Free I'm Still Here (Je Suis Là) by Clélie Avit, Lucy Foster

or something. She’s really paying attention to my lips, as though she’s trying to make up for forgetting them before.
    She finishes without speaking to me, as always, and then leaves the room. A few minutes later, the door opens noisily and a chorus of voices and clattering footsteps enters my room. I am taken aback by the volume. Why so many people?
    I catch a few medical terms in the midst of all the kerfuffle, but when there is so much going on at once, it’s difficult to follow. I’ve developed quite a talent (in a manner of speaking) for identifying the head doctor among his group of juniors. It must be this doctor, the consultant, who has just clapped his hands, because the noise subsides and gradually everyone falls silent.
    As far as I can tell from their breathing, I am surrounded by about five junior doctors, or “house officers” as they like to call each other. I have become a teaching aid! The consultant, standing at the foot of my bed, picks up the clipboard, which has my “system updates,” as I like to call them, written on it. It’s been a while since anyone wrote anything on there.
    â€œRight everyone, the case of room fifty-two,” the doctor begins. “Multiple traumas, including to the head. Deep coma for almost five months. I’ll leave you to read the details.”
    Great, I’m a number now, as well as a “case”…
    The clipboard is passed from hand to hand, not staying with any one person for longer than a couple of seconds. There must be a rule among doctors about never keeping a single page in front of their eyes for too long. Maybe they get bored of reading these clipboards again and again, or maybe they just prefer to judge for themselves. Or perhaps it is part of their training to assess all the essentials of any medical situation within five seconds. Yes, that must be it, they are just practicing what they’ve been trained to do. All the same, I’d love it if there were one doctor who invested more than five seconds in the case of room 52 . They might discover that I can hear everything they are saying.
    â€œHere’s a copy of the brain imaging. All the common features, of course. I’ve included details of her state on arrival in July, and also the one from two months ago. I await your comments.”
    This time, it takes a little longer than five seconds. I hear them whispering but I don’t catch any of the details. It’s far too technical for me anyway, but I can sense that they are most concerned with impressing the consultant. They seem to be conducting quite an in-depth evaluation.
    â€œSo,” begins the consultant. “What do we think?”
    One of the juniors on my right speaks first.
    â€œHer imaging has improved from July to November?”
    â€œMore or less, but I would have liked some more details. You need to justify why it is you think that. In fact, you can all leave your thoughts written up on my desk tomorrow morning. Get to work on it tonight.”
    I hear some murmurs of protestation, but they die down quickly.
    â€œWhat else?” the doctor goes on.
    â€œSir?” says another trainee.
    â€œYes, Fabrice.”
    â€œCan we speak sincerely?”
    â€œWe can
only
speak with sincerity here. Even if it’s not always the truth.”
    â€œCan we also avoid dressing up the situation?” asks this junior named Fabrice.
    â€œBetween ourselves, yes,” replies the doctor. “In the presence of relatives, it’s not always advisable. Adapt your speech to the people in front of you. But please go on, we’re listening.”
    â€œUh… well she’s completely fucked, isn’t she?”
    I hear some sniggers, but the laughter is quickly curtailed.
    â€œYou really aren’t dressing it up, are you, Fabrice?” says the doctor. “But you’re quite right. According to all the information that’s in front of you, the reports