"What happened? How did I get here?"
Nancy looked at the handsome man in the lab coat.
He hesitated. "We’re not really sure, but the cops think someone tried to mug you. You were shot in the process. You must have put up a fight."
I searched my memory banks, but there was nothing.
"If that ever happens again, just give them what they want," Mr. Lab Coat pleaded.
"I'll leave you two alone to catch up," Nancy said. She whispered, “By the way. He's a keeper. He's been here every day, sitting by your bed, holding your hand, telling you stories about your life together." She almost misted up talking about it. "If only I could find a man like that."
She darted out of the room, giving us some privacy.
Mr. Lab Coat clasped both his hands around mine. "You don't know how hard I prayed for this moment. I’m so glad you're back. I thought…" He misted up, not able to say it.
“Tell me your name again?"
3
“I’ve got something for you,” Dr. Russell said as he entered the room and introduced himself. From a pocket in his lab coat, he pulled a sealed specimen jar. He jiggled it, rattling the distorted copper round inside. Warped and mangled, it looked like a vicious destroyer of flesh. “It’s not every day I pull a bullet from someone’s brain and then get to have a conversation with them afterward.”
He smiled and handed me the jar.
I examined it with an equal mix of curiosity and horror.
“Looks like it ricocheted before impact, softening the blow. Either that or you’ve got a really hard head."
"She's got a really hard head," the handsome guy in the lab coat said.
He'd told me his name was Grayson, but it didn't ring a bell. Dr. Grayson Mitchell. He was a hematologist who had privileges here at the hospital.
"I'm not at all alarmed that you have gaps in your memory," Dr. Russell said. "It may take time, but I think the odds are good you'll recover full access to your past. A lot of people block out traumatic incidents, so the crime may never come back to you."
“This is more than gaps,” I said.
He smiled. “Stay positive.”
We went through the same series of cognitive tests that the nurse had performed. Dr. Russell asked me a bunch of questions, most of which I didn’t know the answers to.
"There's nothing medically wrong with you,” he assured. “You got lucky. Right now, you just need to rest and heal."
He gave me the same bit about starting slow, working my way up to solid food, and getting into a PT program to recondition my atrophied muscles.
"When can I get out of here?"
He laughed. "As soon as I think you'll do okay at home."
"You can stay with me," Grayson said. "I wouldn't recommend living alone right now."
Dr. Russell said, “You're lucky to have such a fine gentleman looking after you." He took a breath. “I have no doubt you will make a swift and full recovery." He flashed a reassuring smile.
I don't know if he believed it or if that's just what he said to patients to keep their spirits up.
"Is there anything we can do to help facilitate her recovery of memories?" Grayson asked.
"I don't have any hard and fast data to back this up, but I think the more exposure she has to the elements of her past, the more it may jog her memory. Seeing friends, loved ones, listening to old music, interacting with prized possessions could all be positive triggers. We want to stimulate good memories."
Grayson nodded.
