11 years old
Beep. Beep.
Followed by wheezing.
I felt like I was surrounded by cotton.
My body was numb, almost like that one time I’d touched the glass of our fireplace and burned my fingers. For days, I hadn’t felt anything in my fingertips. Now, my entire body felt like that, not just my skin. A numbness existed in almost every layer of my limbs, a thick fog of nothingness I didn’t understand.
Beep. Beep.
Whoosh.
My hand felt heavy. I could feel that. It felt more substantial than the rest of me. My eyelids were crusted shut, and it took considerable effort to open them, but eventually, the darkness was replaced by a white wall. My eyes twitched to the left because my head felt too heavy to move. Mom sat on a chair beside me, her head rested on the mattress, and her hand held mine. That was the heavy feeling.
Where was I? What was going on?
My mouth and throat felt painfully dry. I tried to swallow, but something blocked my throat. My eyes flew open as panic set in. I wanted to scream, but my mouth was blocked too.
“Emma,” Mom said.
Our eyes met. Hers were filled with tears. I dragged my hand away from her, and even that movement was impossibly strenuous.
I reached for my face, wanting to rip away whatever stopped me from swallowing, from talking.
From screaming.
I touched a strange tube. Mom gripped my hand and gently pried it away. What was she doing? Why wasn’t she helping me?
“It’s okay,” she said, but her voice betrayed her words to be a lie. At the same time, she hit a button that started an alarm. It shrilled in my head, so painfully loud I wanted to cover my ears, but even that was impossible. A sound as unbearable as nails on a chalkboard. The little hairs on my neck rose, and even that small muscle movement hurt.
“This is your breathing tube, sweetheart. Don’t touch it. The nurse will be here soon to take it out.”
I didn’t understand what was going on. Nurse? My eyes took in my surroundings, the machine monitoring my heartbeat and pulse, the breathing machine, the drip. Mom squeezed my hand.
“Shhh,” she murmured. “Everything will be okay.”
But even as she said it, she began crying.
The door opened, and a nurse came in, followed by Dad and my brother, Danilo. All of them hurried to my side. The nurse began explaining what she’d do, but I barely listened. Dad stroked my hand, but his expression told me something bad had happened. And Danilo?
His face twisted with pain as if seeing me like this hurt him. His brown hair was completely disheveled as if he’d repeatedly run his fingers through it, and his white shirt was crinkled. Crinkled. The situation was dire if Danilo didn’t take care of his appearance.
I gagged when the nurse removed the tube, then coughed. My mouth had a stale taste, and my throat felt dry like I’d fallen asleep with my mouth wide open because my nose was closed up. But worse.
Mom handed me a glass of water and pushed a button so the backrest rose about halfway. I wanted to make it easier and sit up, but my body remained unresponsive. My muscles didn’t obey my command. I wanted to push into a sitting position, but the cotton feeling still lingered in almost every part of my body except for my left arm, my throat, chest, and head.
Danilo and Dad exchanged a look that really scared me.
I cleared my throat, but my words were still stuck. I took another sip of the water, then tried again. “Wha…” I coughed.
“Drink,” Mom encouraged, her hand shaking as she brought the glass to my lips again.
I shook my head. “What…hap…pe…pend.”
Something bad had happened, and nobody was telling me anything.
Danilo finally stepped up to the bed while Dad sank onto the other chair with a shaky groan. He was ashen, and his brown hair looked as if it hadn’t been washed in too long. Usually, he was the one we visited in the hospital. He was the one Mom cried over.
I frowned. Wasn’t he in the hospital? I tried to remember, but my memories were murky.
Danilo touched my shoulder. I saw his fingertips resting against my shoulder, but the touch was distant as if the hospital gown was heavily padded.
I looked back up into his worried face.
“You were in a car accident. Do you remember?”
My brows puckered. I was at school…then I went home…no. I went to my dance. My biggest role so far. The dance went great. My bodyguard had taken me home because Mom had been in the hospital with Dad for his cancer surgery… and Danilo had to leave my play early.
I blinked at Danilo, confused. Then I glanced at Dad.
Mom had gone over to the window and was looking outside.
“You’ve been in a coma for a couple of weeks.”
“I can’t feel my body.”
Dad closed his eyes, pinching the top of his nose.
Danilo sat on the chair that Mom had occupied before. He took my hand, but he didn’t immediately start talking. When he did, his voice cracked several times. “You had to be cut out of the car, Emma. It was really bad. You suffered some damage to your spinal cord.”
“Can I dance again?” I asked. I wasn’t even sure why it was the first thing I asked. I’d sometimes wanted to quit dancing because our teacher was never happy with me, but now, the idea of quitting ripped a hole in my chest.
Danilo shook his head. “No.”
“Nothing’s set in stone,” Mom said quickly.
Danilo shook his head. “It’s unlikely she’ll regain control of her legs again. Don’t give her false hope, Mom.”
False hope?
I tried to move my legs, tried to feel them, anything below my chest, and when I couldn’t, panic set in again.
Danilo’s grip on my hand tightened. “Emma, we’re here for you. You’re not alone. We’ll always take care of you.”
I closed my eyes. If I could have moved my hands, I would have covered my ears too. I didn’t want to hear or see any more. I didn’t even want to think. I just wanted to wake up from this nightmare and feel normal again.
