AFTERMATH
LAURA
The nurses and physiotherapist moved around me, their hands careful but firm as they lifted me into the wheelchair. It was the most frustrating thing I’d ever experienced. My limbs felt like dead weight, my body unrecognizable.
I gritted my teeth as they adjusted the supports, keeping me steady. Every small movement sent little tremors through my weak muscles.
At least I was moving them. Slowly.
“We’ll start with some basic functions,” one of the therapists said, offering me a cup of water with a straw. “Swallowing first. Small sips.”
I did as instructed, the water feeling strange and thick in my throat. My body didn’t quite remember how to do something so simple, and it took all my focus not to choke.
The doctor stood nearby, watching with an approving nod. “Your breathing is improving as well. If things continue at this rate, we can start weaning you off the ventilator by the end of the week.”
I nodded slightly, my eyes dropping to my lap. My fingers twitched against the blanket draped over my legs.
My body wasn’t mine.
My arms were too thin, my skin too pale. I hadn’t dared to look
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in a mirror yet, afraid of what I’d see staring back.
But I’d lifted my arms today. All the way above my head.
It wasn’t much. But it was something.
A win.
I was still focusing on the small victory when the doors to my private room burst open.
Loud voices. Quick footsteps.
The sudden noise startled me, and as much as it hurt, I turned my head toward the commotion.
Josh.
He was standing in the entrance, breathing fast, his eyes darting across the room until they landed on me.
He looked the same as I remember him, exactly like my dreams or memories or whatever they were… He was here and this was real.
A security guard was grabbing at his arm, but he shrugged him off like he barely felt it. His chest was rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths, his entire body tense.
And then his eyes met mine.
His whole face changed.
I tried to smile at him–tried to do something to let him know I was here, that I was awake and I was me–but before.I could, I saw the tears fall.
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Josh was next to me in seconds, dropping to his knees, his hands cupping my face like he needed to feel me to believe I was real.
His lips pressed against my forehead, warm and desperate, his breath shaking against my skin.
He was muttering something, his voice too low and fast for me to make sense of. Words that tangled together, half–choked and frantic.
I reached for the board the physiotherapist had placed beside me. She handed it over, and with shaky fingers, I scribbled out the only thing I could think to say
“Hi, babe.”
Josh’s eyes dropped to the words, his breath catching.
His hands curled around the edges of the wheelchair, his knuckles white, his whole body locked so tight I thought he might shatter.
Then he looked at me.
Really looked at me.“Hi. Babe.” he whispered.
And I felt it–the way his gaze ran over every inch of me, cataloging every difference.
I wasn’t the woman he remembered.
I could see it in his face.
The worry. I wanted to tell him I was going to be okay and come -back stronger but this thing in my throat was stopping me from
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talking.
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GUILT
