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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LEAVING LEAH'S HOSPITAL room that first day was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. She looked so peaceful in the hospital bed, her breaths coming out evenly and her face so relaxed.
We all stayed with her the rest of the day. Conversation was minimal like it felt weird for us to talk without Leah really being there. Of course, she was there, and even though I'd like to think she could hear us, I wasn't really sure.
But once visiting hours drew to a close, we all took turns talking to her, telling her how we'd see her the next day and how we loved her and hoped for the best for her.
It was hard.
Finding sleep was difficult, but I'm definitely paying for it now. I feel like I'm about to knock out as I shovel cereal into my mouth, even though I have absolutely no appetite. As soon as I came home and told my Mom the news, she was basically breathing down my neck. She constantly checked up on me in my room, bringing me snacks and water, telling me that I needed to take care of myself. She was the only reason I was trying to choke down some breakfast.
Caleb was coming to pick me up at 9:30 so we could get to the hospital for visiting hours as soon as possible. Not only did we want to see Leah, but Mr. Archer and his team would likely have more news about her and her... condition.
I didn't know what to call it. Inside, I knew she was in a coma and that the future was unknown, but she wasn't really sick. She wasn't really hurt. I hated calling it a condition, but that's sort of what it was. For now, her condition was asleep in a hospital bed, but that's not how I thought of her.
When I thought of Leah, I pictured her riding on my back after we all went to the fair, or squealing as I threw her in the pool. I remembered her excitedly looking through the pumpkins for the perfect one, or laughing as I smeared ice cream on her nose.
I sighed, deciding that I was only going to become more depressed the longer I sat here trying to force down food. It was hard when my stomach felt like it had been in knots ever since we stepped into the hospital yesterday.
I put away the bowl and spoon, rinsing them before loading them into the dishwasher. I have nothing left to do but wait for Caleb to show up, so I pull out my phone and scroll through my social media. I notice a few text messages from our close friends, telling me they're here for me and they wish the best for Leah. I appreciate their efforts, but I know I'm too emotional to reach out to them right now.
Thankfully, nothing has gotten out on social media or anything. Caleb must have told our friends personally, and I knew they wouldn't say anything. Ultimately, it was Caleb's and his family's decision on whether or not they wanted to make the news public, something I was sure they'd have to discuss sooner or later. In my opinion, there were a lot of people who cared for Leah and they deserved to know, but if I was in their shoes I don't know if I'd want everyone to know.
