Deja vu

Feel like I'm a student again living in halls. My relatives room has a sink, bed and wardrobe and the bathroom is shared with three other rooms. I half expect to hear music and the sound of the pizza delivery scooter beeping outside the window.
Mum still hasn't regained consciousness but is starting to move her mouth and hands occasionally which is a good sign according to the nurse, as is the absence of any further seizures since they withdrew the sedatives.
She has developed a chest infection which is apparently normal for people on ventilators and will put her antibiotics - which should please my sister who seems almost obsessive in asking me if she is on them.
The family room gets quite crowded at times and noisy but then can go deathly quiet. No one in their worst nightmare, I'm sure, imagines they will be sitting in such a room on the phone reeling off a list of broken bones like it is the weekly shop. It's surprising how such things stop sounding quite so dreadful the more people you tell.
My ears haven't quite desensitised to it though and I still inwardly wince when somone talks of their husband/son/wife/daughter's broken face, head, chest, legs and how the surgeon is going to drill a hole in the skull.
It's a testament to advances in medical science and things like crash helmets and car crumple zones that people can have the most horrendous crashes and live to tell the tale. Not all make it of course and it is a long road for many of them. One family were talking about a year to recover.
At least Mum hasn't got broken bones to contend with on top of everything else. For the moment the concern is waking her up and what the doctors find when they do.