rap sounded on the door. “Hello? Why is this door locked?”
“That’s Teddy,” Gina whispered, her voice panicked.
“Relax,” Dr. Jarvis said. “This will take only a few seconds.”
“Flush the syringe slowly.”
The knock sounded again. “Gina, are you in there?”
“Just a minute!” Gina called.
“Almost done,” Dr. Jarvis said. “There.”
“Hide the syringe,” she hissed.
Her footsteps sounded, then she unlocked the door.
“What were you doing?” Teddy asked.
“Physical exam,” Dr. Jarvis said. “I didn’t want the family to come in and be startled.”
“Ah,” Teddy said, then he grunted. “Looks like someone painted her nails again.”
“We’ll get that tomorrow,” Gina said and even to me, she sounded flustered.
“Dr. Jarvis,” Teddy said, “I believe Dr. Tyson is looking for you.”
As Scooby-Doo would say: Ruh roh.
“Why?” Gina asked, sounding panicked.
“She didn’t say,” Teddy said slowly.
“Thank you,” Dr. Jarvis said. “I’m just going to check Ms. Kemp’s vitals again.”
“Good idea,” Gina said, too loudly.
The door closed. Dr. Jarvis checked my pulse, blood pressure, respiration, and temperature, and seemed satisfied.
“All seems to be well, Marigold. I’ll be back to check on you. In the meantime, fingers crossed.”
Ah… coma humor.
August 23, Tuesday
“HER SISTER MUST’VE been in a hurry,” Teddy said. “It looks like a preschooler painted her nails.”
“Uh-huh,” Gina said.
“Why do you keep looking at her?”
“I don’t.”
“Yes, you do, every few seconds.”
“I… I don’t mean to.”
“You’ve been acting strange since yesterday.”
“No I haven’t.”
Yes, you have, Gina. Even I can tell.
“What were you and Dr. Jarvis doing when the door was locked?”
“Nothing,” she said, but her voice squeaked.
“I think I know.”
“What?”
“You were fooling around, weren’t you?”
“What? No!”
“Then why are you acting so funny?”
“I… I guess I’m just spooked about the other patient waking up. That’s why I keep looking at Ms. Kemp—I keep hoping she’ll open her eyes.”
I hope I do, too. I feel the sensations in my fingertips and toes like before and thank goodness for Sid’s sloppy nail-painting job because it’s taking longer and they’re applying more pressure. The repetition has to be good for my brain.
“I’m sorry for giving you a hard time,” Teddy said. “Not that anyone would blame you for tossing over Gabriel for a doctor.”
“I’m not tossing over Gabriel. We had a great time the other night.” Her voice was giddy. “I will deny this if you repeat it, Teddy, but I think he’s the one.”
Uh—no, he’s not, Gina. Unless you mean the one who is already lying and cheating.
“Don’t fall too hard yet. You hardly know him.”
“I know, but can you ever really know a person?’
“These days with social media, I feel like I know too much about people.”
“My son lives on social media, it’s taken over our lives.”
“I went out to look at the Coma Girl Facebook page and Instagram,” Teddy said. “She has close to a half million followers.”
That’s… kind of scary, actually.
“And there’s all this merchandise,” Teddy added. “T-shirts and sleep masks and pillow cases and tote bags… it just seems like people are celebrating the fact that she’s in a coma. I mean, do people even understand that she’s in a coma ?”
“I doubt it. I believe most people think it’s romantic, like some kind of mystical state, you know?”
“That’s because people only remember the reports where patients wake up from comas—they don’t remember the stories where people wither away for years before their bodies give out.”
Yikes.
“That won’t be Ms. Kemp,” Gina said. “She’s going to wake up.”
“What makes you so sure?” Teddy asked suspiciously.
“I just am, that’s all.”
“I hope so, poor thing.
“That’s Teddy,” Gina whispered, her voice panicked.
“Relax,” Dr. Jarvis said. “This will take only a few seconds.”
“Flush the syringe slowly.”
The knock sounded again. “Gina, are you in there?”
“Just a minute!” Gina called.
“Almost done,” Dr. Jarvis said. “There.”
“Hide the syringe,” she hissed.
Her footsteps sounded, then she unlocked the door.
“What were you doing?” Teddy asked.
“Physical exam,” Dr. Jarvis said. “I didn’t want the family to come in and be startled.”
“Ah,” Teddy said, then he grunted. “Looks like someone painted her nails again.”
“We’ll get that tomorrow,” Gina said and even to me, she sounded flustered.
“Dr. Jarvis,” Teddy said, “I believe Dr. Tyson is looking for you.”
As Scooby-Doo would say: Ruh roh.
“Why?” Gina asked, sounding panicked.
“She didn’t say,” Teddy said slowly.
“Thank you,” Dr. Jarvis said. “I’m just going to check Ms. Kemp’s vitals again.”
“Good idea,” Gina said, too loudly.
The door closed. Dr. Jarvis checked my pulse, blood pressure, respiration, and temperature, and seemed satisfied.
“All seems to be well, Marigold. I’ll be back to check on you. In the meantime, fingers crossed.”
Ah… coma humor.
August 23, Tuesday
“HER SISTER MUST’VE been in a hurry,” Teddy said. “It looks like a preschooler painted her nails.”
“Uh-huh,” Gina said.
“Why do you keep looking at her?”
“I don’t.”
“Yes, you do, every few seconds.”
“I… I don’t mean to.”
“You’ve been acting strange since yesterday.”
“No I haven’t.”
Yes, you have, Gina. Even I can tell.
“What were you and Dr. Jarvis doing when the door was locked?”
“Nothing,” she said, but her voice squeaked.
“I think I know.”
“What?”
“You were fooling around, weren’t you?”
“What? No!”
“Then why are you acting so funny?”
“I… I guess I’m just spooked about the other patient waking up. That’s why I keep looking at Ms. Kemp—I keep hoping she’ll open her eyes.”
I hope I do, too. I feel the sensations in my fingertips and toes like before and thank goodness for Sid’s sloppy nail-painting job because it’s taking longer and they’re applying more pressure. The repetition has to be good for my brain.
“I’m sorry for giving you a hard time,” Teddy said. “Not that anyone would blame you for tossing over Gabriel for a doctor.”
“I’m not tossing over Gabriel. We had a great time the other night.” Her voice was giddy. “I will deny this if you repeat it, Teddy, but I think he’s the one.”
Uh—no, he’s not, Gina. Unless you mean the one who is already lying and cheating.
“Don’t fall too hard yet. You hardly know him.”
“I know, but can you ever really know a person?’
“These days with social media, I feel like I know too much about people.”
“My son lives on social media, it’s taken over our lives.”
“I went out to look at the Coma Girl Facebook page and Instagram,” Teddy said. “She has close to a half million followers.”
That’s… kind of scary, actually.
“And there’s all this merchandise,” Teddy added. “T-shirts and sleep masks and pillow cases and tote bags… it just seems like people are celebrating the fact that she’s in a coma. I mean, do people even understand that she’s in a coma ?”
“I doubt it. I believe most people think it’s romantic, like some kind of mystical state, you know?”
“That’s because people only remember the reports where patients wake up from comas—they don’t remember the stories where people wither away for years before their bodies give out.”
Yikes.
“That won’t be Ms. Kemp,” Gina said. “She’s going to wake up.”
“What makes you so sure?” Teddy asked suspiciously.
“I just am, that’s all.”
“I hope so, poor thing.
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