Page 29 of Forgotten
Ash replies immediately.
(Ashley Bergman Blue Heart) Missing me already?
Why lie?
(Me) Yes.
I send the text and I wonder what kind of answer Ford from 2024 would have given. Smiling to myself, I shake my head.
Whatever, it’s still me.
I send Ash a black heart before I can overthink it.
???
When Doctor Parker comes into the room a day later, Ash has not returned yet and I’m staring into space. This time, Parker comes with the complete team: Doctor Taylor and his beloved physiotherapist, Doctor Carter the Neurologist and finally nurse Lindsey. For a brief moment I’m scared they will reveal that this is actually 2022 and I have been pranked big time by my friends and family. What would I do then? What will I do if they take everything I have been dreaming of for, like, forever?
They don’t.
Instead, they announce a new phase calledearly rehab. Parker tells me how the fracture of my elbow is continuously healing and how impressed they are of the progress. I’m not surprised, they have been telling me the same stuff for weeks now. Taylor mentions that given how the swelling and bruising has improved remarkably, he’s considering removing the cast and transitioning to a softer support. This way, I will be able to start active-assisted elbow movement, whatever that means. Beside Taylor, the physiotherapist keeps nodding emphatically.
Carter takes over then, agreeing that our neuro check-up has confirmed no immediate post-coma complications. She finds me neurologically stable and asserts I’m showing sufficient cognitive clarity—with the exception of my memories obviously.
At that, the three doctors all share a look and then Parker draws me a summary. The patient has stable vital signs, including heart rate and blood pressure. The patient can walk short distances.
At this, the doctor turns to nurse Lindsey who adds walking is “Crucial for home mobility.” It gets my hopes up. The patient can use the non-dominant arm or adapt enough for basic needs. The patient can tolerate oral medications and food without difficulty.
Finally, Doctor Parker puts an end to my misery. “We will discharge you on Thursday.”
Thursday. Three days from now. Thursday, I will go home. Biting my lip, I exhale a long breath, wondering what and where home is.
“Again, we encourage seeking psychological support to address your amnesia. We’re confident you will remember, but we all agree you will benefit from professional counselling.”
I think about the words ‘professional’ and ‘counselling’ for a while after everyone has left the room. The display of my phone confirms to me over and over that this is the year 2024. I grasp the device tightly in my clammy hands. I want to believe this reality, I want to trust that this is truly my future, that this is where my life has led me.
The same stubborn headache from when I woke up is back, the pain knocking at my temples insistently. Where do I start? How do I do this alone? The answer is obvious: I don’t do this alone.
One year without panic attacks, Ash said earlier. Hurriedly, I reach for the phone again and unlock it. I search in my emails and I find the contact of my therapist Dr. Bakari. I go through the comfortable back and forth that is me requesting an appointment and Dr. Bakari confirming a date back.
The last conversation is at the beginning of July 2024 and I pinch my nose looking at the date. I compare it with today’s date and I suppose I will have to believe technology when it tells me this is September of the year 2024.
My breathing turns shallower as I go back to my emails. I swipe my thumbs quickly across the screen to type a new conversation to Dr. Bakari, requesting a meeting at his earliest convenience. I add a note to book a longer session than normal, imagining that our usual fifty minutes wouldn’t be enough time to cover what I have to say.
I look away waiting for a response and it’s not long before the phone alerts me of a new email. Dr. Bakari is offering me a session later this afternoon and I agree to it quickly. I check the time, calculating about four hours to get myself ready.
After a wobbly trip to the bathroom and a meal of white rice and ice-cream I lay back on the hospital bed. Although I don’t feel particularly tired, I yawn once and then, somehow, fall asleep immediately.
The short nap gives me new energy.
Grasping the phone, I start reading through my contacts. While some names I recognise, some are completely new.
There’s Adam from my old rugby team at uni, Dentist Vanessa and Mae from the Opera North Orchestra. Sydney and Darshi I know, obviously. They are Ash’s school friends. He’s known them for years, and for some reason they’re saved under only one contact. But it is to be expected. I know them as “Sydney and Darshi” and I have no idea what they are when separated.
I recognise Lily Hale, my mother, and I’m not surprised at the formality with which I have saved her. I wonder where in the world she is, right now. BergmanTwin A must be Martin, Bergman Twin B must be Edwin but as I stare at Bergman Twin C I’m confused, why would I save Erik like this?
And just like that I have no idea who Pippa’s Mom is, why I have three different social workers saved (Social Worker Mary, Social Worker Christo and Social Worker Sadaf) and why Theodora’s contact is saved twice.
I’m completely lost.
