Page 9 of Amnesia

“Mostly I wonder what happened to me and how badly I got hurt.”

“Do you think about the future?”

“It’s hard to think about the future when I have no idea where I came from. And also when I have very little idea of what my present is.”

“Do you feel anything at all—anything, no matter how small an inkling it might be—when you turn into your own thoughts? Or even when you try to remember? Pain? Fear? Sadness?”

I opened my mouth to reply, then snapped it shut. I felt an inkling of something, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to say it out loud. I couldn’t say nothing, though, because Dr. Beck already picked up on the fact I’d been about to say something. “I am scared,” I whispered. “But I don’t think it’s to remember… Well, maybe it is. I don’t know.”

He nodded slowly. Then he seemed to make up his mind. Adjusting the clipboard in his lap, he glanced up. “I believe you have what most refer to as fugue or dissociative amnesia. As I mentioned, this is a very rare condition, and admittedly, I’ve never treated anyone with it.”

“Why?” I asked simply. It didn’t bother me I was his first patient like this. It was my first time, too.

Well, uh, I thought it was.

“Patients with fugue amnesia forget their entire past but also their identity. They have no idea who they are. Even reminding them who they are, showing pictures, etc. doesn’t jog their memory.”

“Why does it happen?”

“Well, in most cases, it’s because the person has suffered something severely traumatic. So much so their mind wipes out everything as a protective measure.”

“Well, that seems a little overboard,” I muttered.

He paused, scribbled something, and then glanced up. I got the feeling my less-than-freaked-out attitude wasn’t something to be proud of. I didn’t know how else to be, though.

“When you were brought in, you were completely unresponsive. There was a large gash in the back of your head and another lump on your temple. Your body temperature was low, breathing very shallow, and you had quite a bit of water in your lungs. Frankly, I was surprised you were alive.”

My belly twisted at his description. Even though I had no memory of it, I still felt for that girl. “Water in my lungs?” I asked.

Dr. Beck nodded. “You were found in the lake. Nearly washed up on shore. You were lucky he was there to find you. That side of the lake is much less populated.”

I grasped at the information like a carrot dangling before a rabbit. “Why was I in the water?” I wondered, trying to clench onto more detail.

“We don’t know. What little clothing you had on was ripped and bloody. It was clear you were in some sort of accident.”

“No one saw anything? Reported something?”

His face darkened. “No.”

“How is that even possible?”

“You suffered a severe concussion and had twelve stitches in the back of your head.”

Immediately, I reached around, my fingers probing into the thick strands of hair as I explored, feeling for the stitches.

“They aren’t there anymore. They were removed about a week after. The wound is healed, but you probably feel a raised area forming into a scar.”

Just as he said it, my fingers slid over a long bump. It was smooth and raised. I hadn’t even known it was there.

“What else?” I asked, folding my hands in my lap. I ignored the fact my fingers were shaking.

“There were several lacerations on your body. Most of them appeared to be from rocks in the lake. You had an infection in a cut on the bottom of your foot, one that didn’t appear as fresh as the others. You also contracted pneumonia.”

I didn’t know what to say. It was like he was reading off someone else’s chart. Why did I feel so detached? “Is that all?” I asked, wanting to know all of it.

“Your body was badly bruised and…” He paused, hesitating.

“I want to know. I have a right to know,” I said, firm.

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