I was still deliberating when the door opened.
‘Dr Acevedo.’ I rose to my feet. My stomach twisting itself into knots.
‘Please. Sit.’ He gestured to the chair and I knew that whatever he was about to tell me wasn’t the good news I was longing for.
The knot in my stomach pulled itself tighter.
‘We’ve withdrawn sedation from Adam and as you can see, he hasn’t woken up. That’s not to say that he won’t, but he’s currently in a coma.’
‘But he’s breathing on his own now? That must…’
‘I’m sorry it isn’t better news.’
We both looked at Adam. None of this made sense to me. My pulse was galloping. I felt like I might fall.
‘A coma?’ I struggled to recall what I knew about the condition. It was a term I’d heard a hundred times before, on TV, in movies, but in that second I couldn’t define exactly what it was.
‘It’s from a Greek word, meaning state of sleep. Adam’s brain injury has resulted in the impairment of his conscious action. His brain is active but only at base level.’
‘Right. So…’ I couldn’t think of a single intelligent thing to ask. Coma was such an innocuous word but the consequences were unimaginable. I had never felt more frightened.
I glanced at Adam.
‘But he’ll wake up?’ There was a burning behind my eyes, in my throat.
‘Typically comas last between two and four weeks. The longer a patient is in one, the less chance they have of emerging or surviving.’
‘But he’ll wake up within a month, won’t he?’
‘Mrs Curtis.’ Dr Acevedo couldn’t quite meet my eyes. ‘Whether somebody recovers from a coma is largely dependent on the severity and cause. Taking into account the blow to Adam’s head, the lack of oxygen when he was underwater, the fact he hasn’t woken after sedation was withdrawn, and his test results… you need to prepare yourself. If Adam does wake, he may have some physical, intellectual or psychological impairment.’
The thought was horrifying. ‘So… even…’ I clenched my hands into fists. ‘Even if Adam wakes up, he might not be… the same?’
‘Similar experiences tell me that—’
‘Regardless of your experience, I don’t think you’ve had enough time to carry out proper treatment.’ My voice was high. Indignant. ‘There must be something you can do.’
‘I wish there was, but there’s nothing else we can do at this stage except keep Adam comfortable and nourished. If Adam does wake up, there would be further tests, of course.’
I couldn’t take any more of his pessimism. ‘If we were at home, in England, would they be doing anything differently?’
‘There’s nothing that can bring a patient out of a coma. It’s a waiting game.’
I felt I was the one who was drowning. I willed Adam to move, to sit up and rip the tubes and wires from his body. To prove this bloody doctor wrong.
But he didn’t.
‘Can Adam hear us?’
‘It’s impossible to know. Sometimes patients wake and recall conversations that were carried out by their bed. I’m sorry.’ He shrugged.
‘So what happens now?’
‘Now? I suggest you go and get some rest; you’ve had a rough night of it yourself. Unless you have any other questions?’
I wanted to ask, why did this happen to him? To me? To us? What would happen if Adam didn’t wake up in days, weeks, months?
Years.
I wanted to know everything. I wanted to strip back the medical terminology and the science and understand it all. Adam wasn’t a statistic, a condition. He was… he was Adam. My Adam. But I wasn’t ready to hear all of the answers and couldn’t think how to vocalize all the things I needed to say.
Dr Acevedo hovered for a few moments at the foot of Adam’s bed, picking up his clipboard containing notes that I couldn’t decipher, but I knew if I could read Spanish they wouldn’t make things any clearer.
‘I’ve other patients to see, Anna,’ Dr Acevedo said when I remained mute with shock. ‘If there’s anything you need.’
There was so much I needed. I needed Adam to wake up and be a husband to me, to support me through the grief of losing our child. I wanted to ask Dr Acevedo if he could grant me those things but instead I gave the standard British response ‘I’m fine, thank you.’
I was a liar.
But I would not cry.
I watched Dr Acevedo leave.
I would not cry.
And then I followed him out of the door. I was going back to our apartment to ring our travel insurance company and arrange to have Adam flown back to England where surely something could be done. It wasn’t hopeless. It wasn’t.
I would not cry.
The kindly nurse had given me the money for a cab and a bag full of sanitary pads, and after collecting a spare key from reception I was back in our apartment. Everything was exactly the same as we had left it. Adam’s clothes a mess in and around his open suitcase. My things neatly unpacked. In the wardrobe hung the turquoise dress I had worn on our last night here when we had met. I had been planning to wear it again, to take Adam to the same restaurant.
It was freezing. I aimed the remote at the air-conditioning unit that chugged on the wall and wrapped the white cotton duvet around my shoulders.
Still, I shivered.
I had never felt so lost. So alone.
I wasn’t quite sure where to start. My bag had sunk with the yacht. Luckily my cash and passport were in the safe at the bottom of the wardrobe, unlike my mobile, which was at the bottom of the ocean. I called reception and asked them to google the number of our local travel agent.
The travel agent took an age to answer. When they did, I jabbered out a condensed version of what had happened and why I needed our travel insurance policy emailed to the hotel.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Curtis. I can only divulge booking information to the lead passenger.’
‘That’s my husband, Adam.’
‘Yes. Can I speak to him?’
‘Haven’t you been listening? He’s in a coma.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘So can you tell me the details of the travel ins—’
‘I’m sorry. I’m only able to talk to the lead passenger.’
I demanded to speak to the manager, anger keeping my tears at bay. Once she came on the line I told her, with far more control than I felt, about Adam’s condition.
‘Oh, I am sorry, Mrs Curtis. What a start to your break. Will—’
‘Can you look up our travel insurance—’
‘I’m only really meant to talk to—’
‘The lead passenger. Yes, I know. But he’s in a coma.’
‘Yes. Of course. Sorry. Just a moment.’ She tap-tap-tapped on a keyboard. ‘Right. Mr Curtis booked and paid for the holiday in full and said he’d ring to confirm about travel insurance one way or the other – we don’t recommend leaving the country without it – but…’
‘But?’ I asked with a sinking feeling.
‘He never called back. I’m sorry, Mrs Curtis. It doesn’t look like you have any cover.’
The bed tilted. I closed my eyes until my dizziness passed. ‘But… he’s in hospital. I can’t afford…’
‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.’
‘You must have been in this situation before? Will they refuse to treat Adam? Kick him out of the hospital?’ I was verging on hysteria.
‘Without insurance, Mr Curtis will still be entitled to basic medical care but no extra treatments or tests and of course repatriation won’t be covered…’
Her words hit me with force.
Repatriation won’t be covered.
I couldn’t fly Adam home.
My skin was covered in goosebumps. I was still sitting on the bed. Still clutching the receiver tightly in my hand. It now whirred with the disconnect tone and I put it back on its cradle.
What am I going to do?
After the conversation with Dr Acev
edo and the bleak picture he had painted, I was desperate to be in a UK hospital, but without insurance how could I get Adam back to NHS care? It must cost thousands, hundreds of thousands perhaps, to fly a coma patient home with all the medical equipment and at least one nurse.
What am I going to do?
Everything was wrong and I couldn’t fix it. I wished my dad were still around. He’d get us home somehow. Surely the government could help? Other people must have been in a similar position before. But how long might that take?
Too long.
Fleetingly I thought of Ross. He was well paid as a head teacher and didn’t have a family to support. He likely had the money, but would he help?
Could I ask him?
Exhausted, I stumbled into the shower. Wanting to feel warm. To feel clean. To scrub off the hospital smell and put on fresh clothes. My clothes.
While I lathered my hair, I thought again of Ross. Would it be fair to him, knowing the way he felt about me, to turn to him? Would it be fair on Adam to accept help from a man I had kissed?
In my mind I turned over possibilities until the water ran cold. I stepped out of the shower into a fluffy white towel.
Perching on the edge of the bed, I picked up the phone once more and made a call.
As soon as it connected, I garbled, ‘It’s me. I need you.’
Chapter Thirty
Anna
After making the phone call, I had rushed back to the hospital with renewed energy. I wasn’t alone. Help was coming. I had read to Adam from Of Mice and Men, which I was currently teaching to my class, skipping the sad bit with the dog. Adam would hate that. Now, it was late. Outside in the corridor the lights had dimmed. Eventually I dozed.
The sand was warm beneath my feet.
Adam shielded his eyes as he stared up at the sky; I followed his finger to see what he was pointing at. A parrot flapping his red and green wings soared beneath the sun. ‘If you love someone, set them free,’ Adam said.
I woke up drenched in sweat and tried to force the whispers of the dream from my mind.
I won’t give up on you, Adam, I won’t.
But would he give up on me when he came round? How would he feel when he learned I had lost our baby? His baby. Would he blame me the way I was blaming myself? Would he, after his near-death experience, realize life is too short to spend another five years trying? Leave me for somebody who could effortlessly conceive? I had thought we were going from a two to a three. The thought I might remain forever a one was heartbreaking. I placed my palms gently over my middle. I never got to meet the life that had been growing inside of me but it didn’t stop me missing them. My stomach rose and fell with every breath and I imagined it was my baby moving under my hands.
Eventually, I must have drifted back into sleep because the next thing I was aware of was a clearing of the throat. ‘Dr Acevedo. Is everything—’
‘It’s okay.’ He picked up on the fear in my voice. ‘Have you been here all night? You should go home. Get some rest.’
But home was nearly three thousand miles away and rest was the last thing I felt like. I rubbed the back of my neck, digging my fingertips hard into knotted muscle. The doctor made his checks and told me nothing had changed. I could tell by his tone he thought this was bad but I was grateful things weren’t worse.
Minutes after he had left the room, the door swung open again.
‘Mrs Curtis?’ The man hovering in the doorway had pale skin and green eyes that peered at me from behind round, rimmed spectacles. He also had a comforting British accent. His beard was speckled with grey and I’d have guessed that he was in his forties. I didn’t think that I had met him before, but there had been so many people passing through Adam’s room I had lost track.
‘Yes.’ A ripple passed through me. A knowing that my life was about to change once more.
‘I’m Dr Chapman. Oliver. Can we talk?’
‘Yes.’
He glanced at the nurse. ‘Shall we go somewhere? The cafeteria?’
‘I don’t want to leave Adam.’
‘I think it would be best if we were somewhere private.’
There was something about him I trusted. Perhaps he reminded me of England. I kissed Adam and told him I would be back soon and followed Oliver out of the room before spinning around and rushing back to Adam’s side. I fished my grandad’s coin out of my purse and left it on Adam’s bedside table. If he woke, he would know I had been thinking of him.
We walked in silence. The smell of bacon drifted down the corridor to greet us and I felt a hot, fierce longing for home. For Sunday brunches in our local coffee shop, mopping up beans with thick white bread. Steaming cappuccinos in paper cups and slabs of carrot cake with cream cheese icing carefully packed in a box to take home. I was overcome with a feeling of light-headedness. I steadied myself against the wall as Oliver looked at me with concern.
‘Let’s sit.’ He guided me to a table. I shook my head when he passed me the menu. I didn’t have the wherewithal to read. ‘You must eat.’ ‘Anything will do.’ Food had lost its taste. Rather than questioning me further, he nodded and strode over to the counter, returning minutes later with scrambled eggs on toast and a mug of tea.
He waited until I had finished eating, laid down my knife and fork and pushed my plate away before he spoke.
‘Mrs Curtis.’ He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
‘It’s Anna.’
‘Anna.’ Again, a few seconds of silence. ‘I’m so sorry about your husband—’
‘Adam.’ I wanted to make him real, not a number or a surname. A person.
‘I understand Dr Acevedo has talked to you about Adam’s prognosis—’
‘I don’t… understand.’ I was trying to be strong but nevertheless my eyes filled with tears. ‘There must be a way to wake Adam up?’ I plucked a serviette from the table and wiped my cheeks.
‘I’m so sorry but there isn’t. I’m from the Chapman Institute for Brain Science.’ He slipped his glasses back on, hooking the arms behind his ears. ‘We’re a research centre based at the north of the island. A collaboration of scientists, engineers, mathematicians and physicists. We explore the most challenging scientific questions.’
‘Right.’ I twisted the serviette in my fingers, not sure how this was relevant to me.
‘We’re intent on unravelling the secrets of the brain.’ He leaned forward, his eyes shining. ‘I’m confident that over time we can improve treatments for neurodegenerative diseases like Alzheimer’s, and brain disorders such as autism and schizophrenia.’
‘How?’
‘Various means. We have advanced technology, the best equipment at our fingertips. We know the human brain has at least 133 different types of cells and each cell has a distinct function. They work together to give sensory input, motor function and ultimately consciousness. By studying subjects—’
‘Wait.’ My tone was sharp. ‘Please don’t tell me you want me to give you Adam to study? His brain to experiment on!’ I leapt to my feet, my chair toppling over with a clatter. ‘You want to cut him up.’ I was furious.
‘No!’ He stood, waving his hands. ‘God, no. Sorry. I’m not good with words. Scientists often aren’t. Please sit.’
‘I don’t think—’
‘Five more minutes. Please.’
I looked pointedly at my watch before I sat back down and crossed my arms.
‘At the Institute we’re explorative. Open-minded. Science doesn’t – it can’t – yet explain everything. Just recently we discovered two new types of neuron in the human brain that… Sorry, I’m going off track. There are many things we understand and many things we don’t. Consciousness is something we don’t fully – might never fully – understand. Adam is in a coma but does that mean his mind is a blank space? Can he assess his memories right now? What does he feel? Is there nothing or is there something?’
‘I don’t know… I…’ Why was he saying those things? ‘Are you telling m
e Adam is still able to think?’
‘A few years ago a Japanese neuroscientist called Yukiyasu Kamitani developed artificial intelligence to reconstruct images in a person’s mind. There was a study with patients who have locked-in syndrome. Through algorithms, a computer lab was able to interpret what the mind was “seeing” as still images. We’ve advanced it one step further and I think we’ve developed tech that will create moving images so we can observe a stream of thoughts like… like a movie is the best way to describe it. It might, and this is a might, be a way to see what locked-in patients, those with dementia, coma patients, are seeing, if anything, in their mind. If there is still anything left of them.’ He removed his glasses again.
‘It all sounds too far-fetched. Too Frankenstein.’ I glanced around the canteen, expecting someone to jump out with a hidden camera. This had to be one huge prank.
‘Most people would be shocked by the leaps science has made. Cloning. Face transplants. Things that were once only the subject of bad sci-fi fiction is now all achievable. And I think we’ve—’
‘You keep saying think.’
‘It’s yet untested.’
Furious, I stood, slapping my hands against the table. I leaned towards Oliver.
‘You want to test it on Adam? I can’t believe—’
‘I wouldn’t do anything without your permission, I promise. Nothing else. Just this one clinical trial. I can guarantee you it won’t hurt him, and I’d share all the results with you, of course.’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘This is ground-breaking, you could—’
‘Please don’t tell me what I could do. Or should do. Adam is my husband, not some guinea pig.’
‘I know that. I know. Look, Anna. I can’t imagine what you are going through right now but…’ He fumbled in his trouser pocket and pulled out a business card. ‘Please just think about it.’ He pressed it into my hand. ‘We have state-of-the-art medical equipment. Adam would receive the best care, better care than here and there’s accommodation for you. You’d be within minutes of his bed day or night.’
‘I don’t care.’ I started to turn but what he said next pulled me back.
‘I’d pay to fly him home immediately afterwards.’ He saw my hesitation. ‘Anna. If there is anything in Adam’s mind, wouldn’t you like to know what it is?’
The Life We Almost Had Page 13
