Disclaimer: Thunderbirds was created by Gerry Anderson and now belongs to Granada Ventures, not me. I'm just borrowing them.
Summary: What's it like to be trapped inside an unresponsive body? Gordon's take on the weeks following his hydrofoil accident.
Hi all!
This was an idea inspired by Michael Morpurgo's 'Cool.' It's based around a child in a coma who can hear everything that goes on around him, so I was thinking about how that might apply to Gordon's hydrofoil accident. I don't know how technically correct it is and I don't have any medical training , so I'm happy to be corrected on any of the treatment details.
Secondly, I'm English, so I tried as best as I could to use American vocab/spellings etc., but apologies if I make any mistakes!
Thirdly, huge, huge thanks go to quiller for all the tips and beta-ing!
Spinky :D
Chapter One
Trapped
Gordon sat on the floor of his room, struggling with his Math homework. Adding, he could do. Along with a bit of subtraction and very minimal multiplication. As for long division – that was a whole new story altogether.
Normally, he'd just give up and tell the teacher it was too hard the next day. But he'd done that three times in the last month, and he wasn't sure how much longer his teacher could hold out.
He was interrupted by a short, single knock on the door.
"C'min," he called absent-mindedly, and didn't look up when the door opened. He could tell it was Alan, "What's up?"
Alan sighed and sat down on Gordon's bed, smoothing down the covers either side. Something about the way he entered made Gordon look up, and to his surprise Gordon saw tears welling up in Alan's eyes. Immediately he stood and sat down next to him.
"Hey, it's OK. It's all right." Alan shook his head and opened his eyes wide, looking up at his older brother. "You want to talk about it?"
Alan took a deep shaky breath and tried to relax. "These two boys keep being horrible to me at school, and I don't know what to do."
Gordon was shocked. "Horrible? In what way?"
"They laugh at me and keep asking why I don't have a mom in front of everyone. And they think I'm sucking up to the teachers because I got full marks on my Math test. And – "
"It's only because you're better than them," Gordon burst out, but stopped immediately. Dad always said it was good to let things out uninterrupted. "Sorry, Al, carry on."
"And they find it weird that sometimes Dad can't come and pick me up because he's too busy, so apparently I don't really have a Dad either."
"That's just stupid!" Gordon couldn't help himself. He put an arm around Alan's shoulders, and then remembered again not to butt in. He motioned to Alan to carry on, but Alan shook his head. He was finished. "First of all, Alan, you don't need to worry about them making fun of you because of Mom. That's ridiculous. For so many reasons. Second, you know you're better than them. They're jealous because you can do Math and they can't. Third…" Gordon hesitated, run out of things to say. "Third, why did you come to me and not the others?"
Alan shrugged. "I thought you'd understand better."
Gordon tried to hide the feeling of pride inside him as an older brother. He smiled. "How's that?"
Alan smiled back. "I dunno. You just would. So what are you saying I should do if they do it again?" Gordon thought for a moment before replying.
"Tell them that you've got a bigger – make that four bigger brothers who will back you up in any case, whatever happens. And then you can tell them to stuff their fingers up their – "
"Gordon! Alan! Dinner's ready!"
"Oh, cool! Dad said it was fries." Alan jumped up off the bed, wiping his eyes quickly.
"Are you OK now?" Alan turned to face Gordon and grinned. He stepped forwards and hugged him briefly before turning back towards the door.
"Thanks, Gordo. Much better. Now, c'mon! I'm hungry."
Gordon hesitated for a second. He wasn't sure if it was a good idea, but he decided to go ahead with it anyway. "Uh… Alan?"
"What?"
"Can you help with my Math homework? After dinner?" Alan laughed out loud, but nodded.
"Sure. Now let's go!"
Gordon grinned and leapt off the bed to follow Alan downstairs. Sure enough, the smell of salty fries began to drift up towards them as soon as they reached the landing. All troubles forgotten, they settled down to eat with the rest of the family.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
That's a sound I've grown to accept as part of the usual background noise in this place. It's funny, isn't it; something so small and regular is my lifeline – the one thing that's keeping me alive.
Every other beep – more or less – is accompanied by the pump of the air machine. That's doing my breathing for me.
I've heard before that sometimes people are 'awake' during comas, but I'd never really believed it. Until now. And I especially thought it would never happen to me.
John told me once. He told me about a friend of someone he knew, who, apparently, could hear everything while comatose. He woke up a couple weeks later, able to recall nearly every word his family, friends and doctors spoke around his bedside.
I remember thinking, 'that must have been torture, hearing everything but not being able to react.' But I dismissed it, like one of those newspaper articles you read about floods and disasters in distant corners of the world and say, 'that's terrible', and then go to lunch.
Except now that disaster was in my world.
Until you try it, you have no idea how horrible it is not to be able to move. I can feel, hear and even smell, but I can't move, or respond to what's happening. I can hear doctors discussing my condition, wondering aloud if I'm ever going to wake, and all I want to do is ensure them that I am, and beg them not to give up on me.
I'm also on life-support. I know this because of the heart monitor, with it's constant beeps, and the air machine pumping away next to my bed. It's one thing to know your life is in the balance; it's another to know that nothing more than a manmade machine is keeping it there.
I keep getting an image in my head of a light bulb blowing. A simple electrical fault causes a room to be plunged into darkness in that situation. Whereas in my situation…
As for the accident, I can't remember much. I remember beginning to panic as the speedometer hit 400 knots, and discovering that I couldn't slow the damned thing down. I remember a sudden close-up of the water in the windscreen, then confusion, pain, and darkness.
I 'woke up' a couple weeks ago, I think. Alan sometimes tells me the date and time, to keep me updated. Apart from that, time's hard to keep track of when you can't see a clock, can't see whether it's day or night. Since then, I've been drifting in and out of 'consciousness,' if you can call it that.
Dad, Grandma and my brothers talk to me when they're here. I'm so grateful for that. I always will be, I think, if – sorry, when – I wake up. Alan's always telling me I have to believe in myself.
He's here now. Just arrived. I can tell it's him by the way he opens the door. All the others open it quietly and carefully, for fear they might scare me or something by opening it quickly. Like Alan does.
"Hey, Gordy!" He says, coming over to the bed, like he always does. He probably doesn't know that I can hear him. Of course, the doctors have told them dozens of times there's a possibility that I could, but they're not certain. If only I could tell them I can hear pretty much every word – it must be hard talking to something that doesn't appear to be listening. Damn. If only I could tell them to keep talking: it keeps me hanging on in here.
Hi, Alan, I want to say, Long time no see! Like everything's fine. He sits down on the chair on my right, and puts a plastic bag down on the floor. I want to know what's in it.
"Today's Tuesday, by the way. Nearly three weeks after your accident. And it's six thirty in the evening. The others are all fine, before you ask. Scott's out with the others, but I think he'll be in to see you later. He, Virgil and John have taken Dad out for dinner. They say he's overdoing it, not giving enough time for himself. Do you know how much time he spends by your bedside?" Yes, I do. I can feel his presence, sometimes. Other times I'll lie awake for hours, thinking I'm alone in my room, when I'll hear a cough or shuffle from the side of my bed. Dad had been there all along. "Grandma's asleep. She's been spending a lot of time here, too. She cries, sometimes. I know she wouldn't want us to know, but I've seen her."
I know that, too. I've heard her sobbing by my bedside, stroking my hand because it's too broken to pick up and all I want to do is reach out and comfort her, to tell her it'll all be OK.
The door opens, and someone walks in.
"Hi there," a low male voice greets Alan. It's a doctor. Alan probably nods in reply, because he doesn't say anything for a while. The doctor breathes heavily and starts flipping through some pieces of paper – probably a clipboard. "Let's see," he murmurs to himself.
"Doctor?" Alan says, "How do you know that – well, that Gordon can hear what we're saying?"
I can, Alan, I swear! Why don't they know that? What's happening?
"That's a tricky question." The bed sinks slightly by my feet as the doctor perches on the end, "Nobody knows for sure. There have been reports of coma patients waking up, able to recall experiences from during their coma that they wouldn't have known otherwise."
"Reports?"
"Yes. Also experiments have shown that brain patterns of coma patients often respond to what's going on around them. For example, doctors told a comatose woman to imagine speaking another language in her head, and looked at where the activity was going on in her brain. As it was, the brain scans showed the relevant area lit up."
"Wow," Alan says, "D'you think he can understand everything that we're saying?"
"Possibly, I don't know. It's highly unlikely at this level, but you never know." No – you don't, I can't help thinking. "Why don't you ask him later?" I don't know why I can hear things if it's so unlikely – maybe this is all one big dream and I'll wake up in my cabin at WASP the morning of testing the hydrofoil.
The bed shifts again as the doctor stands up and leaves the room. Alan taps his finger on the side of the chair for a moment, and then begins speaking again.
"Virgil's started writing a new tune on the piano. He says it just happened, like he sat down to play and it came out of his fingers. Says it's how he's feeling right now. I like it – I think you will too. It's kinda sad, but – I dunno, hopeful, if you get me."
I'm so glad Alan keeps talking. Some people, like old friends, come in and sit in silence. It's funny, I feel awkward then, even though there's nothing I can do to break the tension. Usually I'd crack a joke, but things are different now.
"Grandma keeps saying how the house is so quiet without you. It's true. I keep expecting to hear your laughter, or one of the others chasing you around the house for some ridiculous prank. I guess you don't know what you've got, 'til it's gone, do you? Believe it or not, I'd give anything for you to open your eyes right now and shout 'April fools!', even though it's not April." I wish I could do that. Oh, how I wish I could do that.
Alan keeps talking until my nurse comes in and says Scott's just arrived, and will be in any minute. Alan says he's got coursework to do, so he leaves now he knows I won't be on my own.
Just before he goes, Alan tells me what's in the carrier bag. It's the swimming trunks I've been wanting for ages, and he says I can't have them unless I wake up and learn to swim again. I appreciate it.
I wonder if they're the green ones or the red ones? He didn't say.
After he's gone, my nurse fusses around the room a bit, chatting away and murmuring to herself. I like her. She's called Lucy, like Mom. She's got a high, cheerful voice, and I imagine her as short and brunette, with rosy cheeks and bright eyes. I bet she looks great in her nurse outfit. She talks to me all the time, like Alan. Sometimes they talk to each other, and try to include me in the conversation.
"It's been rainy all day today," she says, as she fluffs up my pillows, "You're lucky you didn't have to go outside at all."
Lucky?
Scott read me a bit of one of my favorite childhood stories while he was here. Mom used to read it to me every night, patiently going over the same few pages every single time. I don't know how she did it! Hearing it again helps. I don't know if Scott knows that, but it reminds me of things I'm missing, like the sea, pictures of mom, my brothers…
After a while, Lucy comes in and says it's time for Scott to go. If I could move, I would object, and insist I was awake as ever. But his three hours are up. Apparently, I need my 'sleep'.
Pretty soon after Scott's left, I finally drift off. It's like normal sleep, but even more confusing. More like bursts of unconsciousness. I might wake up in the middle of the night wondering when breakfast is, or in the morning, thinking it's the middle of the night. Not being able to see completely messes up your sleeping plan.
Usually I'm out like a log, except tonight. I have a weird dream that I'm diving in a new and exciting cave, one that I haven't seen before. There are the most spectacular coral reefs, made up of blues, greens, purples and yellows – and fish I've never even heard of. I'm probably about 30 feet underwater, because I can still see the light trickling down. I'm not wearing any diving gear. I can breathe underwater. An electric eel swims past, startling me, brushing against my arm. It doesn't electrocute me though. Up ahead, towards the light, a whole school of fish dance about in formation, interrupted occasionally by a slightly larger fish. I'm having a lazy, relaxing time, hanging out with the new species, when I suddenly spot a dark hole that intrigues me. Intrigues me as much as such things can in dreams.
Curious, I approach the hole, which seems to grow in size as I get nearer. Looming open, threatening to swallow me whole like a giant, hungry mouth if I come too close. I can't see anything down there, not even when I shine my torch into the depths. Looking down at my hand, I can see it's my Octopus torch that John got me for my fifth birthday. Funny, that! I haven't seen it in years…
It flashes against my vision and I wake up. Damn! I really wanted to see what was down there! Only to be distracted by a stupid torch, one which I hadn't seen since I was seven or eight. Already the images of the weird fish are fading from my mind. I wanted to ask Virgil to paint them as soon as I could talk.
What time is it, I wonder? Is it morning yet? I listen for any giveaway signs – the faint singing of birds, clattering of cutlery as the restaurant downstairs prepared for breakfast – but there's nothing. The pump of the air machine and the beep of the heart monitor drone on endlessly, merging with the background sounds. The clock ticking suddenly sounds really loud. Mocking me, laughing at me, enjoying the fact I can hear it, yet can't see it. Is it late night or early morning?
I can hear shuffling outside my room, and people speaking in low voices. I strain to hear. That's the advantage of not having sight for so long – your ears become acute and sharper.
"…my shift is over. See you in a couple days!" Female voices.
"Have fun! I'm here until ten." This one is Lucy. Say the time, I urge. What time is it?
"I have a nice cozy bed waiting for me at home. I'm going to sleep until midday, at least. Anyway, Danny's waiting for me outside – gotta run. Bye!"
"See you," Lucy calls, and the quick pattering of feet disappear down the corridor. There's silence for a while, and then Lucy sighs, reminding me that she was still by my door. She sounds exhausted. Is she only staying on for me? After another moment's silence, the door opens slowly and she enters.
"Let's give you a wash, shall we? There's no point, and you're probably asleep right now, but I've got a bit of spare time." Lucy goes over to the sink in the corner and I can hear the tap running. She's wetting a flannel to clean my face. She does it a lot when I haven't got any visitors.
"I heard you gave the doctors a bit of a scare earlier!" Lucy says. I haven't got a clue what she's talking about and try to cast my mind back – but I can't remember anything.
The flannel feels cool and refreshing against my skin. The room gets hot at night, and I can't turn myself over. I don't know why I feel so hot, like a clam in its shell.
"I wonder what it's like, being trapped in a body like this." Lucy says, as she wanders over to my bedside and sits down. "The doctors say you can't hear me, but I don't think they know everything."
"Gordon?" Lucy leans closer, and I can feel her breath on my cheek, making the water evaporate and leaving my skin cold. "Can you hear me?"
After a few moments of painful silence, she gives up. I can hear her, but she doesn't know that. Nevertheless, she keeps talking. "Silly me. Even if you can hear me, you can't respond." She brings the cloth under my chin and down to my neck, humming a light tune. Like Virgil does.
She quickly wipes that area, and yawns. "I'd better go now. I'll just dry you off, and then get to my other patients. Only another couple hours 'til morning."
She stands up and fetches a towel from the sink. These towels are thick and warm, and I'm guessing they're white. Like the ones you get in hotels. She rubs it over my face and neck, and heads for the door.
"I'll be back later!" she says, then leaves. I wonder how many other patients like me she's had to deal with. Still, now I know the time! A couple hours until morning; that would make it around five o'clock. I could try and get some 'sleep.'