Page 8 of Amnesia

I wouldn’t call what I said humor; it was more like angry sarcasm with a hint of prayer. Since I’d woken, I’d been subjected to test after test and a ginormous pile of flashcards. We spent quite a bit of time holding up cards with pictures on them and me saying what I saw. They weren’t pretty pictures either. It was images of things like a cow, a hamburger, a car, a man, a woman, etc. Basically, the doctors had to figure out the level at which my brain dumped all its info.

So far, I knew everything except any single thing about myself or how I got here.

And my name?

Still didn’t have a clue.

I started telling everyone to call me Amnesia. It’s what I was.WhoI was. They all thought I was joking (ah, maybe that was also why the doc wanted to write down sense of humor), but I wasn’t. They had to call me something.

“No flashcards today. I think it’s pretty safe to say you know about the general world around you.”

“So then…?” I asked, wondering what fun new things were waiting.

“I was hoping you could tell me about yesterday,” he said as if we were having a friendly conversation.

“Yesterday?”

He nodded. “What you did, what you ate, who you spoke to. That sort of thing.”

“It should all be there in my chart.” I frowned. “Everything I do here is written down.”

He smiled briefly. “Yes, I’m well aware. I want to hear it from you. It’s so I can ascertain some details about your memory loss. See if you can recall things that have happened since you woke.”

I went through my extremely exciting day yesterday, even adding in the part about not liking bananas. The nurse said they were good, but she lied. Those things were mushy and nasty. I wouldn’t be taking food advice from her again.

For extra bonus points, I added in the details I remembered about right after I woke from my coma. As he listened, he jotted down notes on the top sheet of paper. It was a little strange to realize everything I knew about myself was literally right there in a stack of papers.

How could I have so little sense of self?

“Miss?” the doctor said, and I jerked my head up.

“Amnesia.” I reminded him.

He frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good name. I’ll have one of the nurses bring you a book of baby names and you can choose something for yourself.”

“I like Amnesia,” I rebutted, stubborn.

“Why?” he inquired. He sounded like the head shrink that also came to see me.

Shrugging one shoulder, I replied, “Because it describes who I am. A total loss of memory.”

“You don’t think you’re more than that?”

“Sure, but I haven’t figured out what yet.”

“Do you have the desire to figure out who you are? What your likes and dislikes are?”

Slowly I nodded. It was a daunting task it seemed, but really, what choice did I have? My nose wrinkled. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Your current condition is very rare and can be accompanied by a great sense of loss, depression, and overall hopelessness.”

“Whatismy current condition?”

“Have you had any memories or recollections at all today? Any sort of flashbacks or thoughts that felt more like memories? Dreams when you sleep?” the doctor asked, sidestepping my question.

“No, and when I try, there’s just… nothing.” I spread out my hands as if I were just as confused as he probably was.

“What do you think about?”

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