Dr. Edwards, Hudson’s dad, says patients who have come out of comas have spoken about hearing loved one’s voices. He actively encourages us to talk to Garrick and to be as normal as possible in our interactions.
It's why I never show up here angry.
Or let my depression show.
Or relay anything negative that’s happened in my life in case it causes him stress or worry. None of us know what it’s like to be trapped in your head. To be incapable of moving your body. For all we know, he is aware of everything, and he just can’t communicate with us.
A part of me hopes he hears everything and it gives him the strength to keep fighting.
Another part of me hopes he hears nothing. That he’s not aware of what’s going on because the thought of him trapped inside his body, screaming to be set free, is most upsetting. It torments me. Usually at night, when I’m lying in bed, tossing and turning, trying to sleep, but unable to switch my thoughts off.
On weekends, I have resorted to taking a sleeping pill at night. I hate relying on medication, but I can’t function if I don’t get at least two nights of undisturbed sleep a week.
The door opens quietly, and Helena enters the room. I smile softly at Garrick’s physical therapist. Helena works various shifts, alternating between days and nights, so I don’t always see her even if she works on Garrick every day. She’s only a few years older than me, and she’s one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. We clicked instantly, and while I wouldn’t exactly call us friends, there’s a warmth in our relationship that doesn’t exist with any of the nursing staff even though I’m on good terms with all of them. “Helena, it’s good to see you. It’s been a while.”
“Good to see you too, Stevie.” She pulls me into a brief hug. “I was working days the past two weeks. My sister had a baby, and I’ve been helping her out at night. Her new son refuses to sleep, and she’s exhausted and stressed out trying to get him into a good routine.”
“Congratulations, Auntie.”
“Thanks.” She beams and her pretty face lights up despite her obvious tiredness. “Lennon is the first baby on our side, so it’s been wildly exciting. Everyone is tripping over themselves to spend time with him.”
“Aw, that’s so cute, and I love his name.”
“His father is a crazy Beatles fan.”
“I figured.” I grin and waggle my brows.
“How’s our boy?” she asks, glancing down at Garrick as she secures a stray strand of brown hair into her ponytail.
“Beautiful as ever.” I sweep my fingers across his handsome face. “It’s hard sometimes to see him looking so physically perfect.” His physical injuries have healed. The ones we can see, at least, and he looks more like himself. Except he’s much paler, and I miss his messy longer hair.
They keep his hair cropped close to his skull. Hudson said it’s in case anything happens, and they might need to operate on his brain again. Personally, I think that’s bullshit. It would take seconds to shave his head. It’s more to do with the nursing staff not having an ordeal every time they need to wash his hair. Cropped hair is way easier to manage. “It’s like he’s just sleeping. In brief moments when I forget, I expect him to bolt upright, open those eyes, and fix me with one of his dazzling smiles. Then I remember, and the pain digs deeper.”
“It’s not easy,” she agrees, drawing the covers down Garrick’s body.
“I’ll water the plants and get out of your way.” I step away from the bed, letting her do her work.
Taking care of Garrick is more than just hooking him up to machines and drips and feeding him through a tube. Nurses regularly rotate him in the bed to avoid bedsores. A dietician and respiratory care assistant monitor his nutrition and breathing, and Helena conducts daily physical therapy to flex his muscles and stop them from atrophying.
I fill the small plastic watering can at the sink in Garrick’s private bathroom before moving around the bedroom and attending to the few plants. I have tried to make this space homey so, when he wakes, he’ll see warmth and familiarity. Now that we are away from the main ICU floor, there are less restrictions on what we can and can’t do. As well as plants, I bring weekly flowers every Friday, arranging them in colorful floral displays among a few different vases scattered around the space. Framed photos cover one of his bedside tables. His guitar rests in a corner on a stand, and there are more photos pinned to the walls.
A portable Bluetooth speaker plays his favorite music during the day, on low in the background most times. I also bought a scent diffuser because one of the nurses mentioned that scents can trigger memories. I use a variety of different scents, like apples, citrus, and spicy scents reminiscent of his favorite wine and whisky. Strawberry, peach, and vanilla like my shower wash and perfume. I even found some cookie and cupcake scents.
Ivy tried getting rid of some of it, but Hugh laid down the law, and he had the nurses on his side. None of the nursing staff has any time for her, and Harvey Edwards only tolerates her because he’s forced to. I heard a few of the nurses bitching about her one night, and I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my face.
Like now, as I watch Helena with Garrick. She talks quietly to him as she manipulates his muscles, rotating his legs and arms, taking great care of his body. I find a lot of the nurses quite cold. They are never rude or negligent, probably mostly overworked, but they don’t show the same tenderness or concerned care that Helena does. She isn’t just sweet and kind; she’s amazing at her job too.
When I’m finished watering the plants, I sit on the chair by the window, looking out at the pitch-black Seattle skyline. Briefly, I wonder if Beck is still with Brielle or if he’s already gone home. Removing my tablet from my bag, I catch up on some work emails while Helena finishes with Garrick.
When she’s done, we say our goodbyes, and I settle into the chair by my boyfriend’s side, holding his hand in one hand while I open up the book we’re reading on my tablet with my free one.
It’s the latest Byron Stanley thriller, about a fictional detective named Jake Bennett. Each book is about a new case, but the subplot of his life carries through, progressing from book to book. This one is about a woman who went missing fifteen years ago who is suddenly found. She has no recollection of what happened to her, but Bennett is trying to help her recover lost memories because another woman has been taken in similar circumstances, and they think she can help to locate her.
It’s really good, and Garrick would love it. I hope heisloving it. Garrick had just discovered this author before the accident, and he wouldn’t shut up about how amazing he was.
I was always a romance reader until I decided to purchase Stanley’s entire catalog after the accident, and I’m slowly working my way through each one with Garrick. My boyfriend was right. The books are gripping, and Stanley is an excellent author. I now have a newly discovered passion for thrillers, and one of my favorite things to do is read to Garrick.
“Where were we?” I muse out loud, opening the book on my tablet. “Ah, yes. Bennett just received an anonymous tip-off, and he was heading to Maggie’s house to ask her about it.”
