Michael sits as Ben’s hospital bed for the fourth night. At least he thinks it’s the fourth night. Day and night seem to become one here. The only difference is the noise. During the day there is a continual hussle and bustle, people everywhere. At night calm seems to descend over the place.

He holds Ben’s hand, willing him to wake up. He wants to see the light shining in those beautiful blue eyes; the smile that can lift his spirits whenever he is down. But he just lies there, sleeping, while Michael forgets what sleep is.

Friends bring him clean clothes daily. The nurses bring him food. He sees the frowns on their faces when they come back, hours later and it is still sitting there, untouched. The only time he leaves the room is to shower. He will only do that if a nurse promises to sit there with him, so he won’t wake up alone.

The nurses come and go. He watches as they change his tubes, take his temperature. They have given up trying to engage him in conversation. They just give him a reassuring smile and leave.

The Doctors come every day. He doesn’t think it’s the same one every time but he’s not sure. All faces seem to look the same now. He’s worked out that there are two different types of Doctors; the ones who are all business – they look at him, at the charts, at Ben. He wonders if they actually see him as Ben, or is he just a number that has to be crossed off a list before they get into their expensive cars, drive to their warm homes and forget about their day. He calls them hard-hearted, but perhaps that’s a little unfair. He hasn’t made up his mind on that one yet.

The other type appear younger and more caring but maybe it’s that they haven’t yet developed that hard shell around them. They still see the patients as people not numbers.

He asks them all the same question "Why won’t he wake up?"

The businesslike ones look at him, at their charts, as if the answer is written there. They mutter words that have no meaning to him, medical jargon, not what he wants to hear. So he asks them again. They look him in the eye and tell him if he wakes up it is meant to be.

The others won’t look him in the eye, but they offer words of encouragement, they tell him that he will wake when he is strong enough.

If and when are two words. One he won’t let into his subconscious, let alone his mind. The other he lives by; day after day; hour after hour; minute after minute. It’s the word that keeps him going.

He must have fallen asleep because he’s dreaming that something has hold of his hand and it won’t let go. The more he struggles the tighter the grip becomes. He shakes his head, trying to rid his mind of this dream, but whatever it is just holds on tighter and tighter. He forces his eyes open and his heart jumps in his chest when he looks into the clear blue eyes staring back at him.

The tears that he has held at bay for days finally fall, streaming down his face and the hand he wondered if he would ever feel the warmth of against his skin again, reaches up and brushes them away and he knows that, once again, they have survived.