readersdigest.co.in 111Drama In Real Lifeventilator on and off over the course
of three days to check whether my
lungs would take over. After a brief
failure, it was successful. The breath-
ing tube was removed on 30 October,
three weeks into my stay. That meant
I could no longer be as sedated;
the pain medications had to be
stepped down to allow my lungs
to function properly. It also meant
I would regain consciousness.
It wasn’t like the cheerful “Hey! I’m
alive!” moment with a big smile that
you see in scripted dramas. My first
post-trauma memory is the gauzy im-
age of Sean standing at my bedside. I
also saw a doctor, so I knew I was in
a hospital. Then I spotted my parents
across the room.
I tried to speak to Sean, but my vo-
cal cords had atrophied. I mouthed
the words “When did Mom and Dad
get here?”
“They came in for the weekend to
see you,” he said.
“So quick?”
I thought the crash had just hap-
pened and was amazed that my
parents had gotten there so fast.
In my mind, hours had passed.
Maybe a day.
“Honey, you’ve been in a coma for
almost a month,” he said.
That stunned me. I started crying.I
n mid-November, with my body
stabilized, I was moved to the
Gaylord Specialty Healthcare fa-
cility in Wallingford, Connecticut,The coma just dulls it enough so that
you don’t actually die from the shock
of it all. But overmedicating can kill
you too, so doctors must walk a fine
line. As a result, you are put into this
otherworldly haze of an experience
where your brain tries to put the
puzzle together under the influence
of heavy drugs. It’s not like a trauma-
induced coma, where you’re fully
unconscious while your brain resets
itself. It’s more like a deep dream state
with moments of partial awareness.
Sean watched everything that was
happening. The first time he saw me
trying to scream was awful for him.
During a wound-dressing change,
my eyes were screwed shut and my
mouth was open in a screaming posi-
tion, but no sound came out. That’s
when he realized the pain I was in
and that I was locked inside my body.
There was little he could do except try
to soothe me with his words and his
touch and to stay by my side. Indeed,
he refused to leave the hospital for a
week, and the staff provided him a cot
in the lounge. After that first week, he
headed home for a shower and fresh
clothes, but he found it unbearable to
be there without me. He cried in the
shower and vowed he wouldn’t spend
the night there until I was home.
By late October, there was talk of
stepping down some of my medica-
tions to test my responsiveness while
still keeping me sedated enough for
pain management. They began by
testing my breathing, turning the