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"I think it was the supersonic speed of your foot that gave it away."
"I'm not afraid to know what happened to me."
"No?"
I shook my head. "I'm terrified to find out who I might have lost." There, I said it. I didn't want to admit it, but I was more fearful to discover the man from my split-second memory. Brandt took my hand again.
"I'll be right by your side. No matter what we find out, I won’t leave you.”
And he would be. We had just met, but I trusted him and his brother more than I trusted myself.
My panic attack nearly overwhelmed me when we parked in the medical lot. Brandt kneeled outside the door as I hid my face in my knees, only half out of the car at this point. He patted my back and coached me in breathing, counting from ten and back. He had become my guardian angel.
My attack made us a good ten minutes late, but the doctor was patient and understanding. Brandt and I sat in the chairs across from Dr. Surai, one of several doctors that treated me during my five-week stay at the hospital.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
"Fine. I mean, I feel fine."
"Have you recalled anything? Your name? Family? The accident?"
I hesitated.
Brandt watched me curiously.
"You remembered something?" she pressed.
"I did, but it was small."
"Small is good. Once things start, the brain has a funny way of rolling with it."
I liked her. She didn't try to impress me with fancy words. Maybe her youthfulness attributed to it.
"What did you remember?" Brandt inquired.
"I, uh…" I was fidgeting with my hands, trying to avoid my obvious hair twirl.
"It's not important," the doctor interrupted. "What's important is that you're remembering." She gave me a knowing wink.
I hated keeping secrets. "Can you tell me what happened?"
"Yes, but first let's go over your brain scan." She stood up and walked over to the wall with the X-ray viewer and switched it on.
My heart was starting to slowly pound against my chest as the anticipation rose within me. "Is that my…?"
"Yes."
Brandt squeezed my hand in support.
"Nothing shows any brain damage. Everything looks great," she said.
I waited for the sigh of relief to wash over me, but it didn't. I kept expecting the worst.
"Doctor, if she's fine, then what's wrong? Why can't she remember?"
She flipped off the switch that had lit up my brain scan and sighed deeply. She went to her desk, and instead of sitting back down, she leaned against it just in front of us and looked straight at me. "You have Dissociative Amnesia. It's caused from trauma. We see it associated with all sorts of traumatic events, from the death of a loved one to a car accident and everything in between."
I bit at the inside of my cheek. Trauma. I had experienced something traumatic. My heart was pounding harder still, and I could feel I was on the brink of another attack.
