A reawakening

 The Prime Minister of Canada walked in to my room today, flanked by an army of security guards and photographers.

She had a wide, white toothed grin on her face and and little pep in her step. She had her arms outstretched, carry something she seemed very proud of.

As she came around the side of my bed and held it close to my face, I read the inscription:

Margaret G. Brace

World’s Most Intelligent Person

Me?! A College drop out, who’s last job was a Party Planner for spoiled, snot nosed, rich kids.

All that went through my mind at that moment was, the world truly had gone Mad and, thank God the nurse insisted I put on some makeup today. With all these photographers and important people focused on me, I was grateful for the extra effort I put into looking presentable today.

I suppose I should start from the beginning. Well, the second beginning.

I had been “awake” for 99 days. Just over three months. Months that in a sense made up the start of my life as I now knew it. A rebirth of sorts. The world was not the same world I was a part of before I went to sleep.

In those weeks I had become re-aquainted with a couple of people from my past. A childhood friend, who bless her soul, continued to check in on me all these years. And my brother and his son. Anyone else that would have meant anything to me, all of my close relatives and friends, were gone.

The Doctors and nurses and therapists were working tirelessly around the clock to prepare me for re-entry into society. A society I now, knew nothing about. I had a routine to follow each day. It began with breakfast. I would sit up, and attempt to eat as much as I could. I was learning to chew again, and swallow. The Doctor removed the feeding tube a couple of weeks ago, he was confident I could consume enough calories through my limited diet of solids. I was also drinking protein shakes to ensure that I was getting all the vitamins I needed. It was such a foreign thing to me, eating. The food often felt like rocks in my mouth, laying so heavy on my tongue that I could barely move it around. Sometimes it felt like I was chewing on stale gum, rubbery and tasteless, impossible to break down. It wasn’t as much the fact that I hadn’t eaten in 30 years and that my muscles were undeniably weak, It was more about how different the actual food was. It was so strange, unreal. Literally unreal! So highly processed and manufactured it was unrecognizable. Rarely would I get something that even slightly resembled a fresh fruit or vegetable. I was craving the tastes I remembered, could almost feel the soft fuzzy skin of a peach in my hand, smell it’s sweetness, taste it’s sticky juices. I just knew I would go completely crazy if I didn’t get one soon.

I hadn’t been allowed to leave my room for over two months. The artificial lights that were dimmed, were already too bright for my strained eyes. Each day my case worker, Deanne, would turn the lights up ever so slightly in hopes that my eyes would gradually adjust .

Deanne was a kind, patient woman. Her eyes were always smiling, even when her frown or furrowed brows gave away her concern. She was tall and thin with broad shoulders and strong hands. I doubted she was born this svelte. The toned, muscular form that pressed through her body suit, was evidence of time spent at the gym. She cared about the way she looked, her nails polished to perfection in vibrant colours to match her neon body suit. Most of the other staff wore dark coloured bodysuits, Navy or black and occasionally green or a deep burgundy or brown. I couldn’t help but wonder why they wore these tight fitting onesies. Certainly not the most flattering style for most bodies. What happened to the crisp blue scrubs and serious white lab coats of yonder years?

Deanne was also my only constant connection to the outside world. She was the only one on staff, that would answer my questions and give me insight into what it was like beyond my locked and shuttered window. There was no t.v. or phone or computer in my room. I didn’t receive any newspapers or magazines. I later learned that there were no longer any forms of printed media. Even books were a rare find, only available in private collections and museums. If you wanted news or a good read today, you would have to log on to the internet.

I wan’t allowed access to technology yet either. The only exposure I could tolerate, apparently, was the low frequency radiation from the institutes equipment and the monitors kept by my bed or the hand held devices the employees carried. In time they would expose me to more and more so that my body would develop a tolerance for the Electromagnetic signals and waves that were emitted.

My brother Adam and his son Blaine were allowed to visit twice a week, as was my girlfriend Shiela. They weren’t allowed to bring anything in with them, no gifts or gadgets. And they weren’t allowed to stay for more than a couple of hours. I relished those visits. I was desperate for the human contact. Physical contact that wasn’t just to fulfil a duty like changing my clothes or helping me get washed up. The physiotherapy was slightly more intimate but there was no emotion behind it. My brothers hand in mine was electric. Shiela’s warm, embrace was euphoric. My nephew would sit on the end of the bed with his hand on my shin as we talked. The heat from his touch radiated up and across my entire body. I realized in those moments, how essential human touch is to our well being.

My three visitors would tell me about all that had gone on in the years since my accident. They told me about the passing of each of my relatives. About new family that I have never met. I learned about the destruction of most of the worlds natural resources, something I couldn’t fathom. It was deeply upsetting and disturbing to imagine a world without Elephants and Rhino’s. No more Orangutans or Gorillas. Tigers were extinct, as were Pandas and most species of whales and Dolphins. Hundreds of other animals had disappeared or were on the endangered list. Many plant species were gone for good too. Most of our Lakes and Oceans and rivers were so horribly polluted that they were inhabitable. In what seems like the blink of an eye, the planet had been devastated. How could it have gone so horribly wrong in only three decades? I had a very bleak vision of what was in store for me upon my eventual release.

The psychiatrist visits became more frequent. And the list of tablets and pills and potions they prescribed me became longer. None of which I actually took, unbeknownst to the Doctors.

My girlfriend and brother were encouraged to only offer data from the outside, that would be up lifting. To only offer promise of a positive life. And so, the stories of all that had been accomplished these past few decades, began. My girlfriend would come skipping in the room, clapping her hands, excited and cheery like a small child on her way to the candy store. She would natter on about how much easier life was now. Everything was instantaneous, always within reach and sure to fulfil your every desire. Her focus was on the daily routines that have been all but abolished because of new technology. Laundry was quick and easy and almost fun (I couldn’t imagine laundry being fun) No more trips to the grocery store or cooking for that matter. Unless of coarse you wanted to cook. Housework was all done by robotics. You still had to work, earn a living, but it was so much easier and much less time was spent at it. People were starting to live much longer and remained healthier. There was a pill or a button or a switch or a program for everything.

My brother spoke of things like transportation and how quickly you could fly from one side of the world to the other. On space travel. He spoke of endless clean energy, a very new but promising development. He told me of all the advancements in medicine and science. His own son, my nephew was partially responsible in fact, for the machine to my left that I had been hooked up to for the past decade. An improvement on the previous cell regenerator that somehow kept all my organs functioning at their optimal performance while I lay comatose.

I was in awe of the progress that had been made. Marvelled at the leaps and bounds that happened in almost every facet of society.

It was overwhelming.

I wondered all the while though, at what cost had all this innovation come?

I wouldn’t really comprehend to what extent things had changed until I stepped out of my confinement and experienced it for myself.

On day 60 I was finally given that opportunity. I was decked out in a big pair of sunglasses, very Jacqueline Kennedy or Kim Kardashian or …well I don’t really know anyone hip or up to date to compare them to. I was covered head to toe, to protect my skin from the sun. They had me ride, as a passenger, on this motorized golf cart like thing. They were worried I would be over stimulated by all the new sights and sounds and energies, so thought it best if I was seated.

The doors slid open and I was greeted by the most beautiful clear blue sky I think I’ve ever seen. It was infinite. The sun was harsh, as was expected, even with my stylish shades on. But it was lovely. It was hot, almost scorching and I immediately felt beads of swear forming under my clothes. It took some effort to breath, the air felt heavier than I remembered. Almost like standing inside a sauna, the air moist and thick. The Doctor explained to me later that I had been breathing in filtered oxygen rich air all these years and so the natural air would take some getting used to.

Everyone stood there, in silence, all eyes on me. I sat still as stone. Hyper aware of everything around me. The Vibrant green of the grass. The calm, gentle breeze, whispering into my neck. The ever present sterile smell from the institution overpowering the vague fragrance floating past. It’s scent familiar, but it’s origin escaped me. And then I realize that even with all my senses so acutely in, heightened, I did not hear a sound beyond my own breathing. No birds, no planes, no cars or voices. I leaned into the empty space in front of me, concentrating. I closed my eyes and waited. But nothing. I opened my eyes and said “Hello”? To no one in particular. The driver seated beside me looked at me and shrugged, “Hi” he said. And I sighed with relief. I had started to worry I’d gone deaf.

I’ve come to realize that things are generally quieter than they used to be. Not as many birds around, cars and airplanes are almost completely silent. Less talking. It’s eerily quiet.

Deanne stepped forward and started waving her arms around ushering us all back in. “Ok,” she said, “that’s enough for one day” and before I could object the vehicle wheeled around and zoomed back into the building.

Every day after that I was taken out for a bit longer each time. Eventually standing and then walking. Soon I was circling the building and even venturing into the field around it. Sometimes I had lunch outside and started to meet the other patients. We would chat a bit, making small talk but mostly they wanted to know about me. No one else had been in a Coma, at least not as long as I had been. Everyone was fascinated to hear what I thought after being “gone” for so long.

A couple of weeks ago Deanne came in earlier than usual. She told me that there was a lot of interest in my story, my recovery. They had been receiving a lot of calls and requests for an interview. There was one Man in particular that had been calling and asking about me for years. Since the day of my accident in fact. He didn’t know me personally but for some reason felt compelled to keep tabs on me. He was in town, today, and was hoping that I would be willing to see him. He just wanted to visit but if I was receptive to the idea, he would ultimately like to share my story on his blog. Deanne gave me her handheld which was open to Mr. Taylor’s blog. She told me she would be back in an hour.

I read a few of Mr. Taylor, Edward Taylor’s, blog entries. They were lovely pieces. Very well written. With things gone the way they have, there are very few blogs left, very few articles to read at all. Most of the information was shared through video or audio. Not much needed to be read anymore. So, the very fact that he had written a blog and used such glorious vocabulary and had an obvious passion for the English language, endeared me to him right away. His blog was mostly about Times past, the way it used to be. Very nostalgic and often emotional. He also wrote about people who were inspiring to him, people that made a difference or overcame difficult obstacles. I was intrigued to say the least.

So when Deanna came back, I was already dressed, had eaten and was putting on a little makeup. She knew when she saw me that I had every intention of meeting with Mr. Taylor.

He arrived just after lunch. We sat outside under the shade of a big Oak tree. It had become my favourite place to sit, close to the stream that ran through the back field.You could see the entire property from there. It was a quite and peaceful corner of the yard.

Mr. Taylor, Or Ed as he asked me to call him, was an older gentleman, he looked downright ancient. Despite his age, he looked strong and healthy. We drank the tea that he brought with him. He said he couldn’t bring himself to drink the tea being offered most places. He had this tea specially imported from a dear fellow in England who still grew his own tea, amongst other things, in his green house. He said it was criminal the price he had to pay for it, but it was worth every ounce. It was delicious!

Our fondness for each other, the inexplicable connection you sometimes feel with a total stranger, was instant.

We exchanged some basic pleasantries before things turned serious. Ed had a lot of questions but he also had a lot to reveal himself.

Our first meeting lasted hours. We met again and Deanne finally agreed I was ready for a handheld so Ed and I could message each other.

Ed was fascinated with how much I had retained. That the years in a Coma had not effected my memory.

He told me that I would be sorely disappointed when I finally lived outside of the institution. That people no longer talked much at all. That kids weren’t being taught how to write. There was no need, everything was done electronically, you only needed to know how to use a keyboard. You didn’t need to know how to spell and in fact, didn’t really have to know how to form a proper sentence, it was all done for you on a computer. In school each child was given a specific area of study.They weren’t taught other subjects if they weren’t directly related to their specific field. So, if a child was being trained for a future in medicine they wouldn’t be given music or art classes, or even geography. People were less rounded, less knowledgeable about a variety of subjects. Musicians no longer learned how to read music, composers did everything electronically. Very little art was created on a canvas, it was mostly digital. Human compassion, empathy, creativity and morality were disappearing. There was a disconnection. Less emphasis on individuality and more focus on conforming.

I wan’t shy in voicing my concern about the lack of creativity and personal expression. The controlled way children were being raised and the lack of environmental interest shown by the government and the general public. I reminisced about days spent protesting deforestation and testing on animals. All that seemed to have been in vain. I wondered how this generation was going to fair without the appreciation of history and art.

After a couple of lengthy meetings and a few short emails and messages, Ed had written a blog about me. It was the longest he had ever written. And for the first time, he also made a video version, to ensure more people would hear his message. It turns out, Ed was in such anguish over the state of the world and the road we were on. The road he called, the path ton the inevitable deterioration or mankind. He was so concerned that he was desperate for everyone to see and hear about me. He believed I offered hope. I was the only one left that still had the knowledge that had been essentially erased by the advancement of technology and elimination of meaningful human interaction. Perhaps if people realized what they were missing, things would change.

Ed’s video went viral. His website crashed numerous times due to high traffic and his phone didn’t stop ringing. Masses of reporters and bloggers were hanging outside his home. And soon, they were hanging outside the institution too. Everybody wanted to catch a glimpse of me, talk to me, photograph me. They wanted to meet the woman who hadn’t been tainted by “progress”. The woman who knew the importance of preservation, conservation, individualism, emotional connection, diversity, history and experience.

Deanne did an extraordinary job at keeping me from being bombarded with reporters and strangers.

It was 5 days ago that Deanne along with a few of my Doctors and my psychiatrist came to me with the news. It had been declared by many of the most important and influential people in the world, that I, Me, Maggie, Margaret Brace, was the most intelligent person on the planet!

It was a ludicrous idea. I thought, they must be joking.

Over the next few days I had a lot of visitors. Heads of large corporations, The Top News reporters and Internet Moguls. Politicians and religious leaders. It was a flurry of interviews and conferences. Everyone working to establish if the claim was true.

Finally, yesterday, I asked that the deluge stop. That the frenzy come to an end.

I needed some rest. I needed some normalcy, whatever that was.

Deanne assured me that she would make my wishes known and that she wouldn’t allow anymore guests.

This morning, as every morning, my day nurse, Wendy, came in to give me my meds (the ones I always flushed down the toilet). She was acting strange, and looked unusually spiffy. Not a hair out of place. When I asked her if she had a hot date later on, she laughed, a nervous laugh, and said no.

“So, why the lip gloss and perfume?” I asked.

“Well, I’m not supposed to say anything” she answered as she looked tentatively towards the door. “but we have a special guest coming in today, it’s supposed to be a surprise.” she whispered.

“Well, I’m not big on surprises Wendy, so please, spill the beans”. I insisted

“OK, I know. And, well, you really should look nice. You might want to put on a little lipstick yourself. Maybe change into something a little less, comfortable.” she suggested.

“Why? Whose coming Wendy?”

“I’ve said enough already, I could get into a lot of trouble. So I’m not going to say anymore. Just trust me on this. You’re not going to be disappointed”

And So I trusted Wendy. I changed out of my sweat suit and made up my face. A little annoyed that someone was coming after I had asked Deanne to keep outsiders away for a while. But, also very curious.

And here we are, back at the beginning.

Now you know how it all happened, the morning I woke up as the most intelligent person in the world.