Chapter Text
A few months after his thirty-eighth birthday, Seung-gil Lee found himself the victim of a nearly fatal car crash, which left him comatose inside of his city’s largest hospital.
8:47 am, September 24, 2018
As soon as Phichit Chulanont sat down, with phone and coffee in separate hands and with a bagel held firmly between his teeth, his co-worker, Yvette, entered the hospital break-room, her hands similarly full with her own breakfast.
“You’re needed in the ICU, Phich,” she said, while she herself sat down to munch on a bagel. Phichit sighed, took a large bite of his own breakfast, licked off some strawberry cream cheese from around his mouth, and headed to the intensive care unit. He already knew which room to go to.
Seung-gil’s wife, a stern-faced thirty-nine year old woman by the name of Min-so Park, had already grown quite tired of her husband’s hospital room after having stayed there since dawn. At 3 am that morning, she received a call saying that Seung-gil had nearly died in a car wreck. She was worried, yes, but she was also curious. What had her husband been doing out at that time on a Sunday morning?
She got up and stretched her legs, then sat back down. She tilted her head to look out the window, which was futile for she saw nothing interesting enough to be distracting. She sighed, restlessness growing. If she had been any other woman, she might have been crying her eyes out. She laughed to herself. What a stoic pair Seung-gil and I make , she thought, chuckling bitterly. The last time they had been in a hospital room like this together was when their son, Ye-jun, had gotten an appendectomy a little over a year ago. Both of them had been quite worried after Ye-jun’s school called Min-so during work, saying that he was feeling very ill and that their little boy was in too much pain to play during recess. Min-so and Seung-gil rushed to the hospital and held each others’ hands tightly while waiting for the operation to be over. The pediatric surgeon who performed the appendectomy had been pleasantly surprised to see that such loving parents handled being told that their son would have to stay overnight in the hospital considerably well. Later that night, however, Min-so silently, secretly wept herself to sleep, hoping her dear son hadn’t suffered too much. Worrying that he was scared to be all by himself in a sterile hospital room. Seung-gil pretended that he didn’t notice, whether because he didn’t want to embarrass her or because he wasn’t sure how to console her. He wasn’t sure of it himself.
Similarly, when Seung-gil let Ye-jun miss school the next day and took him to play at the park and to eat ice cream, Min-so didn’t say anything.
Right now, Ye-jun was at a family friend’s house. Min-so didn’t want him to be stuck at the hospital while she had to fill out paperwork. She also wanted to protect him from seeing his father in a comatose state…
“Seung-gil,” she said aloud, reaching for his cold, limp hand. “Please wake up for our baby. He’ll miss you so, if you leave us…”
But, of course, his hand did not squeeze back and therefore offered her no true solace.
Phichit gave a tiny knock to the door upon entering the room. As he stepped in, he realized that the patient’s wife had been sleeping, which was understandable, given the time at which she woke that morning. Her sleeping head was held atop a pillow of her and Seung-gil’s hands, which she let go of, noticing the visitor. Stretching drowsily, she blinked at Phichit, watching him check the state Seung-gil was in.
“Hello, Mrs. Lee --” Phichit was interrupted.
“Mrs. Park.” She said, correcting him reflexively. Despite having grown up in the United States, Min-so preferred to keep her maiden name, as per Korean custom.
“Oh, sorry. Mrs. Park… We’re going to have to put your husband on a ventilator to help him breathe.”
Min-so nodded.
“Later, we’ll need to perform a CT scan, too, to see the extent of the brain trauma he suffered. Then, they’ll decide if he needs any surgery, but currently, he’s in a stable condition.”
“How long do you think he’ll be like this, Nurse?”
“It’s hard to say right now -- that’s a better question for Dr. Celestino. But he doesn’t have any broken ribs, and he has hardly any brain swelling. That’s very fortunate for someone who’s been in this type of car wreck.”
Min-so nodded.
“Do you think it would okay to bring my son to see him like this? He’s only eight years old, and I -- ” her voice trailed off for a second, and Phichit was afraid she might cry. She didn’t. “If Seung-gil doesn’t wake up, I’m afraid that this is how he’d remember his dad.”
“I understand your concerns, Mrs. Park, but I’m afraid I can’t answer that question. That’s a decision that is wholly yours to make, ma’am.”
Min-so sighed, nodded.
“I understand,” she said.
“I, or another nurse, will be back within the hour to check on Mr. Lee again. Make sure to get yourself some lunch from the cafeteria. I hear they’re serving spaghetti today,” Phichit gave her a smile and sent as much warmth as he could convey in his relatively impersonal words. This woman practically oozed worry, and Phichit could sense a sort of hopeless glint in her eye. This was a woman who had dealt with loss before, he could sense it. Phichit wanted to cheer her up.
He succeeded and the woman smiled back at him.
He glanced at his watch, realizing he hadn’t even had half a bagel to eat that day. He felt his stomach growl and thought maybe he would go and get himself some spaghetti.
Two days had passed, and Min-so had begun to miss two things rather dreadfully: her bed, and much more importantly, her son. She had spent the last two nights in the chair next to her husband’s bed, and she had grown lonely and even more restless. Ennui was the only other conscious being in that room with her, and with each passing hour, it grew stronger and more obtrusive. Of course, she worried and prayed over her husband, but that maternal instinct that drew a woman to want to have her child in her care won out. Besides, not much had changed with his condition, and Min-so was one to persevere in times of grief. It wasn’t in her nature to sit in one place too long, wallowing in sadness and self-pity.
Pick yourself up , she thought, gathering her overnight bag, and sliding on her shoes. She stayed at Seung-gil’s bedside a little longer, though, combing his hair out of his face with her hands and giving him soft, sweet kisses on his forehead and lips. If Seung-gil were conscious, she wondered, would he even kiss me back? Would he hold me, and tell me not to cry? In her heart, Min-so knew the answer to her own questions, and wept the way one does when overwhelmed by the intrusive and suffocating sadness that one feels when they know that their lover doesn’t love them anymore.
Deep inside, however, Min-so’s tears were also those of guilt. She knew that if Seung-gil were awake, she would not want him to kiss her anyway.