That's what happened to a 39 year-old man who was left fighting for his life after the car he was a passenger in span out of control and hit another vehicle. He suffered a severe brain injury, broken ribs, collapsed lungs and a shattered spine.
Doctors told his devastated partner he probably wouldn't pull through or recognize her again if he did.
Do people in a coma dream? Perhaps they revisit scenes of our beautiful world.
However, after 10 days in a coma, he woke up to see her sitting by his side. He said: “I don’t know who you are, I don’t know your name, but I love you.”
She cried when he said those words.
The former painter spent three months in hospital after the crash, during which he slowly regained his memory of their relationship.
When she told him about their first date, he would remember for a second but forget straight away.
The lovebirds have since married and two weeks ago celebrated the birth of their first child together. Not yet able to walk long distances, he uses a wheelchair. He still has problems with his short-term memory and suffers from severe sleep problems.
From How Stuff Works :
Most comas don't last more than two to 4 weeks. Recovery is usually gradual, with patients becoming more and more aware over time. They may be awake and alert for only a few minutes the first day, but gradually stay awake for longer and longer periods. ...
Some people come out of a coma without any mental or physical disability, but most require at least some type of therapy to regain mental and physical skills. They may need to relearn how to speak, walk, and even eat. Others are never able to recover completely. They may regain some functions (such as breathing and digestion) and transition into a vegetative state, but will never respond to stimuli.
I peer down at a young girl, tugging a prone woman's hand. I linger above a bed, unsure of my target. A regular bleep comes from medical equipment nearby. The girl, who looks about eight years old, strokes the woman's hand. "Mommy, wake up." She gives an exasperated sigh. "Mommy, I've told you too many times already. Wake up."
The comatose woman lies pale and still.
"Don't you want to see little baby Ivy? She's nearly two weeks old and she's lovely." The girl blinks away tears.
Other people enter the room in twos and threes and greet the child with a kiss and hug.
I sense a spark of life inside the motionless form. Although I try to penetrate, I fail. The child needs her mother now. Her outpouring love can work miracles. There must be a baby, whom the mother hasn't seen. Mother and baby should bond. Would God, the Guardian, want me to revive the mother? No time to wait for an answer. The children need their mother.
I meld with the girl and see the hospital room through her eyes. Her name is Trina. Although she appears calm, inside she's taut with trauma. Her worries reach me. Today's the day. They're going to turn the machine off and Mommy won't be here any longer.
I whisper, 'Think about the time your mother held you tight after you won the prize for running. Remember the love you felt right then and hug her inside your mind'.
She does what I suggest with remarkable swiftness. Two other entities, radiating shining light, surround us. Soft whispers of support strengthen my message.
A man and a woman wearing white jackets approach the equipment. In a firm voice we blurt, "No, not yet. She's not ready." We search the other faces, hoping someone else will help to stop this unthinkable occurrence.
The male medic pats our head. The relatives step forward to say goodbye. They stand, watching, waiting. With somber intent, the woman medic nods and turns off the life support.
I whisper. 'Pretend you're crawling between tight bushes. You have to push forward to reach the sunshine and your mother's love. Push'.
We tense and screw up our eyes. "Please live, Mommy."
The group sighs.
Although conflicted about bringing someone back from the dead, I whisper, 'Give it one big effort. Use every bit of strength you have. Make your love loud and clear'.
"Mommy." Desperation sounds in our voice.
Somebody takes hold of our shoulders.
We whisper to Mommy, "Open your eyes."
The woman's eyelids flutter. A gasp echoes around the room. The doctors rush over and examine her with stethoscope and feel for a pulse. The mother sucks in a breath.
I feel a surge of joy from Trina before I disengage and hover above.
Tears run along her cheeks. "Hello, Mommy."
The female medic holds up her hand to prevent the child moving, but Trina flings her hands onto her mother's shoulders and kisses her cheeks, her mouth and her hands. She drops her head onto the covers.
The woman moves one hand, bit by bit until she touches her daughter's head. A faint smile appears.
The medics gaze at each other, and then at the relatives. The male medic says, "I can't explain it."
I leave them to celebrate.