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He nods. “That’s good. It’s important that on the journey to healing, you care for your health as best as you can. If you have any issues, no matter how slight, don't hesitate to tell Doctor Owen,” He smiles.
“I will,” I assure him.
Michael sits down and rubs his hands.
“Alright. Before we get into the our routine check-up, I’d like to ask you a few questions. It’s been almost three months since you arrived at Silver Peak—”
“Since Logan found me,” I interrupt.
“What?” he asks, and I can tell that he’s confused as to why I rephrased his statement.
After all, nobody knew where I was before Logan found me on the road. So, I might as well have arrived in town in the morning. But it bothers me because it implies something I’m not certain happened, so I’d rather it be told precisely how the events unfolded.
“Nothing.” I shake my head when the confusion on his face doesn’t clear up. “I was clarifying that I didn’t come to Silver Peak. I don’t know how I got here. Logan Fraiser found me on the road and brought me to the hospital.”
“Oh.” He taps his pen on the desk. “Right. My apologies. I’d like to use the fact that I wasn’t here as an excuse, but I should have done thorough research.”
I wave my hand. “It’s alright. We all make mistakes.”
Although it seems a little odd that he’s been working at the hospital for more than a month, and this is the fourth time I’ve been in his office for consultation, and he’s getting the story mixed up.
“How’s your head?”
I shrug. “Fine.”
“Headaches? Migraines?”
I shrug again. “I think I get them like everybody else. Does that impact my ability to regain my memory?”
“Not really. I’m just making sure you’re not putting a strain on yourself, that’s all. While we mustn’t relax and let your mind do its thing, we can't push it too far either.”
“Okay.”
“How about nightmares? Any? Logan told me some time ago that you couldn’t sleep because of the nightmares.”
I shake my head. “I don’t have them anymore. I sleep soundly. Is that worrying, too? That I don’t dream? I read somewhere that dreaming might indicate that the memory block is crumbling.”
Michael chuckles. “You’ll see everything everywhere. Things like that lead to stress, and stress impacts your brain negatively. Don’t worry about techniques and dreams. Between me and the doctor I referred you to, we’ll have you back to normal in no time,” he says with a smile.
Again, I’m unsure if it’s because I woke up on the wrong side of my bed, but I find his enthusiasm a little off.
“Moving on.” The pen drums softly on the table. “Have you had any… sort of visions? Or déjà vu that looks too real to be a mind trick?
Yes. The hospital incident.
I stroke my chin, looking downward. It did seem very real, and I was shaken up for days, but then it sort of faded away. Would that be considered déjà vu?
I look up, intending to tell him about the incident, but end up jumping out of my skin when I see Doctor Michael staring at me—his face mere inches from mine.
“What—what are you doing?” I ask, terrified.
He smiles.
“Sorry. As medical professionals, we try a lot of things. Some people have found that fear helps them regain their memory. I was trying to do that.”
I place my hand on my pounding chest.
“You could have given me a heads up.”
