After the darkness, there was a faint glow. He was living in a dim soundless world. He couldn’t remember the gloom but he knew it was there. What was that faint glow? What did it all mean?

He felt a pain in his head and he tried to lift his hand but it wouldn’t move. What the hell -- he tried his left hand but that wouldn’t move either. Nothing would move. He tried to think. His brain wouldn’t work. He was scared. He felt the fear descend on him like a thick cloud that seemed to clutch at him as he felt his heart race out of control.

Control your fear. Think, think, think. What was his name? He didn’t know. What did he know? He couldn’t see properly -- he couldn’t hear -- he couldn’t move. What was that? A shadow passed in front of his eyes, he could feel something in his throat, then his chest felt clearer. There was a warm feeling in his hand and someone was stroking his arm. He could feel it and tried to squeeze the hand as he heard a faint noise. Soon there was a lot more squeezing and noise. He tried to squeeze back a few times but soon he became tired. He had no idea what was happening; maybe they were trying to kill him.

When he awoke the light was brighter and he could hear a noise, a type of rhythm. He felt his chest rising to the rhythm. There was pressure on his hand again so he squeezed feeling the pleasure of human contact, and heard a faint noise of someone talking but he couldn’t make out the words. Then he saw the face of an older woman.

He felt his body being turned over and someone wiping his bum, he felt embarrassed. There was the feel of hands on his bare body. More human contact; it felt good. Tiredness overtook him and he slept again.

He awoke and the noise crashed into him like a runaway train and the light was like a thousand suns assaulting him. He closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep again. A voice was saying, ‘Shane, you’re awake. Can you squeeze your mother’s hand?’ he squeezed. She leant over and kissed him on the cheek. He wanted her to wrap him in her arms to keep out the fear.

‘Shane darling, you’re in hospital. You were in a bad car accident and hit your head. You’ve been in a coma for three weeks. You're getting better. I was so worried. I love you so much darling.’

He tried to talk but choked at the effort. ‘You can’t talk dear. You have a tube in your throat. It's in your trachea which interferes with your voice box.’

Shane looked around the hospital room, a ventilator was breathing for him. On the other side of the bed a nurse said, ‘You’re doing very well Shane.’ She removed the ventilator connection from his neck. ‘Time for you to breathe on your own for a while. We’ve been weaning you off for a week. You’re up to five hours a day. You’ll soon be breathing on you own all the time.’

A week later a much-improved Shane dozed in a relining chair next to his bed. The dream started again. A woman’s face looked fearfully at him as blood squirted her and covered her face. He awoke.

He no longer needed the ventilator but he still had a tracheotomy tube that allowed the physiotherapists to clear his lungs with suction. His cough response had almost returned, which meant he could clear his lungs himself. The changes were remarkable; he was moving his arms and hands, his head was following sounds and he was trying to place his legs to allow him to stand. The cloud of fear was rising as he felt the love of his mother and it seemed to cradle him in a cocoon of contentment.

His mother was massaging his hands to stop his fingers from deforming. ‘Do you remember anything about the accident?’ Shane squeezed her hand twice. It was a code they had worked out -- one squeeze for yes twice for no.

‘Do you remember me?’ Shane squeezed once.

‘Your wife?’ He squeezed twice. He looked quizzically at his mother. He had a wife? Why couldn’t he remember her? Something was there. He remembered a lady in a white wedding dress but he couldn’t see her face. His mother had been talking to him for days. Why was this the first time she had mentioned his wife? He couldn’t wait to see her. Why didn’t she visit him?

Two days later the doctor removed the tracheotomy tube. His dreams were now tormenting him. Since his mother mentioned his wife he had thought of nothing else. He wondered if he was dreaming about her. He had no way of knowing. He couldn’t remember what she looked like. Why didn’t she visit him?

Frustration was causing him to lash out at his therapists because his stupid body wouldn’t work. He felt like screaming, “Tell me about my wife.”  No one would tell him. The part of his brain that reasoned was working perfectly and he could think as well as ever. But he couldn’t communicate or ask his mother about his wife. His only communication was to answer questions by squeezing his hand.

Shane felt a rising rage: he had to know. Anger was the only way he could let them know. He lashed out with his arms feeling like he was in a deep dungeon, no, it was worse than that. His thoughts were intelligent and firing on all cylinders but his body wouldn’t co-operate. He must look like a blithering idiot; he wanted to scream.

He had noticed a policeman sitting outside his door. Why were the police here? Where was his wife? What did she look like? How long have they been married? Were there any children? What was it like to have sex? Did he have sex with his wife? He couldn’t remember. Shane put his hand to his face it was wet with tears.