‘We’ve withdrawn sedation from Adam and as you can see, he hasn’t woken up. That’s not to say that he won’t, but he’s currently in a coma.’
‘But he’s breathing on his own now? That must…’
‘I’m sorry it isn’t better news.’
We both looked at Adam. None of this made sense to me. My pulse was galloping. I felt like I might fall.
‘A coma?’ I struggled to recall what I knew about the condition. It was a term I’d heard a hundred times before, on TV, in movies, but in that second I couldn’t define exactly what it was.
‘It’s from a Greek word, meaning state of sleep. Adam’s brain injury has resulted in the impairment of his conscious action. His brain is active but only at base level.’
‘Right. So…’ I couldn’t think of a single intelligent thing to ask. Coma was such an innocuous word but the consequences were unimaginable. I had never felt more frightened.
I glanced at Adam.
‘But he’ll wake up?’ There was a burning behind my eyes, in my throat.
‘Typically comas last between two and four weeks. The longer a patient is in one, the less chance they have of emerging or surviving.’
‘But he’ll wake up within a month, won’t he?’
‘Mrs Curtis.’ Dr Acevedo couldn’t quite meet my eyes. ‘Whether somebody recovers from a coma is largely dependent on the severity and cause. Taking into account the blow to Adam’s head, the lack of oxygen when he was underwater, the fact he hasn’t woken after sedation was withdrawn, and his test results… you need to prepare yourself. If Adam does wake, he may have some physical, intellectual or psychological impairment.’
The thought was horrifying. ‘So… even…’ I clenched my hands into fists. ‘Even if Adam wakes up, he might not be… the same?’
‘Similar experiences tell me that—’
‘Regardless of your experience, I don’t think you’ve had enough time to carry out proper treatment.’ My voice was high. Indignant. ‘There must be something you can do.’
‘I wish there was, but there’s nothing else we can do at this stage except keep Adam comfortable and nourished. If Adam does wake up, there would be further tests, of course.’
I couldn’t take any more of his pessimism. ‘If we were at home, in England, would they be doing anything differently?’
‘There’s nothing that can bring a patient out of a coma. It’s a waiting game.’
I felt I was the one who was drowning. I willed Adam to move, to sit up and rip the tubes and wires from his body. To prove this bloody doctor wrong.
But he didn’t.
‘Can Adam hear us?’
‘It’s impossible to know. Sometimes patients wake and recall conversations that were carried out by their bed. I’m sorry.’ He shrugged.
‘So what happens now?’
‘Now? I suggest you go and get some rest; you’ve had a rough night of it yourself. Unless you have any other questions?’
I wanted to ask, why did this happen to him? To me? To us? What would happen if Adam didn’t wake up in days, weeks, months?
Years.
I wanted to know everything. I wanted to strip back the medical terminology and the science and understand it all. Adam wasn’t a statistic, a condition. He was… he was Adam. My Adam. But I wasn’t ready to hear all of the answers and couldn’t think how to vocalize all the things I needed to say.
Dr Acevedo hovered for a few moments at the foot of Adam’s bed, picking up his clipboard containing notes that I couldn’t decipher, but I knew if I could read Spanish they wouldn’t make things any clearer.
‘I’ve other patients to see, Anna,’ Dr Acevedo said when I remained mute with shock. ‘If there’s anything you need.’
There was so much I needed. I needed Adam to wake up and be a husband to me, to support me through the grief of losing our child. I wanted to ask Dr Acevedo if he could grant me those things but instead I gave the standard British response ‘I’m fine, thank you.’
I was a liar.
But I would not cry.
I watched Dr Acevedo leave.
I would not cry.
And then I followed him out of the door. I was going back to our apartment to ring our travel insurance company and arrange to have Adam flown back to England where surely something could be done. It wasn’t hopeless. It wasn’t.
I would not cry.
The kindly nurse had given me the money for a cab and a bag full of sanitary pads, and after collecting a spare key from reception I was back in our apartment. Everything was exactly the same as we had left it. Adam’s clothes a mess in and around his open suitcase. My things neatly unpacked. In the wardrobe hung the turquoise dress I had worn on our last night here when we had met. I had been planning to wear it again, to take Adam to the same restaurant.
It was freezing. I aimed the remote at the air-conditioning unit that chugged on the wall and wrapped the white cotton duvet around my shoulders.
Still, I shivered.
I had never felt so lost. So alone.
I wasn’t quite sure where to start. My bag had sunk with the yacht. Luckily my cash and passport were in the safe at the bottom of the wardrobe, unlike my mobile, which was at the bottom of the ocean. I called reception and asked them to google the number of our local travel agent.
The travel agent took an age to answer. When they did, I jabbered out a condensed version of what had happened and why I needed our travel insurance policy emailed to the hotel.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Curtis. I can only divulge booking information to the lead passenger.’
‘That’s my husband, Adam.’
‘Yes. Can I speak to him?’
‘Haven’t you been listening? He’s in a coma.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘So can you tell me the details of the travel ins—’
‘I’m sorry. I’m only able to talk to the lead passenger.’
I demanded to speak to the manager, anger keeping my tears at bay. Once she came on the line I told her, with far more control than I felt, about Adam’s condition.
‘Oh, I am sorry, Mrs Curtis. What a start to your break. Will—’
‘Can you look up our travel insurance—’
‘I’m only really meant to talk to—’
‘The lead passenger. Yes, I know. But he’s in a coma.’
‘Yes. Of course. Sorry. Just a moment.’ She tap-tap-tapped on a keyboard. ‘Right. Mr Curtis booked and paid for the holiday in full and said he’d ring to confirm about travel insurance one way or the other – we don’t recommend leaving the country without it – but…’
‘But?’ I asked with a sinking feeling.
‘He never called back. I’m sorry, Mrs Curtis. It doesn’t look like you have any cover.’
The bed tilted. I closed my eyes until my dizziness passed. ‘But… he’s in hospital. I can’t afford…’
‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.’
‘You must have been in this situation before? Will they refuse to treat Adam? Kick him out of the hospital?’ I was verging on hysteria.