The Coma

It's all a bit much to take in, even for me. It must be very difficult for anyone else to understand.

In October of 1990 I had a good job, with the prospect of a promotion close on the horizon. I wore a shirt and tie and commuted to work every day like so many others. I was an active member of Amnesty International and was still working with the sci-fi club I had founded four years before. And then, there was that cute little lady in the office, rumour had it that she had her eye on me, too. All that remained was see which one of us would be the first to ask the other out for coffee.

In November of 1990, I was standing outside the main entrance of the Alan Memorial Psychiatric Hospital, watching as a strong, cold wind blew loudly through big sheets of plastic hanging from scaffolding outside the building. I had just spent an entire week on a gurney in the emergency ward of Fleury Hospital. I had had what they call a "nervous breakdown", and was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and "atypical" psychosis ("atypical" because I could tell what was a hallucinalition and what wasn't).

I spent two months on the North Two ward at the Alan Memorial, right through Christmas and New Years'. When I got out there was a letter waiting for me from my employer. Instead of confirming my promotion, they informed me that my services were no longer needed. I even got word that my lady friend was no longer interested on dating a "crazy" guy. While I was in the hospital, I went through a lot of tests. They determined that the problem was with an imbalance of the chemicals in my brain and that I was to begin drug therapy to re-establish a healthy balance.

What actually happened was not healthy in the least and proved to be traumatic to myself, my family, and everyone around me.

Part of this drug therapy seemed to involve numbing any negative emotions. Unfortunately, this involved numbing ALL of my emotions. As a result, I became a walking vegetable. It felt as if I was perpetually inside a cotton sphere. While I was totally unaffected by any external emotional impact, I was unable to reach out myself. To those around me, it seemed as if I had no interest in getting better. Actually, I was so "stoned" on all of those medications that I could actually put anything in motion. Whenever I tried, it came out as a lame, half-conceived plan. My friends left me one by one, then in groups. At the time, I was very resentful, but in hindsight I can't really blame them. I was making no progress and actually seemed to be getting worse. They were frustrated, I was frustrated, but my doctor thought it was necessary to keep my medications at their elevated doses.

Over time, my file was transfered from doctor to doctor, and the plan for my recovery (if their ever was one) seemed lost in red tape. Although I tried to voice my concern about my vegetative state, nothing was ever done to modify my meds so that I could function normally on a daily basis. I thought this drug therapy would make me feel better, and instead it turned my world into a living nightmare. My overmedicated self managed to alienate everyone around me, time passed painfully slow, and anything positive I tried to get myself out of that doomed life came to nothing - mostly due to my emotions being suppressed. This feeling of complete helplessness led me to try to take my own life in 1991 and later in 1992. Some people say that suicide is a selfish act done without any real thought. Believe me when I say that's complete bullshit. I was no longer able to take care of myself, and a great burden, both financial and emotional, had been placed on my parents. It was one thing for me to have to suffer through that but quite another for others to suffer, too. I did what I thought was right at the time. Then, I met someone who forever changed my views on suicide.

After my second attempted suicide, I was hospitalized a second time, and this stay lasted three months. I made a few friends this time, among them was a young lady named Diane. She was charming, very intelligent, and funny. I was attracted to her immediately. Despite warnings from my ward nurse that two patients should get "involved", I did nothing to prevent the natural progress of my relationship. Admitedly, when she was ill, she was very ill. Still, her positive side was always able to shine through and that's why I fell head over heals in love with her. We had been with each other for a few months when a series of events, that happened in quick succession, impacted her life. She had never discussed how much they had affected her. Then, on the night before I was suppossed to go to her place for a special dinner, she called me. In a voice that I found eerily calm, she asked me to come over that very night. The buses in her part of town had stopped working long before and I had no money for a taxi. She accepted my answer and wished me a good night. The next morning, I got a heart-wrenching call from her mom telling me that Diane had tried to take her own life with poison and was in a coma. It felt as if God's hand itself had reached down and smacked me. I went to see her everyday for a week, until the doctors decided that there was too much damage to her brain to actually revive her. She died less than an hour after turning off the life support machine. Seeing how her actions affected me and especially her mom, suicide is no longer an option for me.

Not surprisingly, my doctor increased my meds after that. In all, I spent a total of 18 years in an near-comatose state because of those damned medications. Six months ago, my current doctor was wise enough to make major changes to my "diet". He removed ALL forms of sedatives - which caused some truly horrifying and painful withdrawl - as well as drugs used to conteract other drugs that I hadn't even taken in years. As a result, I experienced a nice period of lucidity. But I soon realized that this gift was also a curse. I was 18 years behind the rest of the world; I have little or no memory of those missing years. This adversely affects my intentions to find work and go back to school. How will I explain an 18 year gap in my life? Friends who had just married when I got sick now have children who are nearly adults and I still have trouble wrapping my brain around that one!

This is supposed to be a time of recovery for me, but it seems that self-doubt and uncertainty dog my every step. Before I can go towards the future, I have to find closure with my past. Those long years hang over me like a huge weight about to fall. I guess that I would have made a crappy time traveler! So now, my fate remains to be seen. It all depends on how I deal with this time thing, what my doctor does, and who my friends are. I was never big on prayer, but this might be a good time to start.