Leah Archer was just 12 years old when she hit her head on a rock and fell into a coma, one that doctors weren't sure she'd ever come back from. But when she wakes up four years later, she faces the struggle of recovery and fights to regain any hint...
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THE WORDS TO some recent pop song fills the room as I lie in the hospital bed, looking up at the ceiling. Over the last few days, I think it has become more evident to everyone that I'm waking up, and that I can hear them. Nobody talks to me like I'm stupid, and most of the doctors and nurses regarded me as if I am a normal person.
I love it. It makes me feel like normal again.
My dad had brought a radio up to my room and was playing some songs that were popular right now. I obviously have never heard any of them because they are more recent than 5 years, but I'm enjoying most of them. In the least, it gets rid of all the silence in the room.
Within just the last few days, I had slowly recovered some movement. My first finger twitch was celebrated immensely, though there still wasn't much I could do with it. Every so often I could manage to get a lip to move, even just slightly. Even the smallest of achievements feels like a mountain to overcome. I still have not been visited by the family that I can't remember, but Dr. Archer had told me that they didn't want to overwhelm me by bringing in visitors.
Overall, everything had been a lot to handle. But I guess I'm managing.
The song playing through the air ends as the radio-host-person takes over, spewing some nonsense about some product they want you to buy. Just as the next tune is beginning, the door to my room opens quietly and Dr. Archer–my father–step into the room.
"Hello, Leah," he hums before sitting down at the chair and typing away at the little computer he brought in with him. I can't remember ever seeing a laptop that small, but it looks really handy. "Okay, I'm going to outline your treatments for you so that you're not surprised or scared when my nurse, Miss Natalie, comes in later with a few other doctors." My eyes follow him as he moves between the small counter against the wall of the room and the side of my bed.
"So, we're going to be starting you on a new medication today, hopefully one that can kick start your responses, maybe help give you a little push to get some movement back in you. Along with your normal nurse will be an intern who's just there to observe, as well as a few doctors that will be monitoring your progress alongside me."
He stops talking for a few minutes as he types away on the computer, occasionally letting out quiet noises of agreement and sighs before turning back to me.
"Once we get your responses going and movement starts again, we'll run tests on your lungs to see if we can remove that breathing tube, although you'll have to stay on oxygen for a while. Then you'll go through some mental and physical therapy before you can hopefully go home. I know it sounds a bit overwhelming, but all this will take time. A lot of time."
