Saving Riley

Chapter 5

As I woke up, the only sounds I could hear were the hustle and bustle of dedicated nurses and doctors, getting on with their jobs. The air smelt medicinal and everything was sterile. The cleanliness was almost too clean. It felt like I could t touch anything or I'd contaminate it.

The nurse, who had been looking after me and helping replace dressings and bandages, came in to give me my food. I couldn't eat, so a small tube was delivering food to my stomach. It freaked me out, but she was a great nurse who was so caring and made sure I was comfortable. She also administered another dose of painkiller to help numb the pain I was feeling. It also relaxed my muscles which helped keep my food in my stomach.

The nurse told me that James had been sent home. He had stayed for a long time and had regularly checked up on me during the weeks I was in the coma. I felt so guilty that he was having to suffer through this too. I knew I had to keep fighting, for him, for everyone I loved.

After the medication had worked, I had a little rest. Sleep was so important in my rehabilitation because it meant I'd heal faster. My brain had been damaged, leg broken, coordination completely destroyed. Sleep was a welcome thing at this point.

After I had slept for about 2 hours, the doctor came back in to do some reflex tests with me. He pressed on my knee and the knee jerk reflex caused my leg to move. The muscle felt weak but the action was involuntary: my brain wasn't involved in the decision. He tested my senses to see which ones had come back. He got me to squeeze his hand is I could taste sour or sweet flavours, hear music or feel sensation in different parts of my body. My speech hadn't come back to yet, but I felt like I was getting stronger, and soon my brain would let me speak when I wanted to communicate.

My parents walked into the room, relief flooding their faces when they saw I was still alive and awake.

"Riley!" Mom called in delight." My sweet, precious girl! I'm so glad you're concious again!"

I gave Mom a weak, one sided smile. The strength was slowly coming back to each part of my body, but the effort I had to use to even make small movements was extreme. She smiled back at me, sadness in her eyes. It seemed to cause her pain to see me in pain. I just wanted to reach out and take that pain away. If only I hadn't been walking alone, maybe someone would have seen the car coming and pulled me out of the way of my impending doom.

A sudden realisation hit me: what if this ruined my dance career? I knew deep down that it was over for me. My coordination had been completely destroyed, I was back to the mobility of a new born baby, or even less than that. I couldn't wriggle my tiny toes, lift my head up to see Mom, move my arms much. What hope did I have of becoming a professional dancer if I could barely move, let alone dance at all?

A silent tear fell out of my eye, running down my delicate cheek. No one noticed, they didn't realise how much this accident was crushing me; it didn't affect them, not directly anyway. This had ruined my life, and it wasn't even my fault. The doctors told me rehab would help me recover fully, but I'd lost all hope. Seeing friends and family coming in, fully independent and able to look after themselves, all I wanted was to be able to be free again. Free from wires, from painful injections, from being confined to a uncomfortable hospital bed.

The sickening smell of hospital food hit me. A tray of vile, unthinkable mush headed my way. The doctors said they wanted to try me with some actual food, rather than feeding me via a small tube directly I to my stomach. This way I didn't have to taste the putred concoctions they were pumping into me;now I didn't have much of a choice. I needed to get stronger, and trying to get some nutrition into me had to be the first step to getting better I had to do this if I ever wanted to be well again. I had to.