The Coma

First things first. A huge thank you to Randi who assisted me with this story. Thanks also her wonderful editing skills. Any errors are solely mine and mine alone.

A note about the story. If you are looking for sex, this story isn't for you. It is a loving wives drama.

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It started as a twitch, an irritating impossible itch. It felt as if my eyelids were glued together, like there was an enormous weight bearing down. I couldn't explain if I tried; my eyes rolled beneath closed lids, then slowly the twitch became a movement and my eyes began to open. Slits of light filtered through the murky mud.

Light, blinding glaring light burst in, so bright I closed them immediately; why was it so bright? Slowly, I tried again. They opened and it was like emerging from beneath the icy cold depths of a deep dive and sucking in that first deep breath of life-giving oxygen.

I eased my eyes open again, this time slower, the heavy murky mud like molasses eased from the lids. Blinking, I allowed my pupils to adjust. If my eyes were heavy, my body felt like a thousand pound weight lay atop me; nothing worked, my head rolled to the side, the cracking of my joints so loud it sounded like gunshots. My lips parted and my tongue scratched across the dry moisture-less surface. Water, I needed water.

My head moved a little more; easing to the side, I made out a machine beeping, ink lines being scratched on a graph, a frame holding some plastic bag. I closed my eyes again, the bright lights created deep feelings of panic. With my emotions in turmoil, I tried again, this time the light didn't bite quite as much. My head moved a little more and I could see the machines, a hospital, I was in a hospital.

Why? Nothing made sense, my head hurt, I raised my hand like it was buried under a huge sand dune. I tried to sit up, but that wasn't going to work. My arm hit something as it slewed uncontrollably. God, I needed a drink, before my lips cracked.

"Oh, good heavens, Mr Lester, you're with us."

"Water..." I groaned groggily.

I heard rather than saw her getting me the drink. Her warm hand curled under my head as she lifted my head and raised the plastic cup to my parched lips. It dribbled everywhere, little rivers of water running down my chin, down my neck and pooling on my chest. But damn, it was cool, and wet, my lips absorbing like a sponge.

She lowered my head back on the pillow. I could feel my heart pounding as she leaned over me, her dark caramel skin, her huge almond eyes peering down at me. Then, blackness, the comforting envelope of darkness.

The next time I opened my eyes, there was chatter. I could hear it, there was talking. "Oh my god, Eric, you're awake."

My mouth was dry again. "Water, please, I need a drink."

"Get a nurse," I heard somebody say urgently. Next there was a woman standing over me, the same blue uniform as before, her hair tightly braided, her scent, lilac, or flowers. She raised my head slowly, and again the plastic cup, water trickling into my mouth. I must have resembled a drowning guppy as I tried to gulp down as much as possible, anything to slake my unquenchable thirst.

She lay my head down on the pillow before asking. "Would you like me to raise the bed, so you can sit up?"

"Yes." My voice was unrecognisable, raspy and thick.

As the motor whirred, I rose like a phoenix, and suddenly the people around the bed came into view. A very attractive woman smiled back at me, her cherubic face, like an angel, big green eyes, dark hair pulled into a very tight bun. Her neck impossibly long and slender, her skin glowed effervescently.

The smile turned to words. "Oh, my love, I can't believe my prayers have been answered. I was so scared you would never wake up."

I didn't recognise her. As I glanced around the small group of people, I didn't recognise anyone. "Why am I here?" I asked, hoping somebody could soothe my growing unease.

"Will, you were in a car crash, a really bad accident. You nearly died."

"Accident..."

"Yes, baby, an accident. You were coming home from work and a truck crashed into you."

"A truck... I don't remember. I don't remember anything."

There were confused glances between the woman and a slightly older woman, who had tears flowing from her eyes. "Son," she whispered, "don't panic, take your time. You have been in a coma for nine weeks. It will take time."

"Coma..."

I tried to make sense of it: who were these people; they obviously knew me, but... I didn't recognise a single person. Unable to process thoughts, I closed my eyes. I wanted peace, time to think, but their conversation cut through my desire.

"Mum, what's happening? It's like he didn't even know who I was," the young beautiful cherub cried in anguish.

"Calm down, darling, lets not forget, he has only just woken from a coma. The doctors did warn us it might take a while for him to return to normal. We have to expect this."

I lay there listening to these people talk about me, as if I wasn't there. It caused concern, because it didn't mean anything, the names meant nothing, what they were saying did not compute. I tried to turn it off, all I wanted was some peace. Opening my eyes I rasped, scratchily, "Can you people all leave me alone, please? I need some quiet."

"William, you are just disoriented," the older woman replied, a worried concern framing her words.

"I just want some peace, please, can you just leave me alone?"

The nurse reappeared, and said quietly, "Sorry, folks, perhaps we should take a few moments. Mr. Lester is obviously tired. The doctor will be here shortly. Go and get a coffee, or go for a walk." When there was no reaction, she said. "Please, I don't want him to become agitated."

"But he's my husband." the pretty young cherub hissed.

"Just go for a walk, let the doctor see him, and then come back." She shepherded the small crowd out, and there was a young girl that I hadn't noticed.

I closed my eyes again enjoying the quiet, interspersed with the constant beep from surrounding machines.

I was roused by the sweet voice of the nurse. "Mr. Lester, the doctors here to see you."

I opened my eyes to see a young curly haired man in a white coat, his heavily hooded brows hiding dark eyes.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Lester?" he asked as he leaned over me.

"I don't know, I don't understand anything."

"Yes, it can be difficult, coming out of a coma. You have been out for a while."

"I can't focus, I can't remember anything, I can't get my mind to focus."

"Yes, the nurse mentioned you didn't recognise your family." He gave me a questioning look. "You do not remember anything, your name, the accident?"

I shook my head, the noise of clicking joints loud in my ears. "Nothing, it's just blank, there's nothing."

"Hmmm, I see, What do you do for a living, William?"

I closed my eyes to think, but there was nothing but blank spaces. "I don't know."

"What about home, do you remember your house?"

Another shake of my head, I felt an impossible sense of fear and dread.

He picked up my chart from the nurse. He sat on the edge of my bed as he read carefully.

"William, this isn't completely abnormal for people coming out of a long coma. You did receive a really severe concussion in the accident. It may take you a while to get your head around it."

"What about the rest of me?" I asked.

"Well, two broken legs, several broken ribs, a broken arm, fractured collar bone. Lots of bruising and some lacerations. You were very lucky, William."

"Can I walk?"

"Whoa, slow down my friend. Both legs are still in a cast; they will come off within a week, and you have a catheter in. For the moment, you have to just lay back and rest. Tomorrow we will organise a CAT scan, maybe an MRI. See if there's something we missed."

The nurse came up and whispered in his ear. He nodded, glanced down at me. "Your family is very concerned, William, they would like to come back in and spend some time with you. Would that be all right?"

With no chance to say anything, the woman claiming to be my wife was beside me, my hand trapped in hers. "Oh, Will, It's going to be all right my love. We can get through this, we are here with you."

I swallowed a large lump in my throat, "I'm sorry, but I don't recognise you, I don't know you. This feels wrong." I tried to drag my hand from her grasping fingers, but I had no strength, and she wasn't letting go.

The woman who said she was my mother came in closer, she leaned in over the bed. "Darling, you are getting worked up over nothing. Let's just talk. Once we talk you will remember, the memories will come back."

I felt the panic gripping again, tighter than ever, my throat constricting. The emotions flowed out, The anxiety expressed as an angry retort. "Don't you people understand, I don't know you. I have never seen you before. I don't know anything. Can you all just leave."

The little girl who I realised was crying, sobbed. "Daddy..."

I stared down at her, then back at the others. "Can you please just go."

The woman, my wife, apparently, leaned in for a kiss, I turned away, it didn't seem right, I didn't know her.

Once they were gone I tried to get something to stick, there were images and emotions swirling around in my head. It was like trying to swat flies; nothing stayed in one place long enough for me to catch it, to figure it out.

Who was I, what was I? I had nothing, it was like my life started fifteen minutes ago; those moments were clear and lucid, but apart from that, there was nothing.

The nurse brought in food.. "Do you have any allergies?" she asked.

I stared at her disbelievingly, "You're joking, right? I can't even remember my name..." I didn't mean to shout, but...

I ate the food, and it tasted nice. Was this a favourite, or did I hate this usually? I didn't know. The nurse turned on the TV and some crap played, supplying nothing but back ground noise as I finished my meal.

I slept well that night; the morning was chaotic, full of tests. I was wheeled from room to room, X-rays, CAT scan, blood tests. The afternoon was quiet, which gave me time to contemplate. To try and get some sort of understanding. I could remember some of the movie I watched, I could remember the nurses names, the doctors name, but trying to stretch back before that was an impossibility. The tentacles of my mind hit a brick wall. The anxiety returned with a growing sense of frustration... Why?

That evening, Scarlet turned up. She looked nice, dressed for work obviously, a nice business suit. The grey pinstripe skirt showed just the right amount of leg. She leaned in close and her mouth closed over mine as she kissed me. She held it, her tongue trying to invade my mouth.

When she realised it wasn't happening, she stood back, a sad perplexed expression painted on her face. "How are you feeling, Will?"

I shrugged, "I'm okay I guess. I'm frustrated, confused, and at a complete and total loss. Who am I?"

She shivered a little. "You are William Lester, you are my husband, your daughter, is Zoey. You are the CEO of Lester and Sons."

None of her information registered, nothing made my mind think, ah, yes, that's me. Nothing.

"Where do we live?" I asked wearily.

She frowned, whispering. "Avondale, 296 Merrivale Crescent."

"Where's that?"

"Auckland," she replied, her patience obviously tested. "Will, you must remember something."

I couldn't hold back my own anger, snapping brusquely. "I remember nothing. I don't recognise you, none of what you said meant anything to me. Don't you understand?"

Her hand flew up to cover her mouth in shocked horror. The tears started to flow and she ran out. It should have made me feel bad, but there was nothing. It annoyed me that she wasn't listening, or trying to understand.

It was the best part of an hour before she returned. Pulling up a seat, she sat close to the bed. Lifting up my hand, and she held it tightly. "I'm sorry my love, this must be terrible for you, as well, but it hurts being forgotten."

"Perhaps you should try lying here then. Look Scarlett, I don't know you, I don't know who I am. I don't remember a damn thing. They bring me food and I don't know if I like it or hate it. They turn the TV on, and nothing means anything, nothing registers."

The tears streamed down her cheeks as she sniffled. "Oh heavens, Will, it must be hard. It must come back, I love you so much. I can't wait till you are out of here. Once we get you home, it will all come back."

Sucking in a deep breath I replied somewhat curtly. "I'm not so sure, I hope so."

I could see her trying to push back the frustration. "It will, of course it will. Zoey is dying to spend time with you. She misses her dad."

Just the words, 'My daughter' should have meant something, but it was like hearing her recite a shopping list. How could this woman be my wife? I felt nothing. She was pretty, she seemed nice, but I felt nothing.

She sat with me for an hour, talking incessantly, I listened. I suppose I did. When the nurse came in with my meal, Scarlett said, "I should go. Mother needs to get home, she is minding Zoey, but Dad will be expecting her." She leaned in for a kiss and vanished, leaving me to get a breath. Peace and quiet returned.

My arm was feeling a little better, using the fork was a little easier. The night nurse, Diane, came in to clear up after I finished. She joked. "I wish all our patients had amnesia, you never argue about food, you eat everything."

"Maybe I'm just not fussy."

"Maybe." She took my blood pressure and asked whether I needed any pain relief. I was in pain, but I didn't want to take anything else.

She pumped up my pillow, and asked, "Shall I turn on the TV?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose."

She handed me the remote and left. I flicked through the channels, there was news, sport... I left it on a movie, and lay back trying to stop the growing sense of unease. I felt lost.

A man walked in not long after that carrying some magazines and some fruit. He smiled, but I instantly got a strange vibe. I didn't like him. He was dressed in a very expensive suit. Why I didn't like him, I couldn't explain. It could have been the cologne, he wore enough that I could smell him the moment he walked in. A sickly distasteful scent.

He started loudly. "Hey, mate, thought you'd be watching the black caps."

"Who are you?" I grumbled, his unannounced intrusion irritating me.

He gave me a weird scowl. "Bill, it's me, Mark... Jeez, mate, I'm your CFO, and best mate." He placed the magazines on the cabinet beside the bed.

"What's a Black Cap?" I asked, groggily.

"Shit mate, you really are in a bad way. The NZ Cricket team, you're their biggest bloody fan."

"Am I? I don't think so, not now anyway."

He pulled up a chair and leaned in close. "Look, mate, I thought we should talk. There are a lot of things happening at work, and we could really use your input. Any chance you could sign these?" He pulled some papers out of his brief case, and placed them on the bed.

"Look, Mark, I don't know who you are, I don't know anything about work, or business. I am certainly not signing anything."

He scowled deeply, choosing his words carefully. "Mate, I need you. I've been carrying your work load, but I need you back on board. I need these damn papers signed."

"Sorry, it is not happening. I don't want to sound disinterested, but I can't remember anything, you, my wife, work. None of it means anything."

"What say I bring in your laptop tomorrow? You can log on and start to go over stuff. See what we've been doing in your absence."

"Yeah, okay. That might be a good idea. Can you drop it off early in the morning?"

He nodded. "Yes, I can do that. I'll leave the papers for you to read."

He grabbed the remote and flicked the channels bringing up the Cricket match. "Black Caps are doing awesome, me old mate. They're kicking arse." His eyes focused on the screen up on the wall. "Yeah, kicking arse."

I glanced up and watched with him. He stayed for a while, although he said very little. He must have sensed my unease, the dislike I felt towards him was hard to suppress. After a few minutes with the tension growing exponentially, he got up and left. I watched the cricket for a few minutes before changing channels. I couldn't understand it. I mean, I recognised the game, like I knew the rules, but the teams, the names, none of it meant anything.

I flicked back to the movie I had been watching.

The next few days drifted by. Scarlett came in every day, sometimes with Zoey, sometimes with my mother.

Mark dropped off my laptop and I logged in using the password he gave me. There were screeds of emails, I hoped something would register, something would make sense. The problem was, it didn't. It was like I was looking in through a window. Looking into another persons life. The names on the emails meant nothing. The figures meant nothing.

Every day Scarlett came for her visit, and rather than get easier, it got harder. I could see the frustration in her, she wanted something I couldn't give, something I didn't feel... Love.

She was kind, she tried, god she tried. She talked constantly. She talked about the day we brought our house. The day she found out she was pregnant and she told me. She related about some crazy merry-go-round-the-posy dance we did the night she told me. We danced under the stars, we lay on the wet grass staring up into the sky.

She told me about the day Zoey was born and how I held her hand throughout the birth. She told me about the look on my face when I saw and held Zoey for the first time. It sounded incredible, but as amazing as it sounded, I just didn't feel it.

When we kissed, it was like kissing a friend, a family member. With nothing to compare to, my only memories dated back to coming out of the coma. Surely if I loved this woman the way she said, I would feel something. If our love was so deep, why didn't I feel it?

True, I enjoyed our time together, I did look forward to her visits, and I especially enjoyed it when Zoey was with her, but it just didn't feel like love. I watched several love story type movies to understand that I should feel this.

The casts came off, and I was able to attend physiotherapy, mostly in the pool. I still couldn't walk properly, and trying to exhausted me quickly. I had to stay in the wheel chair, but the exhilaration of a shower, going to the toilet, ah, bliss.

I started to feel human, shaving, washing, reading. Life felt better and the good news, I was able to go home.

That day was good, although I was still in the wheel chair. Scarlett helped me into the car and stowed the chair in the boot.

As she drove off, she squealed. "Oh my god, I can't believe it, we're going home baby, we're going home."

She smiled broadly as she stared at me. "I prayed for this. God, I was afraid it was never going to happen. The doctors warned me that it might not happen, some victims never recover, but I knew you would. I just knew it."

"Scarlett, thank you. I mean it, I don't understand it, but I appreciate all that you've done for me."

"Done for you..." She gasped. "Oh my god, you are my husband, I love you."

Her frown deepened and she started to cry. "I love you, Will, you are my everything. I can't imagine life without you. When I heard about the accident, I thought I was going to die, and when I saw you all full of tubes and hoses, unable to breathe, I lost it. I am just so grateful."

"Again, thank you."

She shook her head, I suppose she was expecting, wanted to hear me say I love you back, but it wasn't happening.

I turned to watch out the window as buildings and cars, trucks, passed by, looking for something that might stir a memory. It was a typical Auckland day, humid and overcast. The traffic heavy as Scarlett expertly shifted us through the maze of cars.