Olympic Conquest

Lainey - Floating in Space

My head is heavy and I've been having the strangest dreams. One moment I'm underwater and I can't make it to the surface no matter how hard I swim and the next, I'm floating in outer space and trying to get home, like Sandy Bullock and George Clooney in Gravity. For the last few days, I can hear people around me but I can't make out what they're saying and I can't seem to speak. I want to join in the conversation but the words won't come out.

Eventually, after what feels like years - oh God, I hope it hasn't been years - my mind clears a bit. I'm able to focus more and more on what's happening around me. My energy is slowly increasing and my head's getting lighter. I want to believe my body has figured out the path to recovery and my brain is now executing the plan. My blood seems to be pumping a little faster. And like when I'm preparing for a competition, my mind starts giving me pep talks. You're an Olympic champion! Prove to everyone you deserve that gold medal. You know how to surmount the toughest odds! You're great under pressure. Focus! You can do this! 

The first thing I try to do is focus on people's conversations. I hear mom and dad talking. They seem worried. I can tell from the way they're speaking. They wonder how I'm feeling every second of the day. In the past, it was always about my future. What should I be doing next? That was always the question. Now, they're existing in each moment that seems to drag on forever - wishing I would do something as simple as move my hand or open my eyes. I try to accommodate but nothing happens.

I can feel Cory's presence. He often sits next to my bed and holds my hand for hours. At first, I loved having him near me. I could feel my heart beating faster - willing me to get better with him by my side. What I wouldn't give each day to be able to take him in my arms and walk out of this hell hole I've put us in.

In time, though, instead of making me happy, Cory's presence starts making me angry. With every squeeze of my hand, waves of guilt wash over me and I think about how he's putting his life on hold to sit here day in, day out and for what? To watch me wither away? I don't want to be his cripple. He doesn't deserve that. I'm the one who put us in this situation. He should move on with his life. Now, when Cory holds my hand, I try my hardest to pull my hand away but it still won't move.

Time drags on and I begin to feel suffocated inside my body. It's hard to have anyone around me, reminding me of a life outside of my body. A life I can't take part in. A life that doesn't allow me to use my body as intended and give back to those I love. Instead, I have become a burden.

Days turn into weeks and eventually Cory needs to leave. He has to have his own surgery. He delayed it as long as he could. He kisses me goodbye and says he'll be back. I try to cry, for his sake. But I can't. He finally leaves. I got what I wished for. He's gone. And my heart breaks into a million pieces.

Life goes on with me trapped inside my head. I give up on tracking time and wondering when I'll be back to the land of the living. Right now, I just exist - a body taking up space in this bed, in this hospital. All of my hard-earned muscles are gone. I'm a shell of myself.

And right when I finally had come to terms with the idea that I may never wake up, my effort to open my eyes works. I'm blinded by the ugly fluorescent light above my bed. I blink a few times as a face comes in focus in front of me. It's my mom. She smiles at me and screams for the nurse. I try to move my lips and this time, my muscles obey. I smile back and ask in a very garbled way, what's going on? My mom bursts into tears. And so do I.