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“You have to breathe, miss. Breathe.”
I hear his voice become fainter and fainter with each passing second as my mind becomes a big question mark that expandsand expands until it takes up room where my organs should be, dragging my body down. The last thing I hear is the doctor’s soothing voice, drowned by my heart pounding. Then darkness swallows me, and I fall.
My eyes fly open, and I gasp.
“Miss.”
The same doctor as before takes my hand, keeping me from jumping off the bed.
“Take a minute,” he says, “and breathe. Everything is going to be just fine, but if you stand up now, you might feel groggy and disoriented. You don’t want to risk hitting your head somewhere, tearing the stitches on the wound you sustained when you fainted before.”
I take a big gulp and nod, doing my best not to panic. He coaches me through taking deep breaths for a couple of minutes before letting my hand go.
“It’s normal for someone who has been through what you experienced to have temporary amnesia. Your mind believes you can’t deal with it yet, so it’s trying to protect you. I assure you, you’re going to remember everything in time. Just take it easy.”
I nod again, even thoughtaking it easyseems impossible.
“What happened to me?” I ask after a while. “You said someone found me in the middle of a road, and it was raining?”
The doctor nods. “Yes. Mr. Fraiser is his name. He brought you in here last night, and you were unconscious.”
The dream.
“And he doesn’t know what happened to me before then?”
He shakes his head. “Sadly, no. But he saw you in time and prevented what would have been a serious car accident, so that’s the good news. The better news is that aside from beingdehydrated and having a bruise on the left side of your head, you are okay. Well, there are also the stitches behind your head since you fell the second time.”
I lift my head to touch the back, and my hand brushes a bandage in the middle of a clean-shaven area. For some reason, realizing that my hair has been shaven brings tears to my eyes.
“My hair,” I mumble, unsure of why it means so much, but filled with sadness, nonetheless.
The doctor seems to take my reaction as good news because he smiles. “See? You haven’t lost all your memories. You know that your hair is special to you, and I assure you it will grow back.”
“But I don’t know why my hair is important, do I?” I point out, not feeling his optimism in the least bit. “What is good about having feelings if I don’t know why I am feeling that way? What if I get angry? What if I break down and cry in the middle of the road? What happens when the urge to do someone out of the ordinary is so strong that I can't resist it?
“What do I do then, doctor? Do I congratulate myself because it shows that there is something left?”
He looks like he’s at a loss for words, and I feel a little bad at going off when he was only trying to help me. It’s not his fault I’ve lost my memory. Like he said, it could have been worse if the man driving had not seen me in time.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m sorry for lashing out.”
“Oh.” He shakes his head. “It’s okay. You had a normal reaction to the situation.”
His phone beeps, and he takes it out of his pocket.
“I have to attend to another patient, but a nurse will be by to check on you shortly.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
The doctor stands up. “By the way, you can call me Doctor Owen.”
“Sure.”
I watch him walk to the door, put his hand on the knob then turn around.
“What did I say my name is again?”
“Doctor Owen?” I reply, unsure of what he’s getting at.
