Flashback: Reborn

Bright light pressed on my closed eyelids. I opened my eyes, let it in. Everything around me was new.
I had just been born.
Just come into existence.
I had not been anywhere before now.
I had not been.
I wasn't there, and then I was.
My head swelled with pain.
A woman with bright red hair and a pleasant face moved into the light above me.
Mother.
My mother.
Mom.
A profound comfort filled me, and I smiled.
That's my mom.
The thoughts were coming faster now: I was me. Vicki. Me.
Then the thoughts came with questions: What's going on? Where have I been? Where am I?
I must have asked the last one.
"You're ok. You're going to be fine. You're in the hospital."
Hospital… sick… hospital… something wrong, bad… Hospital? Am I sick? Something wrong with me?
"You're ok, though. Don't try to move."
My mother's words came fast; I had trouble latching on to them as they passed by me in her calm, familiar voice. Her hand reached up and stroked my forehead, pushing back and smoothing my hair in that habitual, comforting way she always had when we were sick. I had no fear. I was fine. But ... hospital? Why?
"You were in an accident. But you're ok now."
— Oh.
A flicker of confusion, a quick, sickening realization in my gut. Then the fear came — sudden, fast, startling.
I vaguely remembered a similar sensation; I had woken up to this situation, briefly, before, when it was dark, and I was alone, and couldn't move. I was trapped — ensconced in, distended by, wet concrete that usurped all sensation and motion. But it was just a nightmare, supposed to be better when I woke up. But it isn't better. What the hell is going on?
I asked Mom — Am I still dreaming, or am I awake yet?
Then another disquieting realization: I'd asked questions, but said nothing. I knew I formed the words with my mouth, but something was wrong… . If I could just put my finger on it… I heard the questions in my head, but not in my ears.
I could not speak.
My mother must've seen the panic on my face.
"Don't worry, hon. You're on a respirator. It's breathing for you. You won't be able to talk. But we can read your lips. Can't we, Patty?"
My younger sister's dark head appeared beside my mom's bright one.
"Hi, Vic," she said through a forced smile, flopping her hand in a silly little wave.
— Hey, Pat. Mom, I don't remember any accident. Are you sure?
"Yeah," Patty started, "you were out with —"
My mother glared at her. Patty clammed up. She looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"Yes, you were in a car accident."
— Was I driving?
"No, sweetie. You weren't driving."
Good, I thought. All I had was an expired learner's permit. If I'd gotten into an accident already, I'd never get my license. No license come September would mean my senior year was going to suck, big time.
— Who was driving, then? Who was I with? Where was I?
"You had gone out with Kevin and Tim," Mom told me. "You were on your way home from Lakeforest Mall."
The mall. What was I doing at the mall? I waited, but no images surfaced.
"Yeah," Patty added, "you got off work early, so you went out."
Work. Ah, yes. Pizza Movers.
— What's wrong with me?
"You have a broken neck."
No wonder it hurts so badly. I broke it. Oh, well. Broken arm, broken neck - same difference. I'll be up and around in no time. Wonder what kind of cast they put on a neck. I moved my head slightly from side to side. Heavy pain seeped through my neck, up the back of my head, but I could move freely. Guess they didn't put the cast on yet.
— How long have I been here? When can I go home?
"You've been here awhile… close to two weeks." She tapped a small, blurry grid on the wall. "Today is June 8. It happened on May 25."
The date seemed innocuous enough; I remembered nothing special about it then, although it would soon become a date etched indelibly into my life. I'd not expected that I'd been in the hospital that long, but unable to escape the feeling of newness, of just having come into existence, of not having yet been, I took them at their word.
— Can I go home soon?
"Oh, sweetie." My mom rubbed my arm, a pained smile cracking her face, "You're very sick. You're going to be just fine, but right now you're still sick. We have to get you better first. Ok?"
I nodded. Pain shot through my neck. My broken neck. The pain rocked my head, slightly dimming my vision. Must've been some wreck. I cast my mind back, straining to remember that night — what had happened, where I'd been. Still, only blanks.
— Where is Kevin? And Tim? Are they OK?
Patty glanced furtively at my mother, then disappeared behind her. It was only my mother's face hovering over me now.
"Tim is a few doors down the hall. He broke his leg pretty badly — "
"In like three or four different places," Patty piped in from somewhere behind her.
"He also broke his wrist — "
"And messed up his elbow. They put screws in it! It was pretty nasty," Patty added, reappearing briefly beside my mother A deep flush had settled over her face, and her green eyes shined brightly.
"But he's going to be just fine," my mother continued, after shooting a semi-reproachful look at at my sister. "In fact," she went on, brightening up a bit, "They're moving him out of the ICU tomorrow. He's going to have to use crutches for a long while, but he'll be fine."
It was quiet for a moment. Took me a minute, with the sluggish pace of my brain, to let it all sink in. I waited for them to finish, but neither said anything.
— Where's Kevin? Is he here too? Is he going to be OK, too?
The uncomfortable look on Patty's face had faded some, but as she caught my eye it suddenly returned and again she disappeared into the periphery. My mother took a deep breath, and spoke very slowly, softly.
"I'm sorry, Vicki. Kevin didn't make it."
I struggled to grasp her words, but understanding eluded me as deftly as memory had. Didn't make it. Didn't make it... The words reverberated, like bass hits. Didn't make it where? To the hospital? Was he somewhere else? Where else could he be? Did they let him go home already? Maybe he'll visit…
— What do you mean?
"I'm sorry, Vic. I'm really sorry, but Kevin died."

The word hit me like a bat, driving the confusion from my head. Died? She couldn't have meant that. Or I'd misunderstood her. Or she'd said something else. It simply wasn't possible. I'd just seen Kevin yesterday… or however long ago it was they say the accident happened. He drove me home from school on Friday. I sat with him at lunch. He was just here. He can't die — he's only 17! There's nothing wrong with him! Nothing! No!
— No! I said firmly.
Somebody had gotten something wrong, somewhere. He's probably just down the hall. Maybe on a different floor. Or a different hospital. Somebody had gotten their information mixed up.
— No! I said again, and shook my head in emphasis of my refusal to believe such a blatant untruth. Hot pain rocketed up my neck, searing through my head and eyes.
Tears trickled down my mom's cheeks. "I'm sorry," she kept saying, "I'm so sorry."
I cried. Mom wiped the tears off my cheeks hurriedly, softly uttering those mother-comforting sounds shh…it's ok…shh…. I cried, but I didn't feel it. I waited for the pain to come rushing through me, fill up the emptiness, but I just couldn't believe it enough for it to break through. It just wasn't so.
She reached down and grasped my hand; I felt only a slight pressure, as if my hand and fingers were wrapped in a thick towel. My arm felt rather odd — a dull ache in my wrist; up my forearm, a muted pins-and-needles sensation as if my arm had fallen asleep. Almost a buzzing sensation. But distant, an echo of the feeling. A layer of insulation kept the pins and needles from poking through, sticking my skin; held them in, swarming close to the bone like bees in a hive. It seemed almost as if the cast were inside my arm. But that couldn't be. My mind returned to the possibility of a nightmare, still searching for some plausible, lucid explanation. Still, the dull pressure on the skin. The buzzing inside. I couldn't figure it out…
— What happened to my arm?
I lifted it off the bed, trying to hold it up so I could see it. It was heavy. Almost too heavy.
"Nothing. Your arm is fine," my Mom said. "Don't try to move it."
— Did I break it? Is it in a cast?
"No, but you have an IV in it, so hold it still."
— Oh. Feels funny…

My mother's eyes welled up again.


A similar scene replayed many times over the first two weeks, during my semi-cognizant state. I was not in a coma, but between a severe concussion and the drugs they had me on for pain, I flitted in and out of consciousness; I still have no recollection of the first two weeks or so after the accident. I can only imagine how it must have been for my family:

"Where am I?
"In the hospital."
"Why?"
"You were in a car accident. You broke your neck."
"Oh. What happened?"
"You were out with Kevin and Tim. On your way home."
"Are they OK?"
"Tim is hurt, but getting better. Kevin died."

And they would have to watch my face crumble as recognition set in, wipe away my tears and keep my nose from running down my cheeks and neck.

"Why can't I feel? Where'd my legs go? Oh, God — did they cut them off? I can't feel!"
"Honey, it's the paralysis. Spinal cord… nerves… damage…"

Sometimes I would understand, and they would have to talk me out of hysterics. Other times I would stare blankly, waiting for someone to please explain to me what the hell is going on, and they'd have to go through piece by agonizing piece until I understood, watch each fact strike me like a fatal blow, then calm me down when recognition trenched my murky brain.
Eventually, I would go back to sleep. Drugs, fatigue, shock, a combination of any or all would drag me back under into my timeless unconsciousness, my ignorant bliss, my comfortable numb. And eventually I would wake up again, tabula rasa, desperate for someone to fill me in on what in God's name was happening; and for them, the process would begin anew.

"What? Where?"
"You're in the hospital. You broke your neck. You can't move."

And I would cry….
To this day, I don't know how they did it. Sometimes, above and beyond all logical/rational reasoning, I hate myself for putting them through it.

But that was just the beginning. For all of us.

Flashback: Awakening

The picture fades in slowly. Grains of light wash each pixel, illuming the darkness in shades of gray. The impression of just having been somewhere lingers about the edges, but I am unable to grasp the disintegrating threads of memory as they recede into the blackness. No telling where it has gone, where I have been. The memory disappears in the transition to cognizance. I blink

Still seems dim. I try to blink the confusion out of my eyes; it is resilient. Mud-colored walls surround me. Air seems hazy, thick with darkness. Unfamiliar. Strange.

Fear wells up inside me. I search for a familiar object. Something. Anything. There is none. Just the thick air. Just the mud-colored walls. Just me. I’m alone. I’m alone in this… room. How did I get here? Where have I been? I grasp at threads dangling just beyond my reach… they vanish. My mind feels sluggish, heavy. Restrained. I want to ask someone. But whom? I am alone. In this… room. I have to get out!

I try to move. Panic. An incomprehensible weight ensconces my body. My body. Where is my body? Am I dead? Where are my hands? Where are my legs, my feet? Panic. Someone has taken my body and filled it with sand. Dark, heavy sand. I feel my body, but it is only a whisper; a shadow cast behind me on the gravel road; a reflection in a rippled pool. Maybe I am dead. Maybe I am separating from my body.

My head is filled with sand, too; the thoughts struggle through the heavy grains, pop out into existence, then vaporize, are sucked back into the greedy darkness.

I try to lift my head. Pain sears through it, down into my neck.

Pain. I must be alive.

I try to call out. I can make no sound. But I feel my mouth. Swollen tongue. Dry. Jagged teeth. Pain. There is something in here, in my mouth. Sharp. Glass? A rock? I try to spit it out, but cannot find the air to expel it. I cannot determine whether it has made it past my lips.

Just as my terror peaks, I catch sight of one familiar object. Winnie. My Pooh bear. He could only have been sent by God to assure me I’m ok. Winnie the Pooh’s been my symbol of comfort, solace, safety, since I was a baby. I’ve slept with Winnie tucked under my chin -- just as he is here, in the muddy room -- every night of my life for the past seventeen years. Sleepovers, vacations, trips, if I were going somewhere, Winnie came with me. That’s it! I’m not lost. I’m not dead. If Winnie is here, I must be asleep. Of course. I must be dreaming! If I just go back to sleep, this will all go away. A bad dream. Just a bad dream. When I wake up, everything will be fine.

Words, enveloped in sound, drip down through the haze, splash into me. They seep through my brain.

“You’re OK,” the words tell me. “You’ve been in an accident. But you’re OK now. You’re going to be just fine.”

Of course, I knew that. God told me so. Or maybe it was Pooh. Somebody told me, or was it a dream?

A familiar shock of red hair, my mother’s face, hover over me. “You’re in the hospital. You’re OK now.”

My mind strains. Hospital? Am I sick? What's happened to me?

My mother’s smile stretches so tightly her face threatens to crack, to crumble. Warm, soft fingers touch my forehead, stroke my hair, just as Mom used to do when I stayed home, sick, from school. Fear wanes, lapsing into mild confusion.

“Can’t decrease… morphine… confusion… incoherent…” a deeper voice rumbles from above. The words pop through my head in bursts like gunfire.

“Everything is OK now. You’re going to be just fine, honey. Can you hear me?” I cannot force the “Yes” in my head out through my mouth.

“Don’t talk. Don’t move.” Edges of the smile push her cheeks up high, crinkling her eyes enough to hold the wet pools in them from spilling. “You need to rest so you will heal.”

So I close my eyes, drift back into the blackness.