Unfortunately, it wasn’t my first time going through the process of helping someone heal. Over my years in service, I’d seen many comrades suffer every kind of injury imaginable, from simple lacerations and broken bones, to debilitating ailments that would forever change their lives. Not every injured soldier had the luxury of a caretaker waiting for them at home, so I’d nursed a few of them back to relative health myself.
The benefits of physical therapy were not new to me.
This was, however, my first time helping someone who’d been in a coma for so long. In some ways, it was similar. In order to heal, the human body basically needed the same basic things.
But in other ways, it was completely different.
The John Doe’s complete helplessness was what really caught my attention. Sitting next to him while reading, I’d known that he was unconscious, but I hadn’t felt the weight of what that really meant. Now that he was in my arms, completely limp and vulnerable, it hit me that I could do anything to him at that moment and he couldn’t stop me. He wouldn’t even know anything had been done to him, since he was unconscious.
As soon as that thought entered my mind, I automatically held him tighter and pulled his body a little closer.
Under Frankie’s instruction, I helped the physical therapist stretch and manipulate each of the John Doe’s limbs in a strange imitation of a yoga class. Due to the freshly healed burns, some parts of his body couldn’t be moved as much as needed for the therapy to be effective. For these parts, electro-therapy was used to stimulate the muscles instead.
The unassuming little box connected to the John Doe patient with leads that stuck to his skin. Then, with the push of a button,an electrical current was passed through the targeted muscle. The charge was low, just enough to make the muscle twitch. I’d had this same treatment done to me several times when healing from past injuries and knew that it didn’t hurt a bit.
Yet, the moment the sticky pads of the leads touched the John Doe’s skin, his brows furrowed slightly, as if he’d somehow noticed them even in his unconscious state.
I placed my hand on the John Doe’s head, trying to smooth away his furrowed brow.
“Hey, it’ll be okay. Trust me, it doesn’t hurt, and it’ll help you get better.”
But it turned out I was a liar without even knowing, because the moment that machine was flipped on, things weren’t fine. The small electrical stimulus did its job, activating muscles that couldn’t be moved otherwise, but it also caused a horrible, muffled wail to build up in the John Doe’s throat.
I’d been through this treatment before. I knew it didn’t hurt, and yet, the unconscious man on the table reacted as if he was in immense pain. His hands even curled up into claws, grabbing fistfuls of the bed sheets like he meant to tear himself away.
Not knowing what else to do, I grabbed his hand and laced my fingers between his, letting him hold onto me instead. Whatever he was going through, I couldn’t stop it, but hopefully, I could at least provide a more stable outlet for his pain than the flimsy blanket.
The treatment didn’t last long. Barely more than two minutes. Yet, every second felt like a year until Frankie finally turned off the machine.
“I hate using this treatment on him,” Frankie said as he packed up the electrical stimulus machine. “If the patient could be moved enough for regular manipulation, I’d stick to that. It clearly distresses him for some reason, but unfortunately, there aren’t a lot of other options. I just hope he doesn’t remember it when he wakes up.”
The John Doe didn’t relax until the electrical leads were removed from him. Then, the moment the adhesive pads no longer touched his skin, he immediately fell back into complete unconsciousness. His hands were limp, and there wasn’t a twitch in the expression on his face.
The only evidence of his recent distress was the sweat that lingered on his brow.
Grabbing a clean washcloth from the nearby closet, I wiped his face clean.
What had caused such a reaction?
It wasn’t physical pain. Even if the patient was somehow conscious enough to feel what was going on, the treatment didn’t hurt. So, his reaction must have been mentally based rather than physically based, and that was a mystery I couldn’t solve. The John Doe’s thoughts remained locked inside his head, completely out of my reach.
I’d never know what he was thinking until he told me himself, and while I hoped that day would eventually come, I couldn’t help but wonder in the meantime.
CHAPTER 7
Mia
The story ended,and the voice stopped talking. This was always my least favorite part of any story. The end. Stopping in the middle meant you had to come back. It wasn’t finished. Even if that return was a long time away, the unfinished story still acted as a lifeline holding everything together.
But when a story ended, there was no reason to return anymore. The book could be put down. A person could walk away without any lingering regret or lifeline to draw them back.
Now that it was finished, the voice reading to me might not come back again.
Usually, when the reading voice finished, it was then followed by silence. Not this time, however. This time, more voices came.
I vaguely recognized the first one. This one came around even more frequently than the reading voice, though it wasn’t nearly as pleasant and I usually didn’t bother to pay attention to it. Familiar, and harmless, I ignored it.
The second voice took me an extra thought to remember. Like rusty wheels of a train that hadn’t moved in years, my brain chugged and screeched as it struggled to string together enough thoughts.