Memory's Edge: Part One (4 page)

Chapter Six

Alone

John
watched him walk out, his complexion changing shades, deepening to a mottled
red. Mixing with the bruises running down his face, the result was a startling rainbow
of fear and anger. Gretchen didn’t know what to do. It was all turning out to
be very different than she’d imagined it would be. That shouldn’t have been
surprising, but it was. She was still trying to decide how to help John when
Lynn beat her to it.

“Don’t get
too worked up over Dr. Compassionate. If he doesn’t piss off at least five of
his patients a day, he doesn’t feel like he’s doing his job right. And I will
give you a hundred dollars if you can find a single nurse that doesn’t want to
kill him in his sleep,” Lynn said with a smirk.

“In his
sleep?” John mumbled.

“Well, we
are nurses. If we were going to kill someone, we’d have to make it as painless
as possible,” she said. Her smile widened to a grin. “That is our job after
all.”

John’s lingering
anger fell away as he chuckled, careful not to move anything and bring on more
pain. Gretchen wanted to hug Lynn for making him feel better, even though a
swift pang of jealousy that she hadn’t been the one to take away his anger
tried to crowd its way in.

“And don’t
get too worried about what will happen when they release you from the hospital
just yet,” Lynn continued. “Patient Services will be able to help get you what
you need. And whether you know it or not, you have a few friends who won’t let
you walk out of here without making sure you’re going to be all right.”

Lynn’s gaze
drifted over to Gretchen and that sneaky smile she always wore when she talked
about her son crept onto her lips. She was hatching something, and Gretchen had
a pretty good idea of what it was. Lynn knew Gretchen was single and infatuated
with John. No wonder she smiled when she talked about her son. He obviously got
his mischievous streak from her. Gretchen tried to keep from acknowledging she
had any clue what her friend meant as she watched her pat John’s less-injured
leg and promise to be back to get him for his MRI in a few hours.

Sitting in
silence, John and Gretchen didn’t even look at each other. Did he guess what
Lynn had been thinking? She started looking around the room in an effort to
avoid his gaze. She really hoped he was thinking about something totally
different. He had plenty of other problems to think about anyway, such as
having no idea who he was or how he ended up here. That alone was enough to
occupy a person’s mind for quite a while.

When she
looked back at John, it turned out he wasn’t thinking of anything at all. He
was asleep. Seeing his eyes closed and his body still once again sent a
momentary jolt of panic through her. He wouldn’t fall back into a coma, would
he? Unable to resist, Gretchen poked his hand softly. The sight of his fingers
moving reassured her. Once the initial wave of anxiety ebbed, she realized his
eyes were moving around under his eyelids, the corner of his mouth twitching.
The slow shift of his head into a more comfortable position told her he was
only sleeping.

Sitting
back in her chair, but keeping her hands to herself, she kept a close eye on
John as he slept. Everyone else was busy scheduling tests and tending other
patients. No one disturbed him. It was several hours before his eyes struggled
back open and found their way to Gretchen.

“Did I fall
asleep?” he asked, looking chagrined. Gretchen nodded. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be
sorry. You’ve been through a lot. Sleep as much as you want.”

His
non-casted hand reached up to rub his eyes. Either the bruises on his hand, or
his face, made the motion too painful. He winced and gently set his hand back
on the bed. “Thanks for staying,” he said. “It was strange enough waking up
here like I did. Waking up alone…I don’t know. It would have been worse…I
think.”

“Is it
still hard to concentrate?”

“Yeah.
Everything in my head feels like it’s wrapped in cotton. It’s…not a good
feeling.”

“I can
imagine it isn’t. I’m sure it will get better with time.”

“I hope
so,” John said, closing his eyes again. “Have you been here since you found
me?”

 “Well,
not the whole time,” Gretchen said, trying not to sound completely pathetic. “I
had to go back to work on Tuesday, but I did come by in the evenings to check
on you.”

“Why?” John
asked.

“Because I
was worried,” she said. “You were in pretty bad shape when I found you.”

Taking in
his broken leg and arm, plus all the bandages, John sighed. “I must have been.”
His hand idly reached down to his leg and scratched just above his cast. “I
wish I could remember what happened.”

“I’m sure
you will eventually,” Gretchen said. “It will just take some time. That’s all.”

“Your
family didn’t mind you spending so much time at the hospital?” John asked.

Gretchen froze.
Was he trying to figure out whether or she was single, or just hoping he hadn’t
taken me away from someone. Gretchen had to bite the inside of her cheek to
keep from showing her confusion.

“My parents
live in Denver and my goldfish really couldn’t care less whether I’m home or
not. As long as they get their food, they’re happy.” Gretchen watched his face
carefully as she spoke. She could have sworn she saw the corners of his lips
turn up just a bit. Pushing away any thoughts that might take off from that
little hint, she tried to focus on what John needed, not what she wanted.

“I wonder
where my parents live,” he said quietly.

“Just give
it time,” Gretchen said.

John sighed
and turned to look up at the ceiling. “It’s strange that I can miss people I
don’t even know. I can’t remember my family at all, but it’s like I can feel
their absence. I know they’re out there. I just don’t know where.”

Trying not
to sound like a broken record, Gretchen attempted to comfort him without
reminding him it would take time for his memory to come back. “I’m sure they’re
looking for you, too,” she said.

John
reached up to run his fingers through his hair. Touching his tender scalp made
him grimace, but he scratched a spot on his head before abandoning the effort.
He lay back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling for a while before speaking
again. “This feels so strange, not being able to remember anything. I don’t
even know where I am, or how I got here, or what my favorite color is. I don’t
know who you are, either. You’ve been watching out for me for days, and I don’t
even know your first name.”

Well, if
coma patients could hear a person when they spoke, they certainly didn’t
remember what anyone told them.

“I’m
Gretchen Gesner,” she said, reaching out to take his hand. She felt a little
silly, having already spent so much time with him, but for him it was their
first official meeting. John took her hand and shook it slowly. She loved the
fact that he didn’t have to stifle a laugh or hide a smile when she told him
her name. Everybody thought her name was old fashioned and strange, including
Gretchen.

“Gretchen.
It’s nice to meet you,” John said. “I wish I could tell you what my name is,
but I’ve got nothing.”

“Well, that
may be one good thing about losing your memory. At least now you can choose a
name you like and not be stuck with something like Gretchen,” she said.

“You don’t
like your name?” he asked.

She shook
her head emphatically.

“I don’t
think there’s anything wrong with it. I kind of like it,” John said. His face
turned thoughtful for a moment. “I guess you could always just go by your
initials if you don’t like Gretchen, though.”

“My
initials?” she said slowly. She really hoped he wasn't going where she thought
he was.

“Yeah,
G.G., Gigi,” John said with a grin. “It’s cute, isn’t it?”

Gretchen
groaned. It usually took people a lot longer to come up with that. She made it
through half of kindergarten before someone tried to call her Gigi. He only did
it once, because she bit him on the nose for it. High school had been even more
unforgiving when some guys thought Gigi would make a perfect name for the
profession they thought Gretchen should take up due to her curvy figure.

“I hate the
name Gigi,” she said, trying to sound cheerful but deadly serious at the same
time. It didn’t quite work. “It makes me sound like I’m some kind of stripper.”

That really
made John laugh. At least until it hurt too much and he had to calm himself
down. It took him a few minutes to stop grimacing, but he eventually found a
position that didn’t cause him too much pain. Relaxed on his pillow, he looked
as if he had forgotten his uncertain future for a moment. It didn’t last.
Eventually his face clouded up again and the set of his jaw showed his worry.

“If it
helps,” Gretchen started, “I’ve been calling you John. Mainly because they put
John Doe on your chart, but it seemed like it fit you. It might be something to
start with, until you remember your real name, or you pick another one.”

John’s eyes
opened. They looked less dark than they had earlier. “John, that’s not so bad,”
he said. “It’s certainly no Gretchen, but it might work for now.”

His sense
of humor was growing on her. Just about everyone she knew growing up made fun
of her name at some point—
Gretch makes me retch
—but his kidding felt
much different. He honestly seemed to think her name was great. That was
definitely a first, although Gretchen supposed her parents must have liked it,
since they were the ones who saddled her with it. They didn’t really count,
though. She had a sneaking suspicion they were more than a little crazy.

“There’s no
way I’m keeping Doe as a last name, though. It’s a dead giveaway to potential
employers that I’ve got no job skills at all,” John said.

Their eyes
met and they both started laughing. Gretchen couldn’t help herself, but she
also couldn’t believe how well he was taking everything. Was he in some kind of
shock? It was great he could laugh, but she knew she would be freaking out if
it were her. The poor man had no name, no home,
no
future. How could he laugh about that? Gretchen’s laughter faltered. She wanted
to cry. She wanted to wrap him up in her arms and bawl her eyes out with him.
Maybe that was just a girl thing. She had yet to meet a guy who really made
sense to her.

Wiping a
tear away that she wasn’t sure whether it came from laughing too much or from
sadness, she was surprised when she felt John’s fingers interlock with hers.
When Gretchen looked up, the smile was still there, but behind that she could
see the uncertainty, panic, and fear. They could laugh all day, but they both
knew eventually he would have to face walking out of the hospital alone.

Not alone,
Gretchen said to herself. Whatever else happened, she would never let him walk
out alone. John squeezed her hand and she hoped he knew that she wasn't going
anywhere. Placing her other hand on top of his, Gretchen held onto him.

“I’m glad
you’re here, Gretchen Gesner,” he said, his stoic mask trying to hide his
emotions.

“So am I,”
she whispered.

Gretchen
watched his eyes close and panicked at losing sight of his blue eyes. She had
to remind myself they would open again. He needed to rest. John’s breathing
slowed into the rhythmic pattern of deep sleep, but still, she held him. Even
if it was a promise only made to herself, she would not leave him alone.

Chapter Seven

Lost

Waking up
felt more natural than the first time. The day before had felt as if he were
swimming against a strong current. He fought it, but kept getting pushed back
before he could make any headway. Eventually, the current seemed to calm and he
finally reached the surface. Instead of fresh air, he found only confusion.
Something was wrong from the moment he woke, but so many things were assaulting
him in that moment he had no hope of pinpointing the cause.

When the
doctor’s question finally sank in, John realized what had felt so incomplete.
He lying in a hospital bed, lost in the current he thought he’d escaped.
Somewhere during his fight to reach the surface, his identity had been washed
away. The realization had wrapped around him, intensifying the emptiness left
inside his body and mind.

But it
hadn’t lasted. He was lost, but not alone.

Gretchen’s
head lay resting in the crook of her elbow, propped on the edge of the bed. Her
hand was still wrapped around his and he had no desire to move it. John didn’t
know who she was, or why she cared, but she filled some part of the emptiness.
Her presence softened the harsh edge of what had happened. She had saved him
twice.

Could he
ever repay what she’d done for him? He doubted it, but he knew he had to try.

Sighing
deeply in her sleep, John watched Gretchen’s face scrunch momentarily before
relaxing again. The slight movement sent a strand of her dark blond bangs
falling across her face. He wanted to push it back behind her ear, but his
closest hand was still holding hers, and the other was wrapped in a plaster
cast and was more likely to hit her than manage anything requiring that much
finesse. Gretchen’s nose twitched as the strand of hair tickled her, drawing a
smile from John as he watched.

In that
moment, watching Gretchen sleep, he couldn’t feel the pain of what he had lost.
He wanted to stay right there, because he knew once that moment ended, the pain
and fear would come flooding back in. He wasn't ready to face it yet. What he
wanted didn’t matter for much, unfortunately.

The
whisper-quiet opening of the door to his room sent a wave of sadness through
him. Looking up at the door, John watched silently as a graying woman in scrubs
bustled in with a pair of Styrofoam takeout boxes and a canvas bag slung over
her shoulder. Glancing at Gretchen, she smiled and quietly set her things down
on the bedside tray. One at a time she opened the boxes, letting the smells of
fresh fruit and bakery muffins fill the room.

Stirring
from her sleep, Gretchen opened her eyes and yawned.

“Good
morning, dear,” the woman said, “I'm Dr. Anita Sanchez.” Gesturing at the food,
she said, “I thought you both might be hungry. Lynn said you didn’t get any
dinner last night, Gretchen. Please eat up. I brought enough for both of you.”

Full of
warm smiles and soothing tones, Dr. Sanchez was a welcome change from Dr.
Marshall, who had made another appearance before John fell asleep, and was no
more pleasant than before. Dr. Sanchez settled herself in the chair next to
John’s bed and waited for them to eat. John hesitated, not wanting to gorge
himself in front of her when she had a reason for being there, aside from
bringing them breakfast. He was surprisingly hungry, though.

“Your
feeding tube was removed last night, so you should be plenty hungry by now,”
Dr. Sanchez began. “We’ll start off with some nice soft foods and see how you
do with those before letting you move up to steak and potatoes.” John and
Gretchen still waited. “Please,” she said, “eat. I won’t move on with my visit
until you do.”

Gretchen
and John looked at each other. Then Gretchen shrugged and grabbed a cranberry
muffin, taking a bite of it with a satisfied smile. He didn’t have to be told
again. The muffins and fruit were gone within minutes. Dr. Sanchez smiled and
neatly cleared the boxes away when they finished.

“Are you
the neurologist?” John asked when Dr. Sanchez sat back down.

“Yes, I
am,” she said.

He took a
deep breath and squared his shoulders. Gretchen looked as though she were
holding her breath. She was clearly anxious to hear what this doctor had to say
about him. The emptiness faded by the smallest degree. What would John do if
she walked away, feeling her duty to watch over him had been fulfilled? He
didn’t want to think about that possibility, so he didn’t. Focusing on Dr.
Sanchez let him push all his other thoughts away.

“Now, I
suppose you probably have a few questions,” Dr. Sanchez said.

Gretchen
and John both nodded.

“Well, I’m
here to answer them,” she said. “I looked at your MRIs last night. Because of
the injuries you sustained to your brain, your memory has been impaired. The
MRI taken when you were first admitted showed severe swelling and bruising to
your brain. Both of those showed improvement in the MRI done last night. That
is a very good sign.

“Dr.
Marshall said you are unable to remember anything before the accident, but he
did not indicate whether or not you are able to retain new memories. Have you
had any trouble remembering events since waking up?”

“No,” John
said, “I seem to be able to remember everything that’s happened since waking up
just fine.”

“Wonderful.”
She made a note in her file before looking back up at John with her
grandmotherly smile. “I’m going to show you a few objects, now, and I want you
to tell me what they are and what they’re used for.”

“Okay,”
John said.

Dr. Sanchez
placed her canvas bag on her lap and pulled out a plastic fork.
Seriously?
John didn’t get it. He thought she might be joking so he didn’t answer right
away. Watching him closely, Dr. Sanchez waited.
Is this some kind of test
for my memory, or something else entirely?
Still feeling like the doctor
was pulling some kind of trick, John finally answered.

“It’s a
fork. You eat food with it.”

Dr. Sanchez
nodded then took a cell phone out of the bag and waited for his response.

“Cell
phone,” John said, “to call and text people.”

Nodding
again, Dr. Sanchez pulled out another item.

“Keys, to
unlock things with,” he said.
How long was this going to go on?
“Is this
really necessary?”

Smiling
patiently, Dr. Sanchez said, “Yes, it is. I needed to make sure your functional
memory from before the accident is still intact.”

“My what?”
he asked. Gretchen seemed to be wondering the same thing.

“Functional
memory is separate from the types of memories your brain creates for people,
places, and events. Functional memory is information your brain has memorized
to allow you to move through your day,” she explained. “It is extremely rare
that a person would lose functional memory from trauma. We have enough work to
do without having to worry about that as well.”

That was
incredible. John hadn’t even thought about the possibility of losing memories
of what things were or even how to talk. Waking up to find yourself in a world
he didn’t even recognize would have been ten times more terrifying than losing
only his personal memories. There was at least one thing that hadn’t been
ruined by the situation. John wasn't sure that counted as a silver lining to
this storm cloud, but he was willing to take it.

Dr. Sanchez
ran him through a few more tests before putting the chart down and closing it.
“So, my official diagnosis is that you have retrograde amnesia. Usually amnesia
is not quite as severe as this, the memory loss is normally confined to the
events immediately before and/or after the injury, but the injuries to your
brain were severe enough that this is not wholly unexpected.”

“How long
will this last?” John asked.

Smile still
on her face, she said, “Unfortunately, I don’t know.”

John felt
his jaw tighten at her response. She wasn't trying to be flippant. She was just
being honest. Trying to make himself remember that wasn’t easy. He wanted
answers.

“What do
you mean you don’t know,” Gretchen asked politely.

Dr. Sanchez
turned her gaze away from me for the first time and spoke to Gretchen. “One of
the most important things I’ve learned while studying the brain is just how
little we really know about it. We can do MRIs and EGGs and study what we see,
but we really can’t tell anyone why the brain does what it does sometimes.”

Turning
back to me, she continued. “You may regain your memories tomorrow, or they may
never return. There is no way for me to know which it will be. Often, amnesia
lasts only a few days or weeks, but with the severity of your injuries, it may
last longer. It may last indefinitely. Generally, if a person’s memories do not
return within a year of the trauma, they will
not
return.”

So much for
answers. Dr. Sanchez’s matronly sweetness had lulled John into the belief that
she was going to be able to help him. His head fell back to the pillow in
defeat. “What do I do now?” he said quietly. He wasn’t really talking to the
doctor, but she answered anyway.

“Well,
there really isn’t any way to treat amnesia,” she said. “The best thing to do
at this point is simply continue your life as normally as possible.”

John wanted
to scream at her, tell her how stupid that idea was, argue that he had no life
to continue with in the first place, but Gretchen’s reassuring grip on his hand
kept his anger back. That was keeping everything inside of him from exploding.
Focusing on the feel of her hand against his, John let her calm seep into him.

Dr. Sanchez
kept talking, but he didn’t listen. Gretchen nodded at her words, discussing
physical therapy and counseling sessions and a million other things he didn’t
want to deal with. He should have paid attention. He should have been part of
the discussion. Thinking about the future was too hard. Longing to take back
the moment right before Dr. Sanchez arrived, John tuned them out.

The peace
he was searching for didn’t come. It was lost to the void inside him, and he
wondered if he would ever get it back.