Free Coma Girl: part 3 (Kindle Single) by Stephanie Bond

the patron saint of head injuries, Saint Aurelius of Riditio. As she uttered the words, however, I realized Sister Irene has her own head injuries that need to be addressed. She is basically planning to invite a man to her house so she can skin him.
    She stopped at the door. “Peace be with you, ladies.”
    And also with you. Seriously.
     
     
     
     

September 28, Wednesday
     
     
    WHEN MY MOM WALKED into my room, I knew something was wrong.
    Not wrong in the sense that something else had gone south with the case or that someone had died. But wrong in the sense that she needed to get something off her chest and she wasn’t going to hold back.
    I was about to get a lecture, but good.
    She didn’t say anything for a few minutes, just paced and drank coffee. I could smell the caramel flavoring she liked, and hear the jangle of her bracelets. This pacing, silent treatment phase was part of the punishment. It was the part I’d hated most when I was young because you had to sit there and wait until she was good and ready to blast you. I was pretty sure what the topic would be and frankly, was a little surprised it had taken her this long to dole out my well-deserved tongue-lashing.
    She was going to tell me I disrespected myself by lying down with a man who obviously doesn’t care about me and conceiving an unwanted child.
    And that even if I get well, I barely make enough money to support myself, much less a baby and how am I going to do both?
    That this unplanned child is simply another in a long line of poor decisions and haphazard life design and when am I going to grow up and be as smart and mindful as my siblings?
    She walked over and set down her coffee cup with a bang and I mentally steeled myself to be stripped down to my tendons with her acid tongue.
    Instead, the bed creaked and moaned and I was suddenly beset by fragrances I didn’t even know I’d missed—my mother’s tea tree oil shampoo and lavender body lotion, and the fabric softener freshness of her blouses. She had crawled into the hospital bed with me and wrapped herself around me and my baby.
    I can’t feel her, but I can smell her and hear her breath in my ear. I feel loved and I know my child will be loved, too.
     
     
     
     
     

September 29, Thursday
     
     
     
    “JARVIS, COME in and lock the door,” Dr. Tyson said.
    “What’s going on?”
    “You know Ms. Kemp’s progress continues to slide.”
    “Yes.”
    “At the rate she’s slipping, we’ll be lucky to get the fetus to a viable stage. And once the fetus is born, I’m afraid Marigold would be in a persistent vegetative state.”
    I’m so terrified at her proclamation, I can’t think.
    Jarvis expelled a frustrated sigh. “Are you going to ask the family to terminate the fetus?”
    No, please…
    “I considered it.”
    “And?”
    “And instead I acquired another vial of the experimental cocktail.”
    “Acquired?”
    “Don’t ask. Ms. Kemp’s responses and overall health were best right after you administered the first vial. I think we should try a second dose.”
    “But that’s never been done.”
    “No… but it’s never been tested on a pregnant patient. I figure we’re dealing with two neural patients—the mother and the child. I think the baby took most of the first dose and Marigold got what was left over. This second dose will be for her.”
    “How much trouble can we get into?”
    “No more than we’re already in,” she said. “If we don’t, we’re going to lose them both.”
    “Are you going to ask the family?”
    “I have a better idea,” she said. “Let’s ask Marigold.”
    Oh, wow… no pressure.
    “And since she seems to respond better to your voice, I need you to ask her.”
    “Okay,” Jarvis said. “Do you have her hand?”
    “Yes.”
    “Marigold, I need to ask you a very important question and I need you to tell me yes or no. Dr. Tyson and I want to give you a second dose of the experimental drug. We think it’s the best chance for