside her efforts to prevent it, a tear leaked from her eye and fell down her face.
“I know.” She held her son’s hand and she watched him lay helplessly, with no knowledge or understanding of what could happen to him. The nurse stood silently, observing the mother and son. “When my husband died, I promised him I would never let anything happen to him. He’s our only child.”
“If you need anything, Mrs Pemberton, don’t hesitate to ask.” The nurse walked out and once again, as the door slammed shut, an echo of the sound filled each corner of the room.
“Please, please wake up. Please.” The mother begged her son, as another tear found its place beneath her eye.
Now I am frightened, the second voice’s agony can be heard by the whimpers and pleads of their voice, but the first voice is coming closer and closer. I don’t know which to listen to. While I concentrate on the second voice apprehension and sadness fill me; however I find it difficult to comprehend what the other voice is trying to say to me. I never thought I would have had to make a decision when I am nowhere with nothing and no one around me.
The beeps of the heart monitor quickened and as it continued to do so, two nurses and a doctor rushed into the room as the mother swiftly moved out of the way. She could feel her heart thumping inside of her, against her chest and as she resisted the urge to cry, she quickly paced back and forth. Her palms were sweating and she ran her fingers through her hair. The pace of what was happening was too fast than what she pictured it to be. Nurses and doctors were moving in and out of the room, fiddling with monitors, checking and re-checking their clipboards. And she was at the corner of the room, praying and wishing for her son and their future.
I don’t know which voice to listen to. The second voice is becoming more distant still and it is no longer telling me thoughts or stories, I can hear a faint cry and whisper every now and then but it is getting more and more difficult to listen to. It is as though there’s something in the way that’s gradually muting the sound. I want to hear this noise, this voice that’s been talking to me here but I can’t hear it. Where has it gone? No one is speaking to me now, all I hear is noise, a continuous noise.
In the middle of another prayer, another step, another tear, she stopped. She heard it. The sound she most dreaded to hear, that will haunt her in her nightmares and stay with her forever. A long unbroken beep sounded as if it had blasted from the heart monitor, she stared towards her son. She took her seat in the hard, black chair and placed his hand in hers.
I can’t see anything; once again, the white of this place was blinding me. I look up, there is someone coming closer towards me. Someone I know, yes, I definitely know this person. Closer and closer and then I hear the first voice again. I know this voice. I always have known this voice.
Dad?
