His conviction and his dedication to that path set in motion a chain reaction. He felt the glow from his form receding. The same blackness that had appeared within Santiago’s spirit had now appeared at his center and was consuming him. His anxiety about the possibility that he might have made a grave mistake mounted, before slowly ebbing away as if it, too, was being sucked into the nothingness. It continued to absorb him until he couldn’t see any part of his former spirit self or feel any of his human emotions. If he had any left, he would no doubt have been scared beyond his wits.
Suddenly, his mind and field of vision were expanding again. The information was flooding in, but this time, John could filter it without effort, to get to exactly what he needed to know––like running some monstrous search engine with the results he was looking for instantly available. Images of human consciousness as black voids appeared, emerging from human bodies during surgery or from comatose patients. There was no rule deciding whether or not consciousness would return to their bodies––an inexplicable event which had become known as a ‘near-death-experience.’ The one thing that all those cases had had in common, had been a powerful desire to return to the living.
John’s desire to return was all-consuming, and he felt himself being drawn closer to his body. In an instant, he was inside. This time it was different. He felt cocooned, protected and, for the first time in a long time, he felt warm. The breaths that his body was taking and the heartbeat he could now hear were undoubtedly his own. He felt the harshness of the ventilator tube pressed against tender areas of his throat and windpipe––it made him want to gag. Feelings of weakness, stiff limbs, and sores crowded his senses, but no sensation was as great as the dulled pain from his midsection. The continual loop of memories suddenly stopped playing, unconsciousness became foggy awareness which transitioned into sudden reality as his eyes snapped open. His own fully conscious thoughts filled his head.
He was finally back.
Thirty
John moved his head and looked at his father. He was asleep on a chair in the corner of the room.
“Dad!” John tried to say, but with the tube in his throat it came out as a cough that was both dry and sore. “Dad!” He repeated the effort, but again it came out as a rough, hacking sound.
“John?” responded a sleepy-sounding voice followed immediately with a louder, “John, are you awake? Oh, sweet Jesus!”
Tom Logan got up, his hair ruffled and his eyes puffy, and he rushed out into the corridor to bellow excitedly: “Nurse! Nurse! My son is awake!” He hurried back into the room and into the chair next to John’s bed.
John offered an outstretched hand and his father enclosed it with both his hands, his eyes watery as pools. “Christ Almighty! The doctors didn’t know if you would come back!” His voice was breaking, tears were spilling.
John squeezed his father’s hand tightly. He wanted to tell him that he loved him, but the damn tube was stopping him. He tapped it in frustration.
A few minutes passed before a doctor approached. He placed a hand on John’s. “Welcome back, young man—you gave us all quite a scare. Just don’t touch that now; we need to perform some tests before we decide to take it out.” His voice was energetic and confident. John liked him immediately.
“I’m going to tell you a few things, and I want you to blink once to show you understand and agree, or twice if you feel something is wrong, OK?”
John blinked once and listened to the doctor tell him things he already knew, like why he was there, and what had happened. He blinked each time on cue, impatiently.
“Good. Let me just check the readings on the ventilator.” The doctor paused for a moment. “Tidal volume, respiratory rate, and oxygenation all look good,” he muttered. “What I’ll do now is consult with a respiratory therapist and contact your assigned doctor. If they agree I’ll come back with a nurse, and we’ll look at taking that tube out.”
The doctor asked John’s father to step outside and wait in the corridor until he returned. When he came back with a nurse fifteen minutes later, he found that John’s father was no longer sitting alone. Jennifer and David had joined him and were also waiting outside John’s room. The doctor explained the extubation procedure and asked them all to remain in the corridor until he called them.
“Alright, John, we’re going to take that tube out of your mouth. In a second, I will use a suction tool to get all the mucus that might be in your throat. When I say so, I want you to cough. And when you cough, I’m going to pull that tube right out, and you will be a lot more comfortable breathing on your own, OK?”
John could only nod his eager agreement.
After cleaning his throat, the doctor disconnected the tubes and attached a manual respiratory bag, which he pumped slowly to allow John to get to his own breathing rhythm. “OK, I will give you a big breath to take in. I want you to cough it out and then I’ll pull out the tube.”
As he coughed out the air, the tube was pulled out. He spluttered for a second and then, by Christ, he was breathing by himself!
“Hi, Dad,” John croaked after he gained normality to his breaths.
The doctor turned around and saw John’s father in the doorway. “Please sit outside, Mr. Logan. We need to identify what level of recovery John has without him being distracted,” demanded the doctor.
John could see that Jennifer had now appeared beside his father. She was also being held back by a nurse. The doctor looked toward the door again and
