Table of Contents
Title Page
Introduction
November 1, Tuesday
November 2, Wednesday
November 3, Thursday
November 4, Friday
November 5, Saturday
November 6, Sunday
November 7, Monday
November 8, Tuesday
November 9, Wednesday
November 10, Thursday
November 11, Friday
November 12, Saturday
November 13, Sunday
November 14, Monday
November 15, Tuesday
November 16, Wednesday
November 17, Thursday
November 18, Friday
November 19, Saturday
November 20, Sunday
November 21, Monday
November 22, Tuesday
November 23, Wednesday
November 24, Thursday
November 25, Friday
November 26, Saturday
November 27, Sunday
November 28, Monday
November 29, Tuesday
November 30, Wednesday
A FREE Coma Girl Coloring Sheet!
A note from the author
Other works by Stephanie Bond
About the Author
Copyright information
COMA GIRL
(Part 5)
by
Stephanie Bond
You can learn a lot when people think you aren’t listening…
Introduction
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had insomnia. I’ve always been a night owl and a morning person, surviving on five, maybe six, hours of sleep cobbled together in restless bouts. In hindsight, I realize all my life I sort of resented having to sleep. I suppose I was afraid on some subconscious level I’d miss something important or exciting or unrepeatable. Which makes my current predicament all the more ironic.
I am in a deep vegetative state… better known as a coma.
Other people refer to my situation as “sad,” “heartbreaking”… even “tragic.” I find all the attention rather strange considering before I landed in Bed 3 in the long-term care ward of Brady Hospital in Atlanta, Georgia, I was the girl no one paid much attention to. I was the middle child—middling pretty, middling smart, a middling achiever with a middling personality in a middling job at a middling company. My name is Marigold Kemp, but these days I’m more commonly referred to as Coma Girl. Apparently, I have a bit of a following. I’ve trended on social media. I have my own hashtag.
Since it appears I’m going to be here for a while, I thought I might as well start telling my story; there have been a few twists and turns as to how I got here, and doubtless more to come. The list of pluses of being in a coma is pretty darn short, but if I had to name the best thing, it’s that you can learn a lot when people think you aren’t listening. I am the ultimate eavesdropper, and friend, if I ever wake up, I’m going to write a tell-all.
Meanwhile, I’ll tell you.
November 1, Tuesday
“…SORRY… so sorry…”
Slowly I became aware of a muffled voice, but was it Sidney apologizing even as she smothered me, or St. Peter at the pearly gates saying sorry, he can’t let me in?
“I’m sorry, Marigold. Please forgive me.” The glass rosary beads clicked together in a way that made me think she was holding them.
It’s Sidney, and she’s crying. Am I dead and hanging in some kind of other limbo that’s more hellish than being comatose?
“I haven’t been a good sister, but I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”
Either I’m still alive, or she’s promising to deliver one heck of a eulogy for me.
“Roberta gave me your living will, and in it you wrote you didn’t want to suffer. And you named me as your agent.”
I named you my healthcare agent, not my executioner.
“Anyway, I… thought it was best to end your suffering.” She sniffed. “But I wasn’t thinking straight. God, what have I done?”
Oh, no—I must be dead.
The door opened and the sound of soft footsteps faltered. “Who are you?”
Nurse Gina is making rounds.
A rustling noise sounded.
“I forgot I was wearing a mask. It’s me, Sidney—Marigold’s sister.”
“Oh. Hello, Ms. Kemp.” Gina sounded wary. “But it’s after midnight. Why are you here?”
“I came earlier to visit Marigold.” Sid’s voice was barely above a whisper. “And I… stayed. I hope that’s okay.”
“You’re family,” Gina said. “Of course it’s okay.”
“Will you check Marigold’s vital signs? I thought I heard her struggling to breath when I first arrived.”
Because you had your hands over my airways. Did you just pull off the perfect crime, Sid? If so, you must be watching Forensics Files, too.
From the nearby sounds, I assume Gina is tending to me. Wait for it…
“Her pulse is normal.”
Oh, good—I’m still kicking. Well, not kicking, but alive.
Sid exhaled audibly. “Good. The baby, too?”
A pause, then, “Yes, the heartbeat is strong.”
“Oh, thank God,” Sidney said, relief coloring her voice. “Thank you, Blessed Mother Mary, for answering my prayer.” Her hoarse voice bordered on hysteria.
“I heard you’d gone back to school,” Gina said, her voice still guarded. “Boston, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and I did. I just came back to—”
Murder me.
“—visit Marigold. I m-miss her.”
She actually sounds believable.
“I imagine you wanted to see her before the surgery.”
“Surgery?” Sid asked. “What surgery?”
Either Gina didn’t know or had forgotten the doctors weren’t going to talk to my family about the risky surgery scheduled tomorrow to reduce pressure in my brain until they had satisfied their own requirements for proceeding.
“Er, I… misspoke. You should talk to her doctors.”
“Please tell me. I was planning to go back to Boston, but should I stay?”
“Perhaps,” Gina said. “The doctors are planning to talk to your parents today about performing surgery to release the pressure on Marigold’s brain.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is,” Gina confirmed. “It’s very dangerous.”
“She could die?”
I expected Sid’s voice to sound hopeful, but instead she sounded… scared.
“Yes,” Gina said, her voice grim. “She could die.”
The chair scuffed against the floor. “I have to go,” Sid blurted.
“To your parents’?”
“No. To take care of some things. Please don’t tell anyone I was here.”
“I won’t,” Gina said, sounding perplexed.
After the door opened and closed, Gina expelled an exasperated sigh. “What a strange family you have, Marigold.”
Lady, you don’t know the half of it.
November 2, Wednesday
“DO YOU HAVE ANY last-minute reservations?” Dr. Jarvis asked.
He and Dr. Tyson were walking alongside my bed as it was being rolled toward an operating room.
“Only a dozen or so,” Dr. Tyson said.
Was that a tremor in her voice? Was she worried, or still sleepy? It was early, after all. Although neither boded well for someone who would soon have her hand in my brain.
Jarvis grunted. “I confess when I woke up this morning, I hoped we’d come in to find Ms. Kemp miraculously improved since our final consult with Dr. Oscar yesterday.”
“Agreed, the best surgery is the one we don’t have to do,” Dr. Tyson said. “But even your perpetual classical music will only take her brain so far, Jarvis.”
“I know,” he said. “If Marigold’s going to get better, we have to intervene.”
“Jarvis,” she said in a chiding voice. “My goal is to keep Ms. Kemp alive until the fetus is viable. Anything more than that will be a gift. At this point, the concept you have of her getting better is almost certainly off the table.”
Wow. To hear the best I might ever be is trapped in this state of nothingness is a blow to my soul. Right now I almost wished Sidney had followed through on her intention to put me out of my misery. Except, of course, there is the baby to think of.
Jarvis’s expression must’ve mirrored how I felt because Dr. Tyson made a comforting noise. “Let’s just get through the surgery, okay?”
“Right,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Are her parents here?”
“Um, no. I told them the surgery could take several hours. They asked me to call when Marigold is in recovery.”
Mighty big of them.
Jarvis cursed. “Don’t they realize she might not make it to recovery?”
“We shouldn’t judge them too harshly,” Tyson said. “My guess is they already feel as if they’ve lost their daughter. Being elsewhere might be their way of distancing themselves from more emotional trauma.”
“What about Marigold’s trauma?” he asked. “She’s alone and pregnant and if she has any inkling of what’s happening to her, she must be terrified.”
“They can’t do anything for her anyway,” she said lightly.
“They could at least be here for her.”
My bed was being banged against something—a doorway?
“It’s better for us if they’re not here. I don’t like the pressure of knowing the family is in the waiting room, pacing. We don’t know what we might find when we open her up.”
Ack—she made it sound as if they might find a tube of Chapstick in there. Or a sock.
Other voices sounded in the background. Dr. Tyson and Jarvis said hellos all around, then video-conferenced in Dr. Oscar, who would have his own scope to watch what was happening in my brain and even assist remotely if necessary. Dr. Tyson ran through what everyone was expected to do.
I’m astounded at the number of people who will be attending little ole me. An obstetric nurse would be dedicated to monitoring the baby, with an obstetrician on call if necessary. The anesthesiologist asked a few questions. Dr. Tyson went through a surgical precheck verbally. Everyone seemed to be ready.
Except me. I’m utterly petrified. What if I don’t wake up? Or at least get back to this place?
“Here we go, Marigold,” Dr. Jarvis whispered close to my ear. “Three, two, one… ”
Wait, I’m not—
November 3, Thursday
“I TOLD YOU, you were going to hurt yourself with that Kung Fu nonsense, Robert.”
“Yes, Carrie, I heard you every time. And just now, too.”
“Well, a lot of good it did. There’s barely room for us in here, much less those crutches. Don’t trip over a cord or a tube or something.”
“Do you think you can stop fussing long enough for us to get a good look at Marigold? The nurse said we only get ten minutes with her.”
So I made it through the surgery. I never thought I’d be happy to hear my parents bickering at each other, but right now their snippy voices sound glorious. And near me I hear a monitor pinging with regularity, which I assume is my heartbeat.
“Oh, they shaved her head again,” my mother said.
Crap—I forgot about that. But a small price to pay to be restored to… this.
“She looks so pale,” my dad said, his voice breaking. “She’s been through so much.”
“Shush, Robert. The doctors said the surgery was successful, so let’s focus on that.”
“And the baby is okay?”
“Yes. Dr. Tyson said everything went better than planned. Weren’t you listening?”
“Did you call Sidney and Alex?”
“Of course. Sidney was at church, praying for Marigold.”
Praying for me, or her own soul? Wait—that’s a little bitter from someone who just made it through brain surgery.
“And Alex was out on patrol, but he left word to be radioed as soon as we called.”
“They’re such great kids,” Dad said.
I know he didn’t mean to exclude me, but there it was again, the sensation that I was the outsider. Then I scolded myself—a few hours post op was not the time to be examining my emotional responses to small talk in ICU. I was probably still under the influence of all kinds of drugs.
“When I called Winnie, she said that crackpot psychic of hers had predicted Marigold would come through the surgery with flying colors.” Mom snorted. “Get this—she asked if the doctors had found a sock in her brain.”
Wow, Faridee—impressive. And long-distance, too.
“Carrie, your sister has lost her mind.”
“I know, right?”
“That reminds me—the police detective working Marigold’s case called to ask about her.”
Jack Terry had called? Aw.
“Don’t you think it’s strange that he visits her?” Mom asked.
“Maybe it’s his way of connecting with victims. He asked if he could come by the house to take a look at Marigold’s car.”
“Whatever for?”
“I assume it has something to do with the accident.”
“The accident,” my mother murmured, sounding faraway. “When everything changed.”
“Yep,” my dad said.
They took turns sighing until a chime sounded.
“That’s our cue to leave,” Mom said.
“When can we come back?”
“In two hours, family members can go in for another ten minutes, but I have a closing, so I need to take you home now.”
“But I can’t drive. How am I supposed to get back here on my own?”
“You should’ve thought of that before you jump-kicked a concrete column.”
“It’s called a roundhouse kick. And I’m trying to better myself, Carrie.”
“Well, stop it, Robert. Let’s go—we’ll come back to visit Marigold tomorrow.”
“Okay, tomorrow.”
As their voices faded, I marveled how their indifference actually gave me a sense of peace. It was comforting in its sameness.
I’m back, y’all.
November 4, Friday
“SO THE ASSISTANT DISTRICT ATTORNEY was scamming Keith Young’s attorney when she said Marigold was going to respond to yes and no questions about the accident.”
I mentally tensed when I recognized the voice of David Spooner, the attorney who had cozied up to Sidney and is, I’m afraid, up to no good.
“Right,” Sidney said. “It seems the ADA was scamming all of us.”
Ah. So that’s why Sid had tried to off me—because she was afraid I was going to expose her in the ADA’s interview as the driver.
“Do you think Young’s people fell for the story?”
“I haven’t heard.”
“Well, let’s keep our fingers crossed. And hey, since the surgery was successful, maybe she’ll wake up and testify after all.”
“Maybe,” Sid said.
Ah, so she hadn’t even told Spooner that she’d been behind the wheel at the time of the accident.
“No offense, Sid, but you don’t look so good. Hey, you’re shaking.”
“I’m just tired,” she said, but her voice was tremulous.
“No wonder—you have so much on your plate with sc
hool and all of this, too. I saw a mention of Coma Girl’s hashtag on HLN yesterday for top social media campaigns of the year.”
“Yes… I believe that popped up in my media alerts. I’ve been a little distracted.”
“Maybe it’s time we brought someone on to help with the media demands. I’ll get Alicia in my office to step in so you can concentrate on your studies.”
“She’s a little young, isn’t she?” Sid’s voice was tinged with jealousy.
“Alicia’s twenty-one. And into all the latest mobile tech, including international apps that most Americans haven’t heard of. She could be a big help.”
“That might be best,” Sid agreed. “I do have a lot going on right now.”
“Nice earrings, are they new?”
“Uh-hm.”
“Should I be jealous?”
“No,” she murmured. “I just needed a pick-me-up.”
“Wow, when I was in law school, internships didn’t pay enough for diamond earrings.”
“I put these on a credit card until I get my first check for managing Marigold’s foundation. When will that be, by the way?”
“Any day now. I’ll look in to it when I add Alicia to the payroll. What’s with the rosary?” he asked, neatly changing the subject, I noticed.
The familiar clink of the glass beads sounded. “I’m Catholic.”
“I know, but you’ve been carrying it around since I picked you up from the airport.”
Sid had taken it with her when she’d left my room after… you know.
“I’m just worried about Marigold,” she said vaguely.
“You said she’d be out of ICU soon, so things are looking up.”
“Still, a little faith doesn’t hurt.”
“You’re so good,” he gushed. “There’s my phone—I need to take this and they don’t allow calls in here.”
“I’ll be right out,” Sid said.
At the sound of Spooner’s retreating footsteps, my mind raced. Something had made Sid change her mind a few nights ago when she had her hands over my face… but she could change her mind again. With me gone, her life would go back to normal, and she could play the bereaved sister.
At this very second, is Sid looking for a plug to pull?
She began reciting a prayer to the Virgin Mary for forgiveness, but even after she finished and left, my fears didn’t ease. Because some people believe in storing prayers in the Bank of God, then taking a withdrawal in one lump sum.
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