Thoughts Of A Coma Patient

March 7, 2010
By Millent BRONZE, Fairmount, North Dakota
Millent BRONZE, Fairmount, North Dakota
4 articles 0 photos 1 comment

Lately I have these dreams and thoughts. I don’t know what they are, but they are always there. They whisper in my ear, good things and bad things. I don’t know what I should believe, what I should do. I tried to run away from them, but I couldn’t, they are always with me. Sometimes at night they don’t let me sleep, they talk to me, talk away my tiredness.

I’m just an empty shell, all my feelings trapped inside. I don’t want to eat, but there are these shadows, they come every day, visiting me. I can’t see them, but I’m sure, they are there. In my dreams they are white, they force me to life. I want to scream, want to beg them to leave me alone, but I can’t move.

I want to cry so often, but I can’t. My dreams say, I must not, and I’m listening. Maybe I gave up, but I just don’t know it yet. I’m forced to think about my life a lot. My heart ought to ache, but it doesn’t. There isn’t any heart, no longer, that someone could break. It is in prison, together with my lungs and my lever. What shall I do?

I wish that my life could end. I know I will never wake up again. In my dreams I can see that, and my thoughts confirm. So why don’t the shadows don’t understand? I can hear them talking, some of them are loud and deep, some of them are soft, not more than a whisper. Sometimes I hear someone crying. I want to say that it is all right, that I’m all right. In my dreams it is my mother, I don’t know if I should believe it. I don’t really remember my mother. I didn’t see her for a long time, too long.

Sometimes there is a deeper voice, talking to the crying one. It’s a kind of familiar, but I can’t remember. I’m afraid when the deep voice is here. I’m calling my dreams, if they aren’t there already. Sometimes they don’t come, and I have to listen to that voice. My thoughts tell me bad things about that voice, but I don’t believe them, on one side. On the other side I believe everything.

He left you, they say. He just wants the money from your mom. Then they send me a picture of an old, fat man, always wearing the same shirt and pants. I don’t know him, but I know the voice. I want to warn the woman, want to suggest her to leave me and save herself. But a part of me doesn’t care. My thoughts tell me, not to do. My dreams tell me, not to do.

This isn’t your job anymore, they tell me. And I believe.

The white shadows are coming again; they do something next to me. I’m screaming, but they don’t hear me. I’m crying, but they don’t see it. I want to stand up and run away, but I’ve got no control over my body.

Give up, the voices of my thoughts whisper, again, like every day.

But I don’t want to, I counter. I want to see the woman again. I want to help her.

No! You can’t. You will never wake up again. The woman doesn’t believe that you will ever talk to her again. She just doesn’t know it yet.

But… I don’t know what to say, again, like every day. My trapped feelings scream and cry for help. I try to reach for them, but I miss them. I hear the woman again, she’s crying next to my bed. I listen to her, want to open my eyes. And then, suddenly, I feel that I can. But in the same moment I know, that my life will end. Should I simply die and don’t talk to the crying lady? It might be even harder, for both of us. Again, I don’t know what to do.

The woman was crying. Every day she was in the little hospital. The man in the white coat watched her. Almost by themselves his eyes wandered to the monitor at the bedside of the little girl. It wrote down the signs of life, always the same, the same monotonous beep. The girl was alive, but otherwise she wasn’t. He was just on his way to get a coffee, when the monitor started to ring. The green line redounded, much higher than its usual pattern.

“She wakes up!” Excited he ran out of the little room. The woman stared at him, with eyes red from tears. He couldn’t read any hope in them. “She wakes up”, he said again, softer this time. The woman’s eyes left his face, moved towards her daughter. They followed tenderly the long brown hair, the expression of peace in the pale face, the small body under the blanket. In her eyes just a little hope was rising, her heart screamed for it. And then, slowly the little girl opened her eyes. Tears were shimmering in them, rolling out of the shining blue of the ocean, and for her mother there wasn’t any color ever more beautiful in that moment. The young girl opened her mouth.

“Mom”, she whispered with hoarse voice. The woman ran towards her, took her small hands into her own.

“Yes, I am here”, she said, tears of hope and grate in her own brown eyes. “I am here”, she said again, just to confirm herself.

“Mom, I just wanted to see you one last time. This man, he…”, her voice died.

“No!” the mother of the girl said. “No!” she said again, louder this time. Carefully she shook the little body. It didn’t have any withstood left. “NO!”

The doctor opened his mouth, wanted to say something. Sadly he placed his hands on the twitching shoulders of the woman, but she brushed them away, sank on her knees and lost her daughter’s hands out of her own. Weakly they hit the bedside. Slowly, almost in slow motion, the little body fell, fell down, and the waiting mother caught her in her arms. Quietly the doctor left the room, with tears in his eyes he watched the monitor. The green line didn’t redound any longer, no beeps were to hear, only the last one, never ending. Even after almost twenty years as a doctor he felt so sad when he has to see the bereaved family members, when he couldn’t help enough. The woman’s screams were to hear on the whole department. Everybody knew: Today they lost.

The author's comments:
I had this dream. Everything was black and I couldn't move. I heard people talking and I wanted them to talk to me but they didn't seem to hear me. When I woke up I realised that that is how coma patient must feel. So I started making a story out of it to show them that I feel with them. I hope I got it realistic.

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