Memory's Edge: Part One Read online

  “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 sw
eetness 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.

  Chapter Eight

  The Easy Way

  The nurses on John’s floor hadn’t made a move to kick her out Friday night after John woke up, despite visiting hours ending at eight o’clock. After spending the entire day with him Saturday as he slept between tests and consults with a variety of specialists, Gretchen was beat and didn’t argue when Lynn came in to announce she was kicking her out for the night.

  John had been asleep by then, but walking out of his room hadn’t been easy. Fear he’d wake alone and panic made her hesitate. Only Lynn’s promise that the evening duty nurses would call if something happened finally gave her enough peace of mind to quietly slip into the hall and down to her car.