The next day, I take my first solid food. My voice, shaky and scratchy, returns.
“Hi. Would you cover my foot. It’s cold. ” I expel the words like dry sawdust.
John smiles, reaches for the blanket which has pooled at my feet and covers them.
“You scared us for a while.” Kit and John recount my coma in short increments. I hear their voices and try, with some success to stay awake. As much as I want to know, I often doze off in mid-sentence.
A question remains, that I hold back for the first few days. I find the courage to ask during breakfast on the third day. Kit and John bring me a steaming Egg McGriddle from McDonalds, and a decent cup of coffee from home.
“Dr. C says you should eat. Anything. Even that,” John says, gesturing toward the fast food he’d placed on my breakfast tray. “But don’t get used to this. It’s a treat. For a special occasion.”
I smile and nod in understanding. “I’ve been wondering about something. And please, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?” Kit smile and leans in to catch my wispy words.
“Why didn’t you let me go?”
Shaking her head, Kit begins. “We have you to thank, actually. It was your busy mind, Brain activity, day after day. There was a stretch of scary days about a week ago. We thought you were leaving us. And then, clear, active brainwaves. Again.”
It’s beginning to make sense to me. The brain waves were my memories and dreams.
“You wouldn’t believe the dreams. So many things. I mean, so much came flooding back. Things, memories, people. It’s like they just stepped forward in no particular order and in no particular hurry. I wish you could have seen it.”
“Apparently a lot going on up there. You were still with us. We couldn’t honor your Advance Directive. Thank god.”
I smile back. “You have no idea. It was all so real. I wanted to tell you about it. To re-live it with you.”
“Life flashed before your eyes, so to speak?” John said, reaching for my hand.
“Something like that.” I look around. I smile, and notice, for the first time, the top of the Golden Gate bridge peeking over the San Francisco skyline. I must be in UCSF, at the top of the hill. Kit arranges new flowers delivered that morning.
“These are from Emma. She’s been here a lot. She’s a good friend.”
I nod. The flowers are beautiful. My questions keep coming.
“How long have you been here, in mean here in San Francisco?” I ask her.
Kit smiled. “Since I could get a flight, the day John called me.”
“The whole time?”
“Where else would I be?”
Tears come. Smells become clearer. I revel in the taste of food. Sun streams through the east-facing window and I savor the warmth of it on my face. I take John’s hand, and for the first time in days I begin the trek forward, grateful for the memories that have, miraculously, kept me alive, and equally grateful for the new memories that will make up the rest of my days.
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