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Reality Check
part I by Rebeckah
I came awake slowly, in fits and starts. I was first aware of tubes pushing and pressing everywhere. They were thrust down my throat, pressing against my nostrils, and even, well, you know, to drain my bladder. I was just accepting that something pretty bad must have happened to me when I felt darkness beckoning me. I tried to stave off unconsciousness, wanting to remember what had happened, where I was, how I'd gotten here, but I didn't have the energy.
The next time I managed to open my eyes, and blink the white walls and machines with flashing lights into focus. I heard the rhythmic whooshing of the respirator that forced air into my lungs, the steady beeps from the heart monitor recording every beat. I smelled the unmistakable hospital scent of disinfectants and medications and felt the cold IV needle in the back of my hand and the painful pressure of the extra fluids it fed up the vein in my left arm. I still couldn't remember anything except a vague sensation of intense pain; a pain that had seemed to strike every nerve ending in my body at once. It was so overwhelming that just the memory of it had me welcoming the safety of dark oblivion again.
I don't know how many times the cycle repeated itself. Wake up, focus momentarily on my surroundings, try to figure out what was happening, and then slip back into the void. Eventually, however, I regained consciousness with a clear mind. It wasn't as hard to open my eyes this time and my thoughts finally flowed in a coherent pattern.
As I let my eyes wander aimlessly I tried again to remember what had brought me to this room. I still remembered the agony---like being split apart cell by cell and then jammed back together in a rush. At least now the memory was more distant, like the memory of labor pains in childbirth. I knew that it had hurt, but I no longer felt the echoes of agony vibrating through my body.
Had I been struck by lightning? Touched a live wire? I didn't think I'd been shot or in a car accident or anything like that. I was pretty sure that if I had, one part or another of my body would hurt worse than the rest. Actually, right now I didn't feel too bad at all. Minor aches and pains in my chest, where the IV entered my hand, where the tube ran down my throat, but nothing I couldn't handle.
All of which left me with the same questions. What had happened? How long had I been here? Why weren't my children, at least, here to check on me?
"She's awake!" The voice that interrupted my reverie was young, male, and full of astonishment.
I hadn't heard them enter and the tubes didn't give me the freedom to turn my head and look at them. At least someone had come, though, maybe now I could get some answers about my condition!
"She's opened her eyes before, Johnson." An older male voice corrected sternly. "It doesn't mean she's aware of us."
The two men came to stand next to my bed, the younger with dark hair, an earnest expression, and amazingly blue eyes. They were almost familiar, in a foggy sort of way. I wondered if I'd seen them during my earlier broken moments of consciousness.
The older man bothered me. His expression was neutral to the point of being blank. Only his pale green eyes showed any emotion at all and that was the type of arrogant impatience that I truly hated in doctors. His hair was white and the lines on his face attested to his years of experience, but I already disliked him.
‘That's okay.’ I told myself. You're awake now. You'll be out of this place in no time at all and then you'll never see the man again.
"Look, Sir, she's watching us!" Johnson crowed. His eyes were alight with triumph, although I couldn't imagine why. What had they expected? Was I supposed to be blind?
"Doesn't mean a thing." The older man insisted. "She couldn't possibly have any higher mental functions at this point; she's just reacting to random electrical discharges from the brain stem."
’No mental functions?’ My brows drew together thoughtfully. I still couldn't remember just what had happened to me but I had a gut feeling that I hadn't injured my head. Just why would they expect me to be, in essence, a vegetable?
Both men wore the white lab jackets that were to be expected in a hospital, but I was starting to realize that I wasn't in an ordinary hospital. It was virtually silent in the place, except for my life support machines. There were no sounds of family and visitors, no nurses bustling in and out, no orderlies or even housekeepers. I noticed that the younger man was studying me intently and I frowned slightly at him.
"Maybe it isn't just reflexive." Johnson suggested. "What if the advanced state of her brain development has given her a jump start on cognizance? Sir, I could swear that she's focused on us and no month old infant could focus that far."
’Infant?’ Now I was starting to feel like I was in the middle of an X-Files episode. What on earth are they talking about? Any idiot can tell I'm a fully-grown woman! What does infant behavior have to do with me?
"Nonsense. Her visual acuity is due do the development of her eyes, not her brain." The older man quashed the younger firmly. He glared at me fiercely, as if I was responsible for the fact that his protégé was questioning his judgment.
My frown deepened. Surely he could see that I was fully aware, so why would he ignore it? Why would it irritate him that I could think and reason? I was beginning to have paranoid suspicion that something very strange was going on...
"Dr. Walsh, I'm sure she is aware." The younger man insisted. "At least let me try to work with her. Think of how much better our results will be if she can actually interact with him. Not to mention how much easier delivery will be if she's able to exercise before the birth."
’BIRTH?! What the hell are they talking about?’ I exercised every ounce of my willpower and managed to jerk my head up a few inches before it flopped back down.
No, my stomach was as flat as I had expected it to be. In fact it was considerably flatter than I could ever remember it having been. I struggled with the respirator, needing to pant from the exertion of lifting my head but the stupid machine kept the same steady rhythm.
"Damn! She's getting excited. Nurse! 5 c.c.s of Demerol." Dr. Walsh ordered.
I was convinced that he wanted me sedated more to make it easier to ignore the intelligence in my eyes, than for my health. I wished that the tube wasn't down my throat so that I could protest but I was beginning to suspect that I wouldn't have been heeded even if I could have spoken. I was almost positive that I heard anxiety in Walsh's voice; and that my actions, my undoubted awareness, frightened him in some way. My conviction that I wasn't in a normal hospital intensified even more as I was dragged down into another period of unconsciousness by the sedative. I heard Johnson begging Walsh to let me try to breathe off of the respirator the next time I was conscious but nothingness claimed me before I heard the answer.
The next time I woke up I had a throbbing headache that had been brought on by too much sleep, or by a reaction to the Demerol. I was going to stay awake longer this time, I decided, resentful of that earlier drugging, and I wanted to start moving, to begin to rebuild my wasted muscles.
I started by slowly lifting my head up from the pillow. It felt like a concrete block! I could move it from side to side, as far as the tubes let me move, without a problem, but up and down were nearly impossible. Okay, so my neck muscles needed work, what else? I commanded my right arm to lift. It took a moment of intense concentration before it finally rose into the air, shaking and trembling with the effort it took. I was amazed at how thin I'd become--almost skeletal.
‘What happened to me? Why can't I remember?’ I started to feel like broken record--"what happened" being the refrain that my mind was stuck on.
part I by Rebeckah
I came awake slowly, in fits and starts. I was first aware of tubes pushing and pressing everywhere. They were thrust down my throat, pressing against my nostrils, and even, well, you know, to drain my bladder. I was just accepting that something pretty bad must have happened to me when I felt darkness beckoning me. I tried to stave off unconsciousness, wanting to remember what had happened, where I was, how I'd gotten here, but I didn't have the energy.
The next time I managed to open my eyes, and blink the white walls and machines with flashing lights into focus. I heard the rhythmic whooshing of the respirator that forced air into my lungs, the steady beeps from the heart monitor recording every beat. I smelled the unmistakable hospital scent of disinfectants and medications and felt the cold IV needle in the back of my hand and the painful pressure of the extra fluids it fed up the vein in my left arm. I still couldn't remember anything except a vague sensation of intense pain; a pain that had seemed to strike every nerve ending in my body at once. It was so overwhelming that just the memory of it had me welcoming the safety of dark oblivion again.
I don't know how many times the cycle repeated itself. Wake up, focus momentarily on my surroundings, try to figure out what was happening, and then slip back into the void. Eventually, however, I regained consciousness with a clear mind. It wasn't as hard to open my eyes this time and my thoughts finally flowed in a coherent pattern.
As I let my eyes wander aimlessly I tried again to remember what had brought me to this room. I still remembered the agony---like being split apart cell by cell and then jammed back together in a rush. At least now the memory was more distant, like the memory of labor pains in childbirth. I knew that it had hurt, but I no longer felt the echoes of agony vibrating through my body.
Had I been struck by lightning? Touched a live wire? I didn't think I'd been shot or in a car accident or anything like that. I was pretty sure that if I had, one part or another of my body would hurt worse than the rest. Actually, right now I didn't feel too bad at all. Minor aches and pains in my chest, where the IV entered my hand, where the tube ran down my throat, but nothing I couldn't handle.
All of which left me with the same questions. What had happened? How long had I been here? Why weren't my children, at least, here to check on me?
"She's awake!" The voice that interrupted my reverie was young, male, and full of astonishment.
I hadn't heard them enter and the tubes didn't give me the freedom to turn my head and look at them. At least someone had come, though, maybe now I could get some answers about my condition!
"She's opened her eyes before, Johnson." An older male voice corrected sternly. "It doesn't mean she's aware of us."
The two men came to stand next to my bed, the younger with dark hair, an earnest expression, and amazingly blue eyes. They were almost familiar, in a foggy sort of way. I wondered if I'd seen them during my earlier broken moments of consciousness.
The older man bothered me. His expression was neutral to the point of being blank. Only his pale green eyes showed any emotion at all and that was the type of arrogant impatience that I truly hated in doctors. His hair was white and the lines on his face attested to his years of experience, but I already disliked him.
‘That's okay.’ I told myself. You're awake now. You'll be out of this place in no time at all and then you'll never see the man again.
"Look, Sir, she's watching us!" Johnson crowed. His eyes were alight with triumph, although I couldn't imagine why. What had they expected? Was I supposed to be blind?
"Doesn't mean a thing." The older man insisted. "She couldn't possibly have any higher mental functions at this point; she's just reacting to random electrical discharges from the brain stem."
’No mental functions?’ My brows drew together thoughtfully. I still couldn't remember just what had happened to me but I had a gut feeling that I hadn't injured my head. Just why would they expect me to be, in essence, a vegetable?
Both men wore the white lab jackets that were to be expected in a hospital, but I was starting to realize that I wasn't in an ordinary hospital. It was virtually silent in the place, except for my life support machines. There were no sounds of family and visitors, no nurses bustling in and out, no orderlies or even housekeepers. I noticed that the younger man was studying me intently and I frowned slightly at him.
"Maybe it isn't just reflexive." Johnson suggested. "What if the advanced state of her brain development has given her a jump start on cognizance? Sir, I could swear that she's focused on us and no month old infant could focus that far."
’Infant?’ Now I was starting to feel like I was in the middle of an X-Files episode. What on earth are they talking about? Any idiot can tell I'm a fully-grown woman! What does infant behavior have to do with me?
"Nonsense. Her visual acuity is due do the development of her eyes, not her brain." The older man quashed the younger firmly. He glared at me fiercely, as if I was responsible for the fact that his protégé was questioning his judgment.
My frown deepened. Surely he could see that I was fully aware, so why would he ignore it? Why would it irritate him that I could think and reason? I was beginning to have paranoid suspicion that something very strange was going on...
"Dr. Walsh, I'm sure she is aware." The younger man insisted. "At least let me try to work with her. Think of how much better our results will be if she can actually interact with him. Not to mention how much easier delivery will be if she's able to exercise before the birth."
’BIRTH?! What the hell are they talking about?’ I exercised every ounce of my willpower and managed to jerk my head up a few inches before it flopped back down.
No, my stomach was as flat as I had expected it to be. In fact it was considerably flatter than I could ever remember it having been. I struggled with the respirator, needing to pant from the exertion of lifting my head but the stupid machine kept the same steady rhythm.
"Damn! She's getting excited. Nurse! 5 c.c.s of Demerol." Dr. Walsh ordered.
I was convinced that he wanted me sedated more to make it easier to ignore the intelligence in my eyes, than for my health. I wished that the tube wasn't down my throat so that I could protest but I was beginning to suspect that I wouldn't have been heeded even if I could have spoken. I was almost positive that I heard anxiety in Walsh's voice; and that my actions, my undoubted awareness, frightened him in some way. My conviction that I wasn't in a normal hospital intensified even more as I was dragged down into another period of unconsciousness by the sedative. I heard Johnson begging Walsh to let me try to breathe off of the respirator the next time I was conscious but nothingness claimed me before I heard the answer.
The next time I woke up I had a throbbing headache that had been brought on by too much sleep, or by a reaction to the Demerol. I was going to stay awake longer this time, I decided, resentful of that earlier drugging, and I wanted to start moving, to begin to rebuild my wasted muscles.
I started by slowly lifting my head up from the pillow. It felt like a concrete block! I could move it from side to side, as far as the tubes let me move, without a problem, but up and down were nearly impossible. Okay, so my neck muscles needed work, what else? I commanded my right arm to lift. It took a moment of intense concentration before it finally rose into the air, shaking and trembling with the effort it took. I was amazed at how thin I'd become--almost skeletal.
‘What happened to me? Why can't I remember?’ I started to feel like broken record--"what happened" being the refrain that my mind was stuck on.
