Ryan Wiley - Disappearance

“I’ll be right back.”

Without giving me the chance to protest, she storms out of the room. She comes back a couple minutes later, this time accompanied by a balding man in his late fifties. He’s thin, which I like; I’ve never had much respect for obese doctors. He looks at me like he’s trying to hold back a smile.

“Andrew, how very good to see you! How do you feel?”

I open my mouth and try to respond, but he quickly interrupts me.

“Oh, of course. Don’t worry about trying to speak. It’s perfectly natural that your voice isn’t back yet. The good news is it should be soon. Nurse Jackie tells me that your vitals look good.”

“The best I’ve seen from someone just coming out of a coma!”

The word coma seems to put everything together. I was in a coma? For how long? The facial expressions of the doctor and Nurse Jackie change from glee to somber seriousness. I don’t think the doctor wanted me to receive this information so soon, but now that the news is out he improvises.

“Yes, you’ve been in a coma, Andrew. You’ve been in here for a little over seven days now. But it’s nothing to worry about. I have the utmost confidence, just by looking at the monitor, that you’re going to be OK. Nurse Jackie and the rest of the staff have taken very good care of you and have been giving you healthy doses of food and water. We’ll run some more tests, but I have no doubt you’ll have a full and healthy recovery.”

Well, it’s great news that I’m going to be OK. A lot of people in hospitals don’t get to hear news like this from their doctors, but I still can’t get over that I was in a coma. I mean, my God, a coma! That’s something you see on a soap opera. Not something that happens to a normal person like me, and for over seven days! It’s hard for me to wrap my head around this. It must mean the events of the past week were nothing more than an extended dream. Could this possibly be true? I look down at my left arm, no bite marks.

I look up at the doctor and, although I can’t speak, I do my best to show approval in my face. He tells me I’ll need additional tests, but at this point I’ve tuned him out. There’s so much to absorb and it doesn’t help he’s using medical jargon that I don’t understand. What I do pay attention to comes at the end.

“For now, relax and get some rest. If you need anything, just press the red button and Nurse Jackie will get to you right away. It’s right here.”

He shows me, on the outside of the armrest, the button I was searching for. I didn’t have the energy to stretch out that far earlier. Once I give a nod, the doctor and “Nurse Jackie” exit the room and leave me to my thoughts.

Every fifteen minutes or so I test out my voice. It seems to get better with each attempt, just as the doctor said it would. I’m tired, and I wonder how that can be when I’ve just slept for seven days straight. When you are in a coma, does it count as sleeping? I make a mental note to add this to my list of questions, although that one is far down on the list.

I’m more interested in how and why I’m here. Just as I feel good enough to carry on a conversation, though, fatigue takes over and I fall asleep.

When I wake up, three new doctors are whispering amongst themselves beside my bed. One has a clipboard and is writing whatever the other two doctors are telling her. When I listen in, I hear they are discussing my condition. Again, the medical jargon is too much for me to understand, but their enthusiasm makes it sound like I’m some sort of miracle patient. I’m not sure if they know I’m awake or not, but I find it rather annoying they would be in my room talking while I’m supposedly asleep.

“Excuse me, can I help you?”

Three heads jerk up at me like deer seeing headlights. They are so startled by my awakening they don’t say anything, so I break the silence.

“Is there something I can do for you?” A tone of resentment slips in my voice.

“No sir,” the doctor on the far left says. “Is there something we can do for you?”

“Can you please bring Nurse Jackie in?”

“Oh, yes. Right away. I’ll page her now.”

And with that, the three doctors scurry out of the room.

While waiting for Nurse Jackie, my heart rate starts to pick up. I was hoping to plan out some questions to ask. It may be better this way, though; I won’t have to drive myself crazy over-analyzing things. It takes ten excruciating minutes, but Nurse Jackie finally walks in. I see in her face that she’s just as scared as I am.

“Hello Andrew, what can I do for you?”

I don’t know where to begin and I’m terrified of the answers she’s about to give me, but I tell myself I have to find out sooner or later.

“I have a lot of questions to ask you.”

She looks at me hesitantly then finally says, “I figured that. Keep in mind I’m not allowed to answer anything except for specific medical questions.”

“But I don’t have specific medical questions. I have questions about where I am and how I got here.”

“Yeah, those are questions that I should let the doctor handle.”

“Well…” I hesitate. “Can you at least tell me where I am?”

“You are in the Ohio State Medical Wexner Center.”

“How did I get here?”

“I’m not allowed to answer that.”

“OK, umm how long have I been here?” I know the answer to this, but I’m lousy with interrogating someone and this question buys me some time.

“You came in last Tuesday. Today is Wednesday the week after, so you’ve been here eight days.”

“Has anyone been in to see me?”

“Yes, your parents have been here the entire time,” Nurse Jackie quickly tells me.

“What about Abby? Has she been here too?”

Nurse Jackie pauses for a moment before responding, deciding how best to phrase her answer. Then she says, “I’m not allowed to answer that.”

Her answer infuriates me and before I have a chance to control my anger I blurt out, “And why the hell not?”

She pauses, “Something has happened Andrew. Something bad. I’ve been ordered not to tell, but something happened to your wife.”

With this, I sit up for the first time in eight days. I want to stand up and run out the door but I don’t know what’s hooked up to me.

“What do you mean something has happened?”

“I’m not allowed to say. Please Andrew, let me go get the doctor and I’ll have him answer any questions you have.” She starts to back up toward the door, but before she moves far, I reach out and grab her.

“What happened to Abby?” I plead.

Nurse Jackie looks at me, eyes bulging now. I never realized a scrawny guy who has just come out of a coma could be so intimidating. She looks at me and swallows before speaking.

“Andrew, your wife was attacked. You’re both being treated here at the hospital.”

“Attacked? What do you mean attacked?”

“We don’t know all of the details, but police officers are set up everywhere investigating the situation. I’ll tell you that the attacker didn’t survive, but they didn’t give me any further details on that when I asked.” Nurse Jackie’s voice trails off.

My first thought was good; that son-of-a-bitch is dead. I don’t know what he did to my Abby, but if he weren’t dead he would be later when I beat him to death.

“What about Abby? How is she doing?”

“I’ve said more than enough. But Andrew, we’re hopeful she’s going to be all right.”

“Well, how bad is she?”

With this, Nurse Jackie starts crying. This surprises me because I’ve always assumed nurses were emotionless by nature. Not saying that’s a bad thing; when you have patients die every day, I understand you probably develop a thick skin. Nurse Jackie does look very young, like she’s still in college. Maybe she’s still in the beginning stages of controlling her emotions.