"JIIIIILL!" I jolted awake, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I gasped for air. My voice echoed through the hospital room, and within seconds, the nurses rushed to my side. The beeping of the machines monitoring my vitals grew more erratic, matching
the chaotic rhythm of my heartbeat.
"Are you okay, Miss Schmid?" one of them asked, her voice gentle but urgent.
I turned to her, blinking as my vision adjusted to the dim lighting. The dream still clung to me like a heavy fog, suffocating and inescapable. My hands trembled as I tried to steady my breathing, but the fear from the dream lingered like an unshakable weight in my chest.
The other nurse quickly called Dr. Williams.
"What happened, Miss Schmid?" she asked again, her voice soothing as she knelt beside me.
"Jill…" I whispered, my throat dry and scratchy. I swallowed hard, then looked up at the nurse, my eyes pleading. "I… I was just hugging Jill, and then she was gone. And everything went black. It felt so real. I— I don't understand…"
The words tumbled out as I tried to make sense of the dream that had felt so real, but my mind was struggling to comprehend what had just happened.
She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, trying to soothe me, but my body refused to relax. I clenched the bedsheet in my fists, still trapped in the lingering dread of my dream.
"Try to take deep breaths, Miss Schmid. You're safe. It was just a dream." her voice soft but firm.
The door opened, and Dr. Williams walked in, her face filled with concern. "Noa, what happened?" She moved to sit beside me, scanning me with careful eyes, assessing my state.
"I don't know," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper. "I woke up from a bad dream. I was talking to Jill, and then she disappeared, and everything went dark. I… I felt so alone and scared. That feeling—it felt so familiar." I paused, looking down at my hands, trying to calm myself, but the anxiety lingered.
Dr. Williams nodded thoughtfully. "Who is Jill, Noa?" she asked, her tone soft, as though guiding me through this confusion.
I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could, my mother suddenly entered the room. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with worry as she rushed to my side.
"What happened? The nurse called and said you were crying and trembling!" she said, checking my hands for signs of shaking. "What happened to my daughter, Doc?"
"Well, your daughter is fine, Mrs. Schmid," Dr. Williams replied calmly. "She just woke up from a bad dream, which is normal brain activity, especially considering her current medications."
"But why is she trembling?" my mom asked, her voice filled with worry.
"When we have a bad dream, especially a nightmare, our brain and body react as though we are experiencing real danger," Dr. Williams explained. "It's a normal response—nothing to worry about."
Mom immediately fumbled through her bag and pulled out her phone, calling my dad to update him on what had happened. I could hear her voice shaking slightly, the concern in her words palpable.
Dr. Williams turned back to me. "Going back to your dream, Noa—who is Jill?" she asked again.
My mom's face went pale at the mention of Jill's name. It was the same way she reacted when Josh's name came up—like a faint, uncomfortable shadow passed over her.
"Jill's my best friend, right, Mom?" I asked, needing reassurance.
Her face visibly tensed for a fraction of a second, but she quickly forced a small smile. "Oh… yes. She's your best friend from high school," she answered, her tone slightly unsteady.
Something about her reaction didn't sit right with me. It was the same way she reacted when I mentioned the name Josh yesterday.
Dr. Williams smiled gently, seeming to pick up on the tension in the room. "I'm glad you still remember most of the important people in your life," she said, her tone warm. Dr. Williams continued, her tone reassuring. "What you experienced in that dream is a part of your brain's normal activity. Dreams—whether good or bad—are actually a positive sign in post-coma patients like you. They indicate that your brain is engaging in higher cognitive functions, particularly memory, emotions, and consciousness. So, don't worry. What you felt in that dream was simply your brain processing emotions. Many post-coma patients experience vivid dreams because their minds are trying to make sense of missing time."
I closed my eyes, absorbing her words. There was comfort in knowing my mind was still active.
"Are you feeling better now, Noa?" Dr. Williams asked.
I nodded weakly in response.
"Good, because we'll be running some tests today, and I want you to be calm. Once you're cleared, we can send you home as soon as possible."
I blinked in surprise. "Really? How about my legs? I still can't move them."
Dr. Williams smiled gently. "The good news is that your lower body is responding to pain, which is an excellent sign. With physical therapy, you should regain movement soon. It will take time, but you're making remarkable progress." she replied
A weight lifted from my chest. At least something was going right but I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was missing. That dream about Jill—it was still bothering me.
Dr. Williams stood up, giving me an encouraging nod. "Get some rest. We'll start your tests in an hour."
She left the room, and my mom stayed behind, still holding my hand. "You scared me, sweetie," she murmured.
"I'm sorry, Mom," I whispered.
She shook her head, squeezing my hand. "No. I'm just… I'm just so happy you're back."
But I wasn't fully back yet. There were too many missing pieces—Jill, Josh, my music, my past. Who was I before all this?
Yeah, about Jill... I haven't seen her yet. Where is she? Does she know I've already woken up? Does she even know I was in a coma for a year? Does she have any idea what happened to me now?
After a while, they allowed me to rest for an hour to ensure I was calm and stable. The tests would come next, but for now, I was left alone with my thoughts.
The tests went by in a blur. By the time we finished, the sun was starting to set. As my dad wheeled me back to my room, I told him to stop for a while in a corridor, I glanced outside the window and realized this was the first sunset I'd seen in a whole year.
It felt surreal—like I was rediscovering the world around me, and it hit me in a way I hadn't expected. That simple moment, the sky bathed in hues of orange and pink, felt beautiful and peaceful. I hadn't realized how much I missed the small things until now.
Turning to my dad, I asked quietly, "Can you let me be alone for a little while? I just want to appreciate this moment."
He looked at me with understanding and nodded, giving me a soft smile. "Sure, sweetheart. I'll be back when it gets dark. Just take your time."
As my dad walked away, I turned back to the horizon. The colors of the sky shifted slowly like the world itself was embracing me, welcoming me back. The stars would soon start appearing, but for now, I let the fading light fill my heart with gratitude.
The world had kept moving while I was asleep. The sun had risen and set over three hundred times, and I had missed all of them. But I was here now, watching this one.
A small, fragile sense of peace settled in my chest.
For the first time since waking up, I felt alive
By the time my dad returned, the sky had darkened, the first stars twinkling softly above us. "You ready to go back to your room?" he asked, his voice gentle, but there was a hint of concern beneath it. "Dr. Williams is already there with your results."
I nodded, taking a deep breath. I was ready to face whatever came next. Dad wheeled me down the hospital corridors, the quiet hum of the night shift filling the air as we passed nurses finishing up their rounds. When we reached my room, the staff was waiting for me. Dr. Williams handed me the results, her smile warm and professional.
"Congratulations, Ms. Schmid," she said, her voice filled with optimism. "You're cleared and ready to go home tomorrow."
The room erupted into applause. I looked around, seeing familiar faces—the nurses and doctors who had been with me through the uncertainty of the past year. Some wiped away tears, their pride in my progress evident. I felt a lump in my throat as I realized how deeply they had cared for me during my coma.
A wave of joy mixed with bittersweet emotions swept through me. The hospital had become a part of my life, but now, I was finally going home. Yet, at the same time, I knew there were parts of my life that felt distant—my home, my room—everything was just a faint memory. What would it feel like to return to a life I no longer fully remembered?
---
It was 9 a.m. when I woke up the next day. Soft light streamed through the blinds, filling the room with warmth. Mom's assistant was busy packing up the last of my belongings, preparing us for the departure. When Mom saw me stir, she smiled with relief and quickly walked over to hand me my breakfast.
"You need to eat something before taking your medicine," she said, her voice gentle but firm.
I nodded, the warmth in her tone comforting. As I ate, I couldn't help but feel strange about it all—the hospital room buzzing with life, but everything outside it feeling so uncertain.
Nurses came and went, checking my vitals and ensuring everything was stable. One of them approached with a smile. "You're looking much better," she said, her voice soft and caring.
Another nurse carefully removed the dextrose IV from the back of my hand, giving me an encouraging nod. "Congratulations, Ms. Schmid. You're really a survivor."
A survivor.
I let the words sink in.
I had survived.
Even though my mind was fractured, even though I had lost pieces of myself, I was still here.
I smiled faintly, the words reassuring me even though they felt foreign. It was overwhelming, but there was peace in the air. I'd made it through the hardest part, yet the uncertainty still lingered. There were too many memories missing—too many faces that felt familiar, but distant.
Mom's assistant moved around, organizing the last few things in the room. I noticed her watching me as if understanding the weight of everything I had been through. I could tell she was quietly respecting my space, even though she didn't know what I had experienced during that year.
"Thank you," I whispered to the nurses, my voice soft but sincere.
One nurse gently squeezed my hand. "Take your time, Noa. There's no rush. You've earned this moment."
I gave her a small smile, grateful for the kindness they showed me. It was a kindness I hadn't realized I needed until now.
Mom helped me get dressed, choosing a cozy jacket and soft pajamas to make me feel more at ease. "Are you ready to go home?" Dad asked as he wheeled me out of the room.
I nodded, a mixture of excitement and uncertainty filling my chest. "I think so." It was time to leave the hospital, but the life waiting for me outside still felt like a stranger.
Dad wheeled me through the corridors, and as we reached the door, the staff burst into applause. I felt a lump in my throat as I saw their smiling faces. They had been with me every step of the way, and even though I didn't remember much, I knew I owed them everything.
"Take care, Noa!" a nurse called out.
"Good luck with everything!" another said, giving me a thumbs-up.
I smiled, the warmth of their kindness wrapping around me like a blanket. It was clear they had cared for me in ways I couldn't fully remember.
As Dad wheeled me outside, the hospital behind us, I looked at the world ahead—quiet, vast, uncertain. And yet… it was mine to rediscover.