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I have no idea what’s going on with anything anymore.
“What were you doing when your head hurt like that?” the doctor asks softly when the room is still again.
“I was...” I try to catch my breath as I recover from the pain. “I was trying to make myself remember. I felt like I know you... Or I heard you say something similar... Or...” I give up trying to make it make sense.
He meets my eyes steadily. “We have met before. I’m the one who told you that your father died.”
There’s an image—a moment in the dark of my mind—that’s just out of arm’s reach. But when I grab for it, I get another one of those stabs of pain. “I can’t...” I’m almost crying at the utter frustration of my helplessness. “I can’t...”
“Then don’t,” the doctor says, more firmly than he’s been speaking before. “If it hurts when you try to remember, then don’t.”
“But I need to—”
“When it comes back to you, it will be when your brain is ready for it. Forcing it before your brain has recovered might end up doing more damage. I can’t imagine how hard it is for you not to be able to remember, but I think slow and easy is the best way to proceed here. Your brain is doing its job to the best of its ability right now. It’s trying to protect you by holding back those memories. So let it. You’ll remember when your brain has healed.”
I nod mutely, too emotional to speak but not wanting either of the men in the room to see it.
“We’re going to let you rest for a little while now. Then we’ll get some people in to do some more tests to see if we can get more information to work with. For now, though, don’t force it. If it hurts to think about something, don’t make yourself think about it. Powering through isn’t the way to go here.”
I nod again. Gulp and hope I’m not going to burst into tears.
The doctor turns toward Arthur and makes a silent gesture with his head. Arthur follows him out.
They have a conversation right outside the door, but they’re talking too low for me to hear.
I’d strain to listen, but I can’t right now. All I can do is cry.
***
TWO DAYS LATER, ARTHURpulls up in his fancy dark blue SUV to the front of the hospital and jumps out to help me into the front seat.
I don’t need help. I have no broken bones. Only a few minor bruises. And my mind is working fine for all basic functions. I can walk and eat and dress myself and read and move around just fine.
The only thing missing is my memory of the past six months.
The past two days have been full of tests and examinations. From my original doctor and also two more specialists that Arthur called in to give second and third opinions, one remotely and one in person. The other doctors agreed with the initial conclusion. Give my brain time to heal. Surround myself with settings and routines that should be familiar even if they aren’t now. Don’t try to force the memories to return. If something makes my head hurt, stop doing it. Get a lot of rest.
So basically there’s nothing I can do to fix myself other than wait it out.
Even though my body is working fine, I let Arthur ease me into the front seat because he wants to and it’s easier to just let him.
I’ve never been a particularly feisty person. My dad used to tease me about how I exist in a cloud of docility that masks an unbendable, stubborn streak.
He was right about me, but I’m not going to get stubborn about something so silly. Arthur is worried. He feels responsible for me. He’s evidently been my employer, and he was my dad’s only friend at the end. I don’t have anyone else. I had to give up all but one of my friends when I stood by my father.
If Arthur wants to put his hand on my back to support me as I climb into the SUV, that’s fine with me.
I thank the orderly who pushed me out in the wheelchair and settle myself in the seat. I grab for the seat belt automatically and reach down to adjust the position of the seatback.
I know where both of them are. Acting on instinct, I open the console compartment between the seats and pull out a bottle of fancy water.
No doubt I’ve been in this car before. Many times.
But I don’t remember any of them.
“You okay?” Arthur asks softly when he’s back behind the steering wheel. His eyes are the warm color of dark chocolate, and they’re focused on my face with an unnerving scrutiny.
“Yeah. Fine. It’s just... unsettling.”
