Remembering Chloe

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

April 8th

10:51a.m.

The doctor hadn’t lied when he said I’d be out in a week. Just six days and eighteen hours after I’d woken up, the doctor said I could go home to my parents. I was ecstatic. No, I was more than ecstatic. I was bouncing from the walls in pure exultation.

“You can leave now,” he sang, his fingers lightly dancing over my skin to check my heart rate and temperature.

I didn’t believe him at first, “Wait, you mean I can go home? Like, back with my parents and Ryan?”

But that wise smile sat proudly on his face and I could tell it was genuine. He was almost as excited as me at my full recovery. I think a lot of the hospital staff were taken with me for that same reason too. A lot of them were mystified in fact. I was their miracle. I forced hope back into their hearts after having to deal with death for so long.

Sometimes, the nurses would drop by to say hi to me. They would pretend that they were checking up on me when really, they just came to talk. Some of the more daring ones would even sit with me instead of buzzing around my bed like a fly just to keep up the act.

The doctors came to visit me too. They’d ask about my experience within the coma but I never really had that much to say. I couldn’t really remember anything. It was almost like it had never happened. Like the five months in a coma was crumpled up and thrown away only to be replaced by a fresh, blank page. And that’s what I tried to tell each and every one of them, that I just didn’t know.

My parents even came in to see me once or twice. I learned that my mother’s name was Anna and that my dad was named David. I liked them very much. They were very patient with me and answered all of my questions. My mother even stayed with me one night and held my hand until I fell asleep. They were wonderful people, my parents.

I was a little disappointed though when Ryan never showed his face. I thought that, before the accident, we had some sort of relationship. I guess I just let my desire trick me into imagined it though.  

The day of my discharge from the maddeningly white hospital, I was allowed to walk to the washroom by myself. My limbs were still very stiff but I’d been practicing with the help from the staff. Sometimes they would just hold me up and tell me to take one step, then another. I think I could move on my own now although it hurt some times because my muscles were so weak.

I opened the heavy door very slowly. It took more energy than I thought was necessary but I finally did it and it squeaked in congratulations. I didn’t bother closing it though because I don’t think I could’ve opened it again.

The other day, when my mom came to visit, she brought me some of my old clothes to wear. They were neatly folded and I couldn’t wait to try them on. I haven’t worn actual clothes in five months now. All I had was these scrubs that the doctors made me wear and some slippers.

I pulled on the sweater and the pair of jeans she brought me and then looked down. They were beautiful clothes. I suppose I would’ve thought that a garbage bag would be beautiful too though if she told me that’s what I wore before. Anything but that horrible white robe would’ve been beautiful.

I splashed my face with cold water and smiled at the reflection.

This wasn’t the first time I’d been allowed to see my reflection. At first, the doctors thought it would be too risky because then I might get depressed. They said it happened sometimes when people finally faced the collateral damage to their body and that worried me. What was there to see that would make me so sad? But finally, they granted me a mirror and I could only smile at what I saw.