☀The Song☀

Chapter 15

Most doctors say that a coma patient can hear what is going on while they are unconscious and then can recall what happened around them during their comatose state, but I didn't remember anything.

I woke up 18 days after my surgery. It took the surgeon four hours to remove the bullet from the muscle around my heart. They all said I was lucky, since the bullet didn't hit my heart, but stopped just before barely grazed the bottom. It was weird, even though they said I was the lucky one, I didn't feel lucky.

Gil hadn't woken up yet, he was barely responding to any stimuli the doctors and nurses did. He had gotten shot on the shoulder and chest, not necessarily comatose-worthy injuries, but coupled with the fractured skull and femur, along with the massive blood loss, his body was still in shock.

When I did finally wake up,it was pitch black outside, 3:27am to be exact. The room was dark, the only light came from the monitors and the single bedside lamp by Gil's bed that illuminated his mothers face. She was sleeping in a chair covered with a blanket.

I tried to sit up but not without a machine beeping like crazy. A nurse came in and headed straight for my bed, she came over to me and started moving her lips, It took awhile for me to hear her, but she was just talking to me, walking me through what she was doing as she was doing it. She made the machine stop beeping and told me that it was August 17, that I was 18 years old, and I had suffered a severe trauma and was waking up physically healed. She said that I could be out as soon as Christmas if I was in good mental health. She noticed me stealing a glance at Gil every so often.

"He's got a rough road for recovery ahead of him, but he is a fighter." She continued to check a few more machines and then left after making sure I was alright.

Four months. I could t believe that we had missed four months of our lives because of one idiot. I tried to think of what could have happened, a few birthdays, some fairs, first days of school, nothing too important. But we could have made them important. Gil was finally starting to get comfortable around me, not in a friendship sort of way, but physically. He had started to open up more and talk about his thoughts on random topics, or just a few stupid pieces of worthless trivia here and there. The band had just started to gain popularity, we had a major booking opportunity for graduation season... But it's gone now.

A doctor with a white coat came into the room to explain my condition. I was to stay in my bed for two days, so I had time to get used to being awake. A physical therapist would come three times a day to help me get control over my muscles, but after that I could go wherever I wanted in the hospital on my floor.

I made the best of those 48 hours that I could; I wrote some poems, drew some pictures, did the best I could with what little i had. Nobody came to visit, save Gil's family, but a lot of friends sent flowers. Even the principal set both of us a bouquet and a get well card when school started saying how 'unfortunate the situation was' and how she 'missed our presence in the halls and hope you get well soon.' Those cards just made me hate her more. She was already a horrible person, caring more about the schools local image than her students, but the fact that she missed people who she probably didn't even know existed, it's stupid.

Finally the doctor came in and cleared me from bed rest. I strolled through the halls for a few hours trying to get a feel for the hospital floor. I was in the part specifically for the long term patients. There were kids, adults, people of all ages on this floor.

I had a lot of time to think. I didn't have anyone left to come and visit, no one to go home to when I was fully recovered. I thought about where I was going to stay when this was all over. I thought about my future, if I even had one left. I had decided to continue schooling online, since I wasn't going to be going home anytime soon.

Gil wasn't getting any better. His mom was aging by the day from all the stress. I tried to help but the more I tried the more they pushed me out. I had a gut feeling that they blamed me for what happened to Gil. His brain wasn't working g properly, something that had to do with the memory section of his brain had been damaged by a fractured skull and his frontal lobes were bruised from his concussions. I guess I secretly did blame myself for what was happening to Gil. He wouldn't be able to remember a lot of what happened before the accident