2. Sounds

The most notable thing about my time in intensive care was that I could hear absolutely fine. I woke up and I was holding my cousin Emma's hand and my sister Joanna was there and I could hear absolutely fine. Emma had done some kind of boring archiving for work as payback to allow her to come up to Sheffield from Oxford. I immediately felt sorry for her. My parents and Aunt were there (Emma's sister Sarah had been and gone) along with Adam (my flatmate who called the ambulance) and his mum who took Emma back to Oxford as they live 5 mins away from each other. I found the convenience of it extremely satisfying. I heard and remembered everyone all fine. Because the last place I'd been had been my bedroom, in my head I hadn't moved. Just the room had changed around me, and because I hadn't seen any of my surroundings when there was mention of the waiting room, I just pictured everyone crammed into my small sitting room.

I couldn't turn or lift up my head. I could only look in whichever way I was angled. This was especially annoying when one nurse turned on the TV because she assumed I'd want it on, and I was left watching a documentary about the men who clean up graffiti on the motorway. I was capable of a yes/no hand squeeze, and everyone was very good at asking my opinion, except this one nurse.

The first few nights I was there, I heard some awfully indepth talk about getting Sky TV. I distinctly remember it because it was so boring. (If you are fated to have a live podcast of the ward blasted at you 24/7, at least it could be interesting). Then, I could hear big drama because Brenda next to me was a Jehovah's Witnesses, and her family was refusing the blood transfusion it was felt she needed. However, it was said Brenda herself was very lax about these kind of things and wasn't in a position to speak up for herself, so they were desperately trying to find a special solicitor who deals with Jehovah's Witnesses' disputes. I don't know what happened next.

Then came Mary, who was in a coma. All I heard, everyday on cue, was her husband Gary: " MaRY! MAry! I lOvE yOu MarY!" He'd also sing softly to her. It was the cutest thing ever. I was very invested. I couldn't see any of the people next to me, so I just imagined faces for the names I heard bandied around. I imagined Mary in a glowing sealed cocoon, and totally made-up Gary.  I'd also hear staff saying "Mary! Mary! Open your eyes Mary!" I would stretch my eyes wide to prove that I at least was a good girl, and could do that, but nobody rewarded me for my efforts.

Then Jack and Cara arrived. Mum said it was desperately sad; we were three young people all next to each other. They'd both had surgery and their heads shaved. I hadn't, because my bleed was too deep to operate on. They were in comas, and I heard worried talking about Cara, which stopped after a while. She hadn't made it. Jack hadn't come out of his coma by the time I'd left, so I don't know what happened to him. Everyday a physio called Holly came to visit me. (I loved her so much, she was so nice, she talked to me normally, like she was chatting to a new friend). Every day a physio would come to Jack, and exersise his muscles and prompt him to respond.

On my other side, a curtain separated us from normal intensive care, and behind this curtain came the strangest noises, like a turkey gobbling whilst throwing up. I used to hear cries of "Jackie!" followed by machines beeping, so I deduced she was pulling out her needles (cannulas). My Mum could see this frequent occurrence was distesing and had a quiet word and Jackie was moved. Perhaps my biggest surprise was when Mum told me later, "I had a sneak peek, and you know what? Jackie's a man." Game changer.

The weirdest thing I heard when I first woke up was literally every visitor commenting on my "unusual" plait. Apparently, my hair had been washed while I was asleep and some student had gleefully given me a lying-down plait coming straight out of the top of my head like Laa-Laa the Teletubby. I couldn't see it, so as yet another person commented about the pineapple sprouting from my head my consternation grew.

(I've been changing the names by the way).

(If I was in a Shakespearean play, I would speak soley in asides).

Pineapple.