I have read the stories here on the storyboard. They tell of tragedies that happen every day and are still happening even as I write.

They inspire sympathy. But sympathy, though understandable, never made anyone better.

A tragedy never happens to just one person. There is no such thing as, ‘one person’. A person has family and friends. It is their tragedy too.

When a person is in a coma, they are unaware. It is the ones who care for them who are aware. The devastation, the change, the prognosis.

They say the usual things, "Why did the world do this".

They pray the usual prayers, "Please God, can I swop places with him? can you let him stand here where I am and let me lay where he is?".

No answer.

There is no one to tell them what they want to hear.

They say to the doctor, "Will he be ok?".

The doctor shakes his head, " We don’t know that yet. We will have to wait and see how he functions when he wakes up". Then he corrects himself, mustn’t give false hope, "Erm, but you should understand, he may not wake up. Let’s just wait and see, shall we".

The person sleeping is taking part in a cruel lottery.

The carers are waiting for the ticket to be drawn. They hope he draws the ticket that will give him his life back.

"Lets wait and see", the doctor says, then goes off for a weekend break.

The carers don’t rest. They remain to hold a vigil. They hold a hand. They talk about familiar things at home. Then they try to sound excited about the new bike they have bought for him. They describe it to him, " And, listen to this, It’s all shiny and it’s got ten gears and spring suspension and it’s blue. That’s your favourite colour, isn’t it? isn’t it?, isn’t it?".

No answer.

He still sleeps.

Someone gags back a sob and runs from the room. It was just his mother. She doesn’t want him to hear her cry, it might upset him.

Someone picks up her broken heart lying there on the floor, along with all the others.

A few more tears, perhaps they will do the trick. They join the thousand others that have gone before.

No luck yet, but, keep trying. That’s the ticket, mustn’t give up you know.

Maybe tomorrow the ticket will be drawn. It might be a winner.

"I’ve got an idea", someone says, through the gloom, "Let’s make a sound tape of his dog barking, maybe that will jump start him back to life".

It’s old hat, I know, but worth a try. Someone dashes home and turns on the recorder, then hides the dog’s ball so he will bark.

Within the hour, the Intensive Care Unit echoes with the sound of the dog barking for his ball.

He still sleeps.

"I know what we’ll do", his sister says, "He always hated the smell of his brother’s sweaty socks". It sounds funny, I know but we put his brother’s sweaty sock under his nose. It didn’t work. Not so funny after all.

Still sleeping.

A few more tears maybe, ok, here’s a few more. A never ending supply.

Some weeks later, and all by his own effort, he moves.

Pandemonium in the room.

The carers are jubilant, all shouting his name, "Welcome back, David, welcome back".

More tears, joyous this time.

The doctor is called. "He moved, he moved", we say .

The doctor smiles, he has seen it all before.

He shines his torch into David’s eyes, "His eyes are not working yet", in a matter of fact way, "He may be aware of things, but he can’t see you, probably can’t hear you either".

Jubilation short lived.

"But let’s wait and see", the doctor says, then goes for a golf game.

The carers feel helpless.

There is no medicine for this boy.

This isn’t a broken arm.

This is a broken head.

Broken arms get better.

Broken heads?.

"Let’s wait and see".

That’s what the doctor said.

Still waiting.

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