The Patient

The doctor had just left, leaving the patient alone for the first time in what seemed like a very long time. He had drawn the curtain closed; the patient didn’t have any interest in the television so it was dutifully blocked out. Instead the majority of the patient’s attention was focused out the fifth story window onto the world below:

Everything looked smaller, as if he could reach out through the glass and suddenly come away with a 1:16 scale replica of any of the cars or a pose-able doll of the same ratio. He watched the lights change at the intersection and traffic proceed in an orderly fashion. He saw people cross the streets in herds or as individuals that darted out into what they though was a wide enough gap in the near-constant stream of motor vehicles. Every so often an ambulance would shoot past the intersection, lights ablaze. It was interesting to watch, from the patient’s vantage point, the sea of cars part to make way for the service vehicle. It was even more grabbing when it was a fire truck or a string of police cars that parted the sea.

His attention was moved away from the window by the squeaking of the curtain on its track as it was pulled aside. Idly he wondered if that was something the manufacturers intentionally added to make it so that doctors couldn’t sneak up on their patients. The doctor wasn’t carrying his clipboard and seemed to be having trouble finding something to do with his hands.

While the doctor collected his thoughts the patient folded their arms on his lap, ignoring the medical tape that held his IV in place on his arm. Long ago he had phased out the sounds of the monitoring equipment and the chirping and the patient only noticed them when they did something unexpected. Taking a cue from his patient the doctor linked his hands in front of him and for a moment it looked as if he was shielding his crotch from some blow that was soon incoming.

“You have a visitor.”

“Do they know me?”

“Yes, but I’ll let her introduce herself.”

“Alright.”

The doctor left and, after what had to be a brief exchange between the medical professional the visitor the curtain parted again and a woman stepped demurely in.

“Hello.”

“You don’t recognize me, do you?”

A pause.

“No… but the doctors told me that I had been in a car accident and that memory loss was common with the head trauma I suffered. Apparently I was a mess when they brought me in.”

“You still have two black eyes.”

“I probably do. Who are you?”

“I’m your wife.”

Another pause.

“I’m a very lucky man. How long have we been married?”

“Eleven years.”

“That long? Was it a good marriage?”

“We had some ups and downs.”

“Was I… a good husband? Good man?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I don’t think you’d be here if I was some sort of bastard.”

“What do you remember?”

“You know… everyone has asked me that, usually about once an hour. I think they’re trying to figure out if more of my memory is coming back. Not that I mind, though. I snuck a glance at my progress notes and it looks like my memory is returning, albeit slowly.”

“So what do you remember?”

“They told me that someone saw me slip and fall in front of a car and most of my upper body connected with the front of it. Apparently I went spinning through the air and landed in a heap, unconscious, but I don’t remember any of it. What I do remember is waking up in an ambulance with someone shining a very bright light in my face and asking if I knew where I was or what day it was. I knew it was an ambulance because it was exactly what ambulances were supposed to look and feel like: cramped, lots of locked drawers and equipment that went beep or hiss or something else. I didn’t know what day it was but when I tried to say something I got such a jolt of pain that I passed out. Apparently my jaw had become dislocated and the act of opening my mouth had popped it back into place but it’s so painful that I went under again.”

The patient stopped talking for a moment to take a sip from a Styrofoam cup with tiny chips of ice floating in the cool water.

“Because I had a concussion they couldn’t risk knocking me out, so they pumped me full of drugs to dull the pain and went to work. It’s very strange watching surgeons work on a body that you’re fairly sure is yours but you can’t feel anything. After they stitched me up and bandaged my head they sent me up here, where I’ve been for three days, all of which I remember perfectly.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

The woman looked very uncomfortable for a moment and the patient frowned.

“Do we… do I have kids?”

“Two. One boy, three and one girl, five.”

“Are they here?”

“Not today.”

“Could I see them?”

She studied him for a very long time.

“Tomorrow. They’re at school today.”

“Tomorrow is the weekend? Saturday?”

“Yes.”

At this point the doctor re-entered the room and gave a polite cough. The patient turned and smiled pleasantly while the woman who said she was the patient’s wife looked away.

“I hate to cut this short but …”

“It’s alright,” said the wife, “I was just leaving.”

She left, trailing an awkward silence in her wake.

“This hurts her, doesn’t it?” asked the patient.

“I would assume so.”

“I hope my memory comes back.”

“For your sake, so do I.”

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