ANGELS AND GHOSTS
CHAPTER EIGHT

Winter, 2014

Mia Coombes sat nervously in the waiting area, running her hands over her thighs.

Today could be the day.

After more than three and a half months in hospital and a further five weeks in the rehabilitation centre, this could be the day that they would release her. All she had to do was impress her neurologist, and they would set her free … maybe. Mia was a bundle of nerves as a thought spun in her mind; And how do I do that, how do I impress him?

Mia knew that Doctor Timothy Black was reasonably pleased with most aspects of her rehabilitation, although he did harbour a few concerns. Every time she saw him, Dr Black patiently outlined his concerns, although Mia knew that patience was something that she was rapidly running out of.

Mia remembered nothing of her first month in hospital, and that was to be expected; in a coma, fighting for her life, and hooked up to all kinds of machines. She met Dr Black in her second month of hospitalization, and when she was more comfortable with him, she asked, ‘Am I okay?’

Dr Black had replied, ‘We’ll do a few more tests.’

Mia knew she wasn’t okay, because pounding headaches usually led to migraines of volcanic proportion that crippled her, although she needed someone to tell her that she was going to be okay. She’d learnt all about it; hit by a car then sustaining severe limb and cranial injuries.

Her left knee had undergone a total reconstruction, and now she had three-inch scars on both sides of the knee, the scars impossible not to notice, because they stood out, the dark pink of the scars a bright contrast to her lightly tanned body. The knee itself was still slightly swollen, and disconcertingly, the knee was shiny, while the definition of the knee-cap still wasn’t fully visible. Her left hip sported a bright, pink nine-inch scar which marked the entry point where her plastic replacement had been inserted. Her broken right arm had healed, the cast coming off three months ago, although on the cold mornings, the elbow joint still screamed at her.

Trying to provide a positive spin on her injuries, the doctors and nurses would gush, ‘Wow, you’re almost as good as new!’

Mia knew that parts of her were new, for she now had a hip that came from a plastics factory in Chicago, and a new knee-cap that had probably come from the same place, and someone had mentioned something about a titanium rod in her left leg.

In days, weeks, months of lying flat on her back, Mia had decided that she must replace out where the rod had come from, and she could ring up and state brightly, ‘Hi, I have one of your rods in my leg, and I just wanted to thank-you for making titanium rods to put in people’s legs.’

By the third month, her physical injuries had healed sufficiently for Mia to be sent to the hospitals rehab, although Dr Black, her neurologist, had advised, ‘We just need to do a few more tests.’

When Mia began her initial rehab in the hospital, the nurses and physiotherapists advised her, ‘We need to teach you how to walk again.’

Mia thought that walking wasn’t something that she needed to learn, it was just something you did naturally, although her new kneecap and hip from Chicago seemed like they did need a few lessons.

Assisted walking, then shuffling on a walking frame, daily physio sessions, the nurses very pleased, ‘Wow, look at that girl go!’

Everybody was pleased with her, except maybe for Dr Black, who advised solemnly, ‘We’ll just do a few more tests.’

In frustration, Mia had asked him, ‘Why more tests? What’s wrong with me?’

Dr Black had replied, ‘You suffered severe cranial damage Mia. Your physiotherapists are teaching you how to walk again, and my job is to teach your brain how to work again.’

Mia remembered moaning, ‘It feels like it is working.’

‘Mia, unfortunately there are parts of your brain that were so severely damaged, that we may have lost them forever, and other parts that may or may not be operational, so until we fully understand the extent of the damage, we will need to monitor you.’

Mia had wanted to suggest to him that he pop into the factory in Chicago and get a few parts there, but she was weakened, frightened, ‘I’m going to be okay, aren’t I?’ she had asked tearfully, ‘I’m going to be normal?’

Dr Black had replied compassionately, ‘That’s what we’re all working towards.’

Mia hated the phrase, Teach your brain how to work again. It had been working before the accident, and she assumed that it should just start working again without having to be taught anything. In pre-accident times, she didn’t wake up and go, ‘Hello brain, are you working today?’ It just worked, without any conscience effort from her. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life apologising to everybody, ‘Ohhh sorry, I can’t go out today because I’m not sure if my brain is working.’

Sitting in the waiting room, she reflected that she’d been at the Rehabilitation Centre for five weeks and three days, and she’d had enough. She had taught her Chicago parts how to walk, and she wanted to go home.

Mia looked up as Mrs Davies approached her.

“Come in Mia, Dr Black will see you now.”

Mia braced her arms on the side of the chair and pushed up, wobbled, balanced, then followed Mrs Davies to the door.

Mrs Davies smiled as she ushered her in, and Mia smiled as well, “Thank-you Mrs Davies.”

Mia walked to the chair, looked behind her to make sure she was centred, then lowered herself, paused, braced her arms on the chair, then flopped into it. She was conscious of Dr Black watching her every move, and she asked quietly, “How are you Dr Black?”

“Very well thank-you,” he replied, “How are you?”

“Me, I’m excited about being released.”

Mia saw him bow his head, and she stiffened. She’d had a gutful of this, and now was the time to make a stand. “Dr Black, please, I just want to go home.”

“Mia, even though we still don’t have a full determination of your injuries, I am prepared to release you, on three conditions.”

Thank God … “What, what are the conditions?” she asked timidly.

“Every Monday, I will need you to come in for more tests,”

Tests, tests, more tests …

“Then every Thursday, I’ll need to see you to discuss the tests.”

Mia tried to hold his gaze as she asked, “Third condition?”

“I’ll need you to keep a diary, a full and compete diary detailing everything that you do.”

Mia was pleasantly surprised. “Okay, sure.”

“I want everything in the diary Mia, absolutely everything, including what time you go to bed, how you slept, what time you get up, what time you eat and what you have to eat; plus everything you do, like shopping, sight-seeing or whatever, a full account of every movement of each day, and we’ll discuss that on the Thursday as well.”

Mia sighed with relief, “I’ll do that, yes.”

“I’ve prepared a list for you, kind of like a check-list which will help you complete the daily diary, and as well …” he paused, bowing his head.

Freedom, freedom just up ahead, Mia anxious to move on, so she prompted him, “What else?”

“The headaches.” he replied quietly.

She bowed her head as well.

“I need you to detail every one, and I’ve included that on this list. I need to know the time they occur, the length and severity of them, and what you take to ease them.”

“Yes, yes, I can do that.”

“Okay, well the first session will be next Monday at the hospital, and of course, if you’re struggling with anything at any time, call me, and I do mean call me anytime, day or night, because I’m not entirely comfortable about releasing you.”

Mia rubbed her hands over her thighs, then looked at him. “Dr Black, I’m trying to make myself believe that I’m normal, and I need a chance to see if I can survive out there, I mean I want to know whether I can function and do things that everybody else takes for granted.”

“Yes, I do understand. Call me if you need me, and I must emphasise the importance of the diary; everything must be recorded, irrespective of how insignificant it may seem.”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Okay, well good luck.”

*

An hour later, Mia stepped out of the taxi and gazed at her unit, pleased that she was gazing at it, although feeling unsettled. She bought the unit in September of 2013, four months after her parents had been killed in the car accident.

Wayling Street, San Antonio was where she lost her parents, and she still remembered the knock on her door on that mild fall evening. ‘Are you Mia Lauren Coombes?’ asked a young policewoman.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m afraid I have bad news for you …’

Mia never wanted to see Wayling Street again, never wanted to see San Antonio again, so she uprooted, travelled, then applied for the personal trainer position at Roaring Fitness Gym in Brocksley, Illinois. Being the sole beneficiary of her parent’s estate, financially, Mia didn’t need to work, but psychologically, she had to.

She made friends at the gym quickly and easily, and both male staff and male members began putting out feelers. She had been interested in Matt, a handsome young personal trainer, and it was the feelers that he had been putting out that she wanted to re-feel.

But then came the accident.

Mia unlocked the door and walked into the unit, gazing around, pleased to be back where she belonged, and she realised, so relieved to be free.

With Dr Black’s words ringing in her ears, she walked over and pulled the diary out of her bag and placed it on the kitchen counter, opening it to the day; December 8. It was an impressive looking diary, A4 size with a hard blue cover, and Mia said to herself, “Goodness, I don’t even get to use it for a month.”

Her first notation for December 8 was;

Okay, I’m home and I feel great!

Mia wanted to record something else, wanted to give the uplifting statement a companion, but as she gazed around the kitchen and lounge-room, negative thoughts entered her mind. She wanted to write; I’m home, so I’ll ring my friends and organise a party; but a sobering thought flitted into her mind; maybe she didn’t have any friends anymore.

When she had been taken off the critical list, Matt had come in to visit her. Mia had been unprepared, and she noticed Matt gawking at her, staring at her shaved head, he obviously seeing the large, ugly scars that were now permanent residents of her skull.

Ashamed by her new appearance, she had asked a nurse to buy her a beanie, and when Matt came in the following week, the striped white and yellow woollen beanie was on.

He never came back though.

Four of the girls from the gym visited her every week for four weeks, then one dropped off, and by the following week, another dropped off.

Three months into her hospitalization, nobody visited, and Mia understood why. She wasn’t Mia Coombes, attractive and easy-going personal trainer anymore; she was Mia Coombes, car accident victim, the beanie on to hide the scars, although the psychological scars could never be hidden.

She’d made friends at the Rehabilitation Centre though, fifty, sixty and seventy-year-old friends, and they had farewelled her, saying, ‘We’re going to miss you!’ When she sorted herself out, she’d pop into the Rehab centre and say hi, and maybe she’d even pop into the gym and say, Hi, you guys remember me?

And a headache hit, biting into her, paralysing her body, Mia shuddering with the pain.

*

Mia awoke lazily the next morning and gazed at the clock radio; 7.23am.

She hobbled into the kitchen and sat at the counter, picked up a pen, then opened her diary to December 9.

7.23, I think that’s good, I slept for more than nine hours undisturbed; are you proud of me Dr Black?

Nine hours undisturbed sleep, so nothing to report.

Mia went and put the kettle on, and she felt a flash of guilt, because there had been something to report.

The voice again; Hello …

The same voice she’d been hearing in her dreams ever since she’d awoken from the coma; Hello, hello …

Guilty, feeling guilty, although the guilt was the kind that Mia could ignore, because while Dr Black had written on the list that she had to record any dreams or nightmares that she’d had, he hadn’t specifically written down that she had to record details of any frightened, recurring voices that floated into her sleeping mind.

*

On the Monday, more tests, more scans, Mia feeling like an inanimate object rather than a human being.

On the Thursday, she met with Dr Black and he silently read the diary.

Lifting his face to gaze at her, he remarked, “So they’re getting to know you well at KFC?”

Mia blushed, then looked at him sheepishly as she replied, “I’m gearing myself up to go food shopping soon.”

“Please do Mia,” he began, “In your situation, you need to be conscience of everything in your routine, and that includes your diet.”

“Dr Black, I endured hospital food for five months, so this is just me going a little crazy.” Mia replied, then she winced at the final word, and admonished herself, No, no, no; don’t say crazy, don’t ever say crazy!

“Okay, well let’s get into it.” he stated.

Mia frowned, Brain exercises; God I hate this!

“What’s your full name?”

“Mia Lauren Coombes.”

“Your date of birth?”

“Twenty-sixth of July, nineteen eighty-eight.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“What were your parent’s names?”

“Mark James and Evelyn, ummm, Evelyn …” Mia began to fret. Whenever she stumbled or struggled, tiny ants would start scurrying around in her mind, their annoying, scraping footsteps upsetting her concentration, No, please don’t…

“It’s okay, take your time.” Dr Black said consolingly.

“Mark James and Evelyn, ummm, Evelyn, ohhh gosh …”

“It’s okay Mia, we’ll come back to that one; where were you born?”

“Saint Bernadine’s, San Antonio.”

“What school did you go to?”

“I went to, to …” Mia paused, annoyed; annoyed and embarrassed, because she could picture the school dress, remembered the blue and white chequered dress, could picture the navy blue blazer, the school’s insignia on the left breast of the blazer. “Arrrhhh …”

“It’s okay; what was the last job you had?”

“I was a personal trainer for Roaring Fitness.”

“What’s five times eight?”

“Forty.”

“What’s nine times eight?”

“Arrhh nine times eight is, is …”

Dr Black waited for a moment, then asked, “Spell your surname.”

Mia put her hand over her mouth concentrating, positive that she would spell it correctly, absolutely positive that she would spell it correctly … if she could remember it. He’d only asked her moments ago what her full name was, and she got that right, or least she thought she got it right. Mia clasped her hands between her knees and began rocking forward, confused now, wondering why the next question wasn’t coming, or maybe the next question was already out there, waiting to be answered. Her brow furrowed as the ants scurried about in her mind, their footsteps getting louder and more irritating. “Did I, did I miss a question?” she asked nervously.

“Spell your surname.”

“Coombes; c-o-o-m-b-e-s.”

“Good, what’s your address?”

“Unit one, ummm, ummm, unit one …” Bigger ants scurrying in her mind, bigger footsteps.

“Mia …”

Her nose screwed up, and as the throbbing began, Mia’s mind divided into sides; one side trying to stave off the attack, although the other side was ready to crumble, My, my parents name is Unit one-times eight…

“Mia, a headache?”

Dr Black watched her grimace and he pushed out of his chair, then helped Mia to her feet and guided her across to the sofa. “Lie down.”

Dr Black got a cup of water from the cooler, then rifled around in her handbag and pulled out the bottle of pills, tipping two into his hand. Gently he coaxed her head up and fed a pill into her mouth, then the cup, second pill, cup.

Twenty minutes later, he popped his head in, “How are you?”

Mia opened her eyes and nodded, “All better.”

Dr Black helped Mia up and then saw her to the door.

“Do I need to record that episode?” Mia asked.

“Yes you do, every one, every single one.”

“But you saw it happen.”

“Yes, but the purpose of this diary is to have a permanent record, so yes, it’s 10.41am, please use that time to accompany the notation that you will record.”

“Okay, goodbye.”

“I’ll see you next Monday Mia.”

Before exiting, Mia turned to him. “Ohhh Dr Black…”

“What?”

“I went to Whittington State.”

“Very good.”

*

Mia maintained the diary diligently, a notation for the thirteenth of December stating;

Went and saw everybody at Roaring Fitness today. They’re happy I’m up and about, but they all seemed kind of reserved, not sure what to say to me. I guess that makes sense, because I didn’t know what to say to them. I might leave it a bit longer before I visit again.

Everything recorded, every single thing … well, no, just the one exclusion.

Mia didn’t want Dr Black to know about the voice that kept drifting into her dreams, for he would say, ‘Maybe you should move back into the Rehabilitation Centre so that we can do more tests.’

She guiled herself into believing that she was allowed to have one little secret.

The voice that kept drifting into her dreams was young and feminine, and frailty, or desperation was evident in its message;

Hello, hello, can you help me …