“That still matters. It suggests his short-term learning system is functioning.”
“So he can remember new things.”
“We believe so, though fatigue and pain will affect consistency.”
She led me into an empty consultation room.
“There are a few principles I need you to understand. First, do not ask Noah to perform love for you.”
I stiffened.
“I wouldn’t.”
“You may do it without realizing. Asking whether he remembers a trip, a kiss, a promise. Watching his face after showing him photographs. Telling him how he used to feel and waiting for him to confirm it.”
“I want to help him.”
“I know. But every failed attempt can become a test he believes he is disappointing.”
The thought made me feel ill.
“What should I say?”
“Facts. Simple, consistent facts. Let emotion come from him at his pace.”
“He asked what I was to him.”
“And you answered honestly.”
“He panicked.”
“He may panic again. Truth is still preferable to deception, but truth needs room around it.”
I rubbed both hands over my face.
Dr. Whitcomb waited.
“What if he never wants me near him?”
“That is a possibility you should prepare for.”
I lowered my hands.
She did not soften the words, which I respected and hated.
“His autonomy remains intact,” she continued. “He cannot be expected to accept intimacy from someone he experiences as a stranger, even if that person has loved him faithfully for years.”
“I wouldn’t force him.”
“I believe you.”
“He’ll need somewhere to go after the hospital.”
“Yes.”
“He lives with me.”
“The apartment may be useful because it contains familiar context. It may also be overwhelming. We’ll evaluate that later.”
