I now know for certain what matters most to me in this world, though that knowledge didn't come easily. My husband was hovering between life and death...
Why, oh why, did this have to happen to him? On that terrible day, Paul decided to take his scooter to work.
I hated it when he rode that thing, but he just smiled and said, "Riding this reminds me of when we first started dating."
What could I say to that? Even now, my heart flutters when I think back to those days. The spark in Paul's eyes, our long talks, the joy of discovering each other, the excitement, the first shy touches; and then—that breathtaking, all-consuming passion that swept us both away...
"Paul, you can't be serious!" I had tried to talk him out of it anyway. "Look at the timing! You're acting like a teenager, honestly. It's pouring rain out there, and the roads are a mess. You'll get mud all over your suit. How are you going to look at the office? And you know you can't go in jeans... you have that meeting with the client today!"
"Don't worry, sunshine! I'll be careful to avoid the puddles, I promise!" Paul laughed.
And off he went. That's just how he is—my Paul. Once he's made up his mind, there's no swaying him. But I should have pushed harder. Maybe then, none of this would have happened...
Or maybe I shouldn't have started the conversation at all. It feels like I jinxed it. I've been sitting on this hospital chair for two hours now, thinking, just thinking... My back is as stiff as a board. But if someone offered to let me leave right now, I'd never agree.
I suppose I should just stretch a bit, walk around the room... I got up quietly and walked to the window. It's rainy, just like that ill-fated day. Will I always return to the past when it rains, reliving that awful tragedy over and over, blaming myself? Will things ever change?
Tears welled up in my eyes. Wiping them across my cheeks, I sat back down in the spot that had become so familiar over the last few months. Once again, I began to analyze every word Paul said that morning, every gesture. I kept looking for where I went wrong. Was he so focused on not getting dirty that he didn't see the car swing around the corner? The agonizing thoughts crashed over me like a tidal wave, exhausting me, draining my strength. "God, he's been lying here for almost four months," I thought. It felt like just yesterday we were celebrating moving into our cozy two-bedroom apartment, buying a car, planning a vacation abroad... And now...
Shaking my head, I tried to banish the dark thoughts, commanding myself: "Don't fall apart! You have to stay strong! Just like the day Paul had the accident and I rushed to the ER."
I was standing in the waiting room when the paramedics flew in. I dashed toward them, but the man on the gurney was a stranger, battered and covered in blood. Doctors swarmed around immediately, and I had to step back against the wall to stay out of the way.
Everything was a blur. More casualties were brought in; people drifted in and out. An older woman was sobbing. Someone helped her to a chair and brought her some water...
Finally, someone touched my shoulder. I startled and turned to see an older doctor. He told me that Paul had a severe traumatic brain injury. He went on for a long time explaining the details, but I understood very little. Except for one thing: my Paul was on the brink of life and death.
"At the moment, your husband is unconscious," the doctor said. "He's at a three on the Glasgow Coma Scale."
He paused, waiting for my reaction, but at the time, I had no idea what that scale even was. Now, of course, I know it all too well. This situation forced me to learn a lot and essentially become a professional nurse.
"I won't lie to you," the doctor added softly, likely realizing I hadn't followed. "Your husband is in a deep coma, and he—"
"I won't let you take him off life support! Not ever!" I declared firmly, cutting him off.
"No one is suggesting that..."
"And I'm staying right here, with Paul!" I added in a tone that allowed no argument. I was surprised by my own resolve and courage.
Where did it come from? I used to be someone who let the smallest things rattle me. At the slightest trouble, my hands would shake and my knees would go weak. In those moments, Paul would pull me close and tease, "Oh, my little scaredy-cat... Don't worry, it'll be fine. Every problem has a solution."
And yet, here was a strength I never knew I possessed... Pulling myself away from the memories, I adjusted the blanket over my husband's helpless body. He used to be so strong and athletic... Now, I bathed him, massaged his back, and changed his linens, caring for him like a small child. I learned from the nurses. I watched the physical therapist and tried to do the exercises with him, patiently bending and straightening his fingers and toes. "So you can walk again, my love! So you can hold me!" I thought stubbornly.
No one but me believed Paul would recover. Friends, relatives, and acquaintances who were supportive at first gradually drifted away. The illness had just dragged on too long. Even my mother-in-law—even she tried to convince me to finally think about myself.
"Linda, sweetheart, I am so grateful to you. It hurts to say this, but there's likely nothing more that can be done for Paul. And you're still young, beautiful..." she said with tears in her eyes during one of her visits, as I walked her to the elevator. "Think of yourself, honey. You have your whole life ahead of you..."
"Mom, Paul is going to wake up," I said calmly, hugging her. "You'll see."
"When are you going back to work?" my best friend, Jennifer, asked. "It's about time..."
"I'm not planning on it yet," I told her. "My place is here, you know that. We'll see what happens later..."
"But how are you going to live?" she asked, surprised. "And the doctors... Paul isn't just lying here for free. Plus, this private room! Everyone knows how that works..."
"Jen!" I looked at her reproachfully, but seeing in her eyes that she didn't mean to hurt me, I explained:
"I sold the car. It'll last for a while. For living expenses, the doctors, and the private room. Once he wakes up, I'll find a job. Every problem has a solution," I added, echoing Paul's favorite phrase. "We can sell the two-bedroom and get a studio if we have to..."
With a heavy sigh, Jennifer said, "You're an optimist, Linda... Do you really think this is the right way? Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
"But what if... what if..." Jennifer bit her lip and went silent. "I don't even want to say it out loud," she continued a minute later. "But for your own good... you're so young! Are you really going to spend your whole life at a bedside?"
"Are you saying Paul won't wake up?" I asked coldly. "He will. I know it."
"But how can you possibly know that?" Jennifer persisted.
"I just feel it," I answered shortly, and it was the pure truth.
It was that faith in a miracle that kept me going through all these long months. In moments of weakness, when exhaustion and the doubt of others drained me, I would return to our happy past and dream of the future. I read him his favorite travel books. Paul had dreamed of seeing the world since he was a kid, and eventually, it became our shared dream, our North Star...
***
It grew dark outside. Visiting hours were over, and a hush fell over the corridors. I turned on the desk lamp I'd brought from home. It used to be on our nightstand, but since the hospital was our home now, this was where it belonged.
"Today, we're reading about Prague," I said, opening the book. "Remember how we dreamed of standing on the Charles Bridge, touching the famous cross and making a wish? And how we wanted to climb the bridge tower to see the whole fairytale city at once, covered in those red tiled roofs... We're definitely going next year!"
If anyone had walked into the room at that moment, they probably would have been baffled. But it had become natural for me to speak for both myself and Paul. It was how I kept my connection with him. I pulled my chair closer to the bed, took my husband's hand, held the book up where he could see it, and continued dreaming out loud:
"Maybe we'll even sneak a night in that tower if we can dodge the security! And we'll check out those clocks in the Jewish Quarter—the ones where the hands turn backward! Or maybe we'll run into the Golem of Prague at the stroke of midnight!"
After a while, a nurse looked in to check the equipment; a bit later, another came by to ask if I needed anything. I shook my head, and I kept reading, though the pitying looks left a bitter taste in my mouth.
I remembered how a week ago, the doctor had warned me: "Even if your husband does come out of the coma, he will likely be incapacitated. His brain is severely damaged."
"How severely?" I asked.
"It's hard to say, but he might not, for example, recognize you."
"That's impossible," I said with certainty. "Paul will definitely recognize me."
"It's good that you have such faith. We are doing everything we can. But it may be time to look at things realistically and try to accept the facts." The doctor tried not to meet my eyes.
"My husband will wake up, and he will know who I am," I repeated stubbornly, looking him straight in the eye.
He didn't bring it up again. But once, when I was heading to the restroom, I overheard the nurses talking at the station: "She's so lovely, so young... and then this tragedy. It's such a shame."
I wanted to cry, but I caught myself. Let them say what they want. My husband is going to wake up, no matter what anyone thinks! It's just a matter of time... One day, I decided to show Paul the photos from his brother's wedding. I'd been invited, but I refused to go. Tony lived in another state—I would have had to leave Paul for several days. What if he woke up while I was gone? The newlyweds weren't upset; they even sent a small photo album inscribed: To Linda and Paul, wishing you happiness. Love, us.
"Look, honey, what a beautiful couple," I said, holding the album up to Paul's eyes, which were still closed. "Can't see? That's okay, then you can listen. I'll tell you all about it. Here are the wedding photos. They're cutting the cake. Everyone is dancing. Look, there's Uncle Victor and Aunt Vera..."
Just then, a specialist walked in, accompanied by several other doctors from the ward, including our regular physician. "Rounds must be starting," I realized.
"Do you recognize anyone in this room?" the doctor asked my husband, who lay there with his eyes shut, though he kept a close watch on me. He was probably afraid I'd have a breakdown right in front of the specialist.
The medical team gathered around Paul's bed. Then, suddenly... I froze. Was it possible?! I had waited so long, and now I couldn't believe it! Paul's fingers, which were under my palm, twitched.
The album slipped from my hands and hit the floor with a thud.
"Come on, honey! Try again," I pleaded, squeezing his hand a little tighter, and... Paul answered me! It was barely there, but he answered!!! "He's moving his hand!" I cried out.
The attending doctor rushed over, put his arm around my shoulders, and whispered loudly, "Now, now, dear! Calm down! That's not possible! Just take a breath!"
"You think I'm imagining it?" I said coldly, shrugging off his hand. "Then try it yourself." I took the doctor's hand and placed it over Paul's fingers.
He looked at me in surprise, then at the specialist, then back at me...
"Well, I'll be..." he stammered. "Get the head nurse," he told me. "And please, wait outside. We'll call you. Just try to stay calm!"
I don't know how long I stood in that hallway. Finally, they called me back in. I walked through the door and... Oh, my God! Paul's eyes were open! He was lying there, staring at the ceiling. I went to him and looked into his face. Our eyes met... and then, without meaning to, I burst into tears. He remembers me!
"Do you recognize anyone?" the doctor asked again, adding, "We're all in white coats, and we don't know the state of his vision yet. He might just see white blurs..."
Paul, my love, my only one! Come back to me! my soul begged. Struggling to move his lips, my husband mouthed a word and looked into my eyes with clear recognition. I knew for certain that he saw me. And he knew who I was.
"What did you say?" the doctor leaned over him.
"Linda! He said 'Linda'!" I blurted out. "My name! He remembers me!"
It truly was a miracle. No one believed, but I never doubted that my husband would come back to me. I kept thinking of those lines: How I survived, only you and I will know. You simply knew how to wait, like no one else...
Paul is in rehab now. He still has a long way to go with his speech and his walking. But now that we've overcome the worst of it, I have no doubt we can handle the rest. The main thing is that we are together and we haven't lost hope. To be side-by-side with the person you love—what could be more important? God, if only people knew what a blessing it is to wake up every morning and be able to say, "Good morning, honey."
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