As It Was

Chandler

It was like floating in an endless sea, flying over the clouds, and free-falling off of a cliff all at once- like hearing and feeling everything but knowing nothing at the same time.

I noticed things suddenly that I never did before. With my sight covered by a constant white haze, touch and sound were all I had to rely on.

There were times when I faded in and out, like a vintage stereo that couldn't get tuned just right.

In a way, it was refreshing. At first, I didn't know if I was dead or alive, but when I heard the fuzzy bustle of medical staff around me day after day and heard murdered voices of those I loved, I knew I wasn't completely gone. At least, not yet.

Then, I started to be able to pick up sounds more clearly. Everything was sharper, more vivid. It was like somebody pulled out the cotton that had been in my ears, allowing me to hear everything in its raw, untainted form.

The faint, cloudy murmurs formed into full sentences, making sense and containing meaning. In a sick, twisted way that felt selfish, it made things worse. I heard every word the doctors said, and I heard the responses of my family and friends. I had to hear their cries and distressed voices ghost around me until it all faded back out and I was gone again. I had to hear the reminder that, once again, there was no news. I had to listen as they tried to force hope down my loved ones' throats when it was obvious that even they were losing patience in the matter.

However, it always came back, and it was getting more frequent. Before, I'd only been able to pick up on a few things on and off until I was sucked back under the inevitable sleep my body was trapped in. Now, I could stay for longer, and I was able to remember bits and pieces of things I'd previously heard.

It was like my brain was trying to wake me up, piece me together like a puzzle. It started with my ears, and traveled to my fingers, letting me feel again.

Despite the hope I so desperately was clutching onto, I was filled to the brim with worry. What if there's a missing piece to this puzzle? What if I can't get out back together just right? What if I'm never the same again?

It felt like, although my body was working to awaken, my fate was in my own unmoving hands. If I gave up, so would my soul. My mind would turn off and go numb, and my heart would cease its beating.

I couldn't let that happen. I have far too much to live for.

I heard them all around me in that moment of haze. I heard my mother humming absently as she stroked my head, and I was able to make out my father's foot tapping insistently on the surely cold, shiny floor beneath us. He always did that when he was anxious.

I also picked up on the gentle, steady breathing of Henry to my left. It was subtle, and barely-there if you didn't focus on it. Him just being there helped settle the anxiety nestled deep in my gut. If I woke up- I had to wake up, I swore I'd thank him every day for staying by my side; for never giving up on me when it was clear that everyone else was beginning to.

They would never admit it, but I could tell that my parents were no longer in denial. They'd been pushed into icy water, a cinderblock chained to their ankles, drowning into reality with no way back up to the surface of false hope and fake comfort. They faced the cold truth.

Their responses had become less frantic, and more knowing. My mother no longer sobbed endlessly as she saw me unmoving day after day, visit after visit. My father no longer tried to talk to me after she left the room, hoping that maybe, just maybe, I could hear him.

My brother stopped being able to come every day, and then he ceased coming most days altogether. They said if something changed, they'd let him know. I can't blame him. What's the use of waiting around for something that might not even happen? He had his own family to take care of.

The door opened with a creak, and a series of confident footsteps that I learned were Dr. Perez' echoed through the room. I'd heard him greet my parents and Henry before settling somewhere to my right. I suppose I seemed to have good timing when it came to 'waking up'.

"So," he started, clearing his throat and rustling through papers that I could only assume were my files, "we should discuss any further steps that may be needed to take, Mrs. and Mr. Lee." I heard my mother make a sound of understanding, urging him to continue, "I see that you've gotten a hold of your son's records, and it has been noted that Chandler has chosen a Health Care Proxy and filled out the forms a couple of years ago." I heard mumbles of understanding again before he paused.

An eerie silence enveloped the room, and I wished nothing more than to open my eyes and scream to stop; to stop talking about this because I can hear and I could wake up- I had to try my best. I just needed some more time. I wanted to scream at everyone to please be more patient; to not lose hope in me just yet.

I couldn't. Instead, I had to lay there and listen as he continued.

"It says here on our copy that his chosen Health Care Proxy is Henry Sallow, is that correct?" he questioned. I heard a low gasp from my left and the chair squared as it was pushed backward.

"W-what?" Henry's voice rang out weak and frail in the empty coldness of the room. I hadn't told him that I'd put his name down. It was mandatory as part of a college trip contract I'd gone on during our Freshman year. I didn't actually expect anything like this to happen at any point, "What are you talking about? He never said anything to me- are you sure?" I heard him collapse back into the chair, weak and voice shaking.

Please, don't be mad at me.

"Mr. Sallow," Dr. Kim stated, keeping his voice low and steady, "By law, you are the one Mr. Lee has chosen to make any further decisions regarding his health now that he cannot speak and voice his wishes himself. As you all know, we hoped that he would have given us some sign of oncoming consciousness by now. A patient must be in a persistent vegetative state for at least one month before we can truly grasp the situation, and it has unfortunately reached that time for Mr. Lee. We hoped to see promising changes, but that hasn't been the case. The brain scans we've persistently run the past couple of weeks show little to no response to stimuli and Chandler's neurological activity hasn't changed much at all.." his voice wavered off, giving them time to take in information.

I heard him step away from my side and move toward the opposite side of the room to where my parents were before he continued, "He may very well progress into a different state of unconsciousness, which we cannot necessarily prove easily. He may be experiencing something called Locked-In Syndrome. In this case, about twenty percent of patients can somewhat hear and feel their surroundings but are not able to respond. This is quite rare, but has occurred and is very possible. Nevertheless, it's been one month of what could be many, so we urge you to wait a bit longer before making any drastic decisions. However, It's up to you to decide when and if you'd like to let go. You may of course discuss with Mr. Lee's family but the decision is legally yours to make." Henry was silent. He said nothing, the only sound being his shaky breath and frequent tapping of his foot against the floor. I could tell his mind was reeling.

"Henry," my mother started, I could hear her stepping closer to him as she spoke, "This is obviously what he wanted. You have to stay calm, it's alright. He trusted you. We know you'll do the right thing. We trust you." I heard a shaky sob, and at first, I wasn't sure who it was from. It wasn't my father, and it was too low to be my mother's.

Don't cry, Henry. Don't cry for me, please. I chose you for a reason.

"I-I don't understand," his voice quivered, and I could imagine the tremble of his lips as his eyes welled with fresh, salty tears, "Why me? Why not one of you?" Nobody responded. Perhaps, they didn't know what to say. After all, it wasn't anyone else's decision.

Truth is, I didn't choose my parents because it didn't feel right. I could never put that pressure on them. If my life was ever in their hands, it would kill them to let go. My brother had his own family now, and I couldn't let him face that stress on his own. It had to be Henry, it had to. He knows me better than anyone; better than I know myself, I think.

He's always been there for me, ever since sixth grade. Ever since I'd got into a fight with a peer after school and he'd helped drag my bruised form to the nurse's office, he always seemed to know what I needed. The small boy was a stranger at the time. He didn't have to help me at all, but his heart was triple the size of his entire being. He was too good for this cruel world.

He would know when it's time to let go; when it's okay to give up on me for good. After a decade of friendship, Henry understood me on a whole other plane. Like speaking telepathically, I often wouldn't need to use words in order for him to catch on quickly. He knows what's best for me, too. He wouldn't keep me alive if he knew I was hurting. He wouldn't let me live in a permanent state of misery.

What I knew most of all is that he wouldn't give up on me so soon. Not yet.

I felt my chest rise and fall steadily, the machine I was hooked up to monitoring the pace. I wished desperately that someone would notice something- that maybe if I tried hard enough I could move a finger or grunt or do anything to get someone's attention.

As always, It didn't work. No matter how hard I tried to move or scream or do anything but think, it was in vain. I'd heard Dr. Perez leave after bidding a respectful and professional goodbye. Then, my parents gathered their things after a while, and felt as my mother planted a kiss against my cool forehead. My father patted my shoulder and let his hand linger there for a moment before peeling it away and walking off. For some reason, it burned deep into my flesh, leaving searing pain. It felt like he was letting go of me more and more every time he would come.

I could just barely make out my mother's soothing voice as she tried to console Henry once more from next to me, trying her best to mend the wounds that were so clearly open and bleeding in front of her. He'd fallen silent. For a reason I don't quite know, it was almost worse hearing him make no noise at all; like he was too numb to cry any longer.

It was too much for him- too much for all of us. I hated the fact that I was the source of all of this pain. I was the cavity gnawing it's way through the root and the poison damning the tree until it's branches became infected.

I'm sorry.

"Are you leaving soon?" She questioned slowly and tentatively, his quiet sniffles dying down to almost none, "You really should try to get some sleep."

"No," he started, attempting to clear the emotion choking his tired, hoarse throat, "I'm gonna stay for a while." I heard his chair squeal against the floor as it was scooter closer to my bed, and felt two hands clasp around my own, squeezing gently.

If he was willing to fight this hard for me, I'd match his effort and then some. I wouldn't stop trying until he gave up on me.

Long after her footsteps echoed out of the room, he stayed. He sat there next to me and combed back the hair on my forehead, fingers gentle and dainty, as if he was scared that I would crack at any moment. He cares so much. He always had.

Why do you care so much? I surely didn't deserve it.

In the silent air, all I could hear was his gentle breathing. I wished he would talk. I wished he would say anything. My head started to get foggy, and I started to fade slowly at first, and then all at once as his fingers found their way into my hair, curling into my locks softly, the way that one would to a puppy that they were trying to soothe to sleep.

As I succumbed to the inevitable haze once again, I couldn't help but plead a final time, in hopes that maybe he would hear a drowsy ghost of a voice floating through the air like something out of a movie.

Give me some more time, I can do this.

Don't give up on me.