The Wrong Sister

For the third time in less than two years, I awoke in the hospital. I really had a bad habit of waking up in hospitals, it seemed, and it was getting awfully old. Only this time was different. Things were much worse. This time, I couldn’t move, open my eyes, or even moan. Only my brain had woken up. I could feel and hear enough to know I was in a hospital because hospitals were something I had a lot of experience with, unfortunately. It hurt to breathe. Every inhalation made the entire side of my body protest painfully. I guessed I had broken some ribs. A dull throbbing pulsed through my head. Then I became aware of the voices. One of them was Lisa’s, and I guessed the other was my doctor. “What is the likelihood of her ever waking up?” I heard Lisa ask. “She’ll almost certainly wake up within the next few days,” said a male voice with a hint of a British accent. “Our biggest concern is her quality of life.” Quality of life? What the hell was he talking about? Was I paralyzed? Would I be a vegetable? Well, I couldn’t be that much of a vegetable if I could hear and understand what was being said, could I? So what exactly did “vegetable” mean? Was he saying my brain would work while my body wouldn’t? The thought made me want to scream—but if I couldn’t even moan, how could I scream? “Physically, she should recover in time. Her memory might not recover.” “Are you saying she might not even know who I am? Or even who she is?” “It’s possible.” “Well, what is she least likely to remember, Doc? Are we talking about being unable to remember the accident, or not remembering how to tie shoes?” “She should almost certainly remember her basic living skills… brushing teeth, getting dressed, writing a letter.” “Then it’s her life memories you’re saying she might not remember?” Lisa asked. “She’s much more likely to retain her long-term memories than her short-term ones. Therefore, she may very well be unable to remember the accident.” “My God, the poor thing. Initially, she won’t remember, or is it that she’ll never remember? I’m just looking for percentages and odds, Doc, because it might help me help her, and maybe help me be better prepared emotionally—not that this isn’t plenty hard enough regardless.” “I understand,” the doctor said professionally. “Based on the type of brain damage she’s sustained, there’s a ninety-something percent chance she will have immediate memory loss.” “What exactly is immediate?” “The last few years of her life.” “Oh, my God.” “That doesn’t mean she won’t remember who you are.” “But if she can remember me, will she remember our experiences together?” “Not necessarily.” “Do you think she’ll remember who I am?” “I’d say there’s a good chance she’ll remember you. But there’s less of a chance she’ll remember meeting you or even what you do for work.” “Oh, my God,” Lisa said again. “And the chances of remembering the accident?” “Even lower.” The room went silent for a moment, but the air was thick with emotion. “You’re basically going to have to get to know each other all over again, almost as if you’re starting from scratch. Think of her as an acquaintance—or better yet, think of her thinking of you as an acquaintance. That’s what it will be like for her. She may sense that she knows you and has had feelings for you, and she might still feel those feelings, but I’m not going to lie. It won’t be like it was before, and if it ever is again, it will take time.” I heard a sniffle, which I assumed was Lisa’s. “Imagine waking up not knowing how you got here, because you can’t remember what happened before. Not only that, but you can’t remember the days, weeks, or even months leading up to the present moment. You’re living with someone you’re told you’re married to, and while you know that you know that person, you don’t remember much, if any, of your experiences together. Now she might get a snippet of memory here and there.” “Like a flashback?” “Basically, yes.” “What kinds of flashbacks is she likely to have?” “There’s no way to know for sure. Sometimes they’re good flashbacks, sometimes trivial, and other times terrifying. It could be anything. The information is there, but she may never be able to access it.” I heard an audible gasp. “So the memories are still in her brain?” Lisa asked. “Yes, they almost certainly are. It’s like a damaged hard drive. The information is stored, but it’s not readily accessible.” “Are there any tricks for recovering the memories?” “There usually are triggers. Oftentimes, a trauma victim will suppress the memory of a tragic event. Then one day, they could watch a movie depicting a similar event and suddenly recall the incident. Sometimes memories are triggered, other times they come at random for no apparent reason.” “But how can we know if anything she remembers is real, given the brain damage?” “Anyone can be struck by a false memory at any time. There’s no way to know for sure. But because she’s older, there are probably other people who can verify things as she recalls them. It’s also good to tell her about herself and her experiences—it aids memory recovery. Just don’t overwhelm her. Take it slow. She needs to recover physically first. Once she regains control of her body, we can work on the mind.” “I guess it’s going to be a long process,” Lisa said with a sad sigh. “It is, Detective, it is. I could recommend rehoming her, but since you’re married and she’s been moved around enough in recent years, I think it’s best she remain in a familiar environment.” “Oh, I agree. I would never give up on her.” “She’ll be able to be left alone during the day while you’re at work.” “I work odd hours. In my line of work, there’s no set schedule.” “That’s okay, as long as she isn’t alone too long and has a regular support system. She’s going to need physical therapy for a while. Her muscles will be very weak when she’s finally able to move.” “When will that be? When will she wake up and be able to get out of bed?” “Oh, we’re getting close. The last few days, she’s been barely under. I think within a week or so, she should be able to walk a short distance.” “Each day she should be able to last a little longer and go a little further as she rebuilds strength and stamina.” “Can the physical therapy be done at home? I could get her a treadmill for when the weather’s bad.” “That’s a great idea, but first, a therapist should help her get started. After a while, she can manage on her own. That reminds me… she was being treated by Dr. Lacayo for anxiety.” “Yes, but I don’t think she’ll be seeing her anymore.” “Oh? The doctor’s been asking about her.” “That’s thoughtful, but I don’t see how she can help at this point.” “You’d be surprised. Your wife is likely to be very depressed. Most anyone would be, given the circumstances. It’s a terrible tragedy to be hit by a car and wake up not remembering much of anything. It can be extremely stressful and depressing.” “I understand, Doc. I’ll contact Dr. Lacayo and fill her in. If Shay wants to see her, she can.” “Okay, that’ll work.” “So it really is that unlikely she’ll ever remember our time together?” “Yes, it is. Not impossible, but definitely unlikely. I’m so sorry, Detective T.” If only you knew, Doctor. If only you knew! I thought, able to remember every sordid detail. But I also knew that my survival depended greatly on Lisa’s belief in my lack of memory.