Page 4 of The Fates We Tame
“How do I fix it?” I ask.
Dr. Polunin smiles softly. “Let’s back up a little. You have two types of memory. Non-declarative memory. This is the part of your memory that has enabled you to shower and get dressed and would probably allow you to jump on your motorcycle and ride without having to relearn what all the switches and levers do.”
The thought of my bike gathering dust almost chokes me. I spent five weeks in hospital and have been here just a few days. Winter’s coming. Leaves swirling in the wind outside are a reminder that snow’ll soon make biking that much harder.
“It’s sometimes called procedural memory,” she continues. “Because it mostly applies to tasks that are repetitive.”
“That part I can do. I tied…” Fuck, what’s the word for the things on my feet? “Sneakers… Then wondered why I can remember how to do that, but not remember what my house looks like.”
“That’s declarative memory. Recollection of facts or specific events, usually unique. And within that, you have episodic memory and semantic memory. Episodic is more autobiographical, like my example of remembering what happened on vacation. Semantic memory is more factual. As you said, you remember you own a house…but you just can’t remember where it is or what it looks like.”
I sit back in the chair and straighten my jeans. “How do I fix it?”
Dr. Polunin puts down her pen. “You are an incredible human being, Theo. I’ve read your records. In fact, I’d go as far as to say you are a miracle. Given the severity of your injury, I think it’s a marvel you are not only alive but communicating with me like this in my office. You have speech and mobility.”
“Yeah, but words.” I leave it there.
She nods. “I know you have some challenges with retrieving the right words right now. But with your injuries, I’m shocked you even have that.”
“Not enough,” I manage.
“You are very early in your traumatic brain injury journey.Veryearly. It’s unreasonable to expect faster progress with a TBI. This could be a multi-year journey.”
“Years?” I don’t want years. I want my fucking life back. One that comes without blinding headaches and nausea. One that gives me my skills back as a medic. I barely remember my first year out of basic medic training, let alone everything I learned since. “My parents won’t go home…Every day. Here. Waiting. Mom is…exhausted.”
“The brain is our most misunderstood organ. A heart is mechanical. It beats. Blood pumps. But the brain is still a mystery in many ways. You are in the absolute best place in the country to increase your chances of recovery. Do everything the staff asks of you. Make it your life’s work to attend every physio and rehab appointment. Speak to the therapist to work your way through these emotional issues. Keep your stress levels low by following all the programs we have in place for you. You need to give your brain every possible chance of recovery. You’re in safe hands, Theo. I promise you.”
“Want to be…normal…me…again.”
“I understand that. But you have to understand, there is no guarantee you will be who you were again. There is no guarantee you won’t be either. Some people come through TBIs and are exactly the same. Most people don’t lose language capacity because it’s a neural pathway skill versus something memory based. But otherwise, there are huge differences. You are about as lucky as they come.”
There is a knock on the door.
“My reminder that I have other clients outside, Theo. But as your primary care doctor, I will see you three times a week to review progress.”
I nod and stand. “I appreciate it, Doc.”
“It’s Doctor Polunin. And thank you.”
“Whatever you say, Doc.” And I smile at her.
She shakes her head. “There is one last thing you could do for me.”
My hand is on the door handle to leave. “What’s that?”
“It would be very useful if one of your friends could fill in the blanks of what actually happened to you that night.”
“I came off my bike. Likely a hit-and-run.”
Dr. Polunin runs her tongue over her top teeth. “We rarely see clients like you, Theo. But I promise you won’t be treated any differently because of your…affiliations. I looked carefully at your records. I looked at the images. I looked at the explanation of how you were found. The photograph of your helmet and bike. The statement from your”—she looks down at a piece of paper—“president.”
“And?” I say.
“The description of how you were found, which side you were lying on, does not match the damage on your helmet.”
My stomach drops. I’ve been told but struggle to recall what really happened. My head aches as I try to remember what King told me. Club business, maybe? That I was a hero. That comes in a lot of messages. Was my crash staged to make it look like a hit-and-run? That might have been it. But the details blur, like I’m travelling at two hundred miles an hour and my memories are standing at the side of the road as I whizz by.
Dr. Polunin raises her hands in the universal symbol of surrender. “Theo. I don’t care. I don’t care what you did. My only concern is to give you the absolute best treatment I can. I want you to recover from your brain injury every bit as muchas you do. I will not cease until I figure out every possible form of therapy that will help. But it starts with the foundation that I know exactly how your brain was injured so I don’t overlook something that could be vital later.”
