Wake up ?
It was like a surreal nightmare at first. The white room, the bleeping machinery ? the groggy feeling in my head as my eyelids protested against the light.
?Hello, sweetheart. Can you hear me??
I couldn?t focus my sight, which made the nausea worse. Directly above me, a bright light shone down onto my face, smudged around the edges like a ruined painting. I squinted and closed my eyes. My head spun.
?She?s opened her eyes, I?m not sure if she can hear me, she didn?t respond when I asked.?
?Dr. Rose is on his way.?
I felt a warm hand clutch my wrist, and a few seconds later, it dropped again.
?Rosey? Can you hear me? Try and open your eyes for me ? ?
I considered re-opening my eyes. But it seemed like hard work and I decided against it. I was in a hospital, that part was becoming clear as the nurses fluttered around me.
I heard a door open, a flush of noise spilled into the room from what I assumed to be a corridor outside; and then the door shut and the room resumed it?s calm silence.
?She woke up?? a man?s voice asked.
?Well, she opened her eyes, Dr Rose. But she didn?t respond when I spoke to her? one of the nurses replied.
I felt a gentle pull on my eyelid and the light shone onto me again. I flinched away.
?Oh, she is conscious? Dr Rose confirmed.
Once the nightmare ended, the rest was like a vague dream. I remember little things as the weeks passed, like watching a tree sway outside my window in the summer breeze. I remember the night a nurse, Angie sat beside me on my bed, brushing my hair gently and complimenting it?s condition.
?I?ve always wanted natural, black hair? she confided as my hair ran through her fingers.
I remember a conversation between two nurses one afternoon.
?So what you?re saying is, you?re going to finish with him because he?s too nice?? gasped Angie.
?You know how it is when they?re overly keen, it gets sickly, boring ? ? replied the other nurse.
?Hey, Rose ? tell her you can?t dump someone simply because they?re too nice ? ?
I smiled wearily and shook my head ?No, you can?t? I croaked.
The conversation trailed off as I shut my eyes again.
It had become normal for the nurses to involve me in their conversations once I was able to stay awake for longer than a few minutes. They would ask for my opinion on various topics whilst they tended to my care.
?Rose, I?m at a wedding next week and I have this gorgeous black dress I could wear, but you can?t really wear black to a wedding can you? Or can you? I suppose if I wear a light jacket and my green shoes ? ??
I don?t know if they spoke to me for my benefit or their own but as time went by, I grew fond of my company. The nurses who fussed over me, who sneaked packets of ginger biscuits into my room and made me hot chocolate on a night, treating me as a vulnerable friend, rather than a patient. And then there was Dr Rose.
Dr Rose was a tall, thin man with large glasses and tidy grey hair. He always wore a grey suit with brown shoes and he had a gentle smile. The kind of face you instinctively trusted. A warm face. As the weeks went by, Dr Rose spoke to me more and more in his softly spoken voice. He asked me questions and listened intensively to my answers, even when I had none.
One particular evening, Dr Rose sat beside my bed with a cup of coffee. I was stronger by this time and I sat up in my bed, poured myself a cup of water and offered him my secret stash of ginger biscuits.
?So, this is where they keep going! I?ll have to inform the staff that I?ve discovered the biscuit thief? he joked.
?I?m going to ask you a few questions? he continued.
?Again??
Dr Rose smiled and took a sip of his coffee ?You know how much I love to delve into that mind of yours.?
I soon became frustrated with the inquisition. I remembered nothing before waking up in the hospital bed. I could not answer their questions, no matter how many times they asked and I desperately wanted to leave. I wanted to see the city, to meet new people and above all else, I wanted to discover myself just as much as they did, if not more. I wished Dr Rose would tire of me and my stupid responses to his questions and discharge me.
?What?s your real name?? he asked for what must have been the forth time that week.
?I thought it was Rose, but you tell me it isn?t so I don?t know?
?Rose is your nickname, the nurses gave you that name because you are under my care and you have no other I.D? he explained, again.
?I know, you told me that yesterday? I sighed ?But I like the name Rose, I think I?ll keep it.?
?I?m flattered? Dr Rose smiled as he placed his mug on my bedside table ?What date is it??
?I can?t be specific, but it?s summer time? I replied.
Dr Rose turned towards the window, where the blazing sunshine betrayed my bluff.
?Yes, very good? he laughed.
Dr Rose persisted in asking me the same questions every few days, hoping to jog my memory in some way. All I could do in return, was repeat the same answers I had already given him many times before.
?I can?t remember?
It was true. I couldn?t remember anything. I didn?t even recognise the woman in the mirror when I saw her. Bright blue eyes, long black hair and pale skin. She could have been anyone. Apparently, she was me.
?You surely must see why this is all so concerning, not to mention confusing?? Dr Rose asked one day as he walked with me around the hospital gardens ?You seem to be suffering severe amnesia yet the tests and scans show you have suffered no injury, no stroke, physically ? there is nothing wrong with you.?
It felt good to be outside. After a month in that hospital room, I began to make a point of spending at least an hour a day outside. I enjoyed the feeling of the breeze on my face, the smell of the freshly cut grass and the voices of other people. I watched as a man unscrewed a cola bottle for who I assumed to be his young son on a nearby bench. I wondered who they were visiting here.
?I don?t know what to tell you, Dr Rose. I feel fine, I try and remember but nothing comes to me.? I assured him. Sometimes, I felt accused. As if Dr Rose and the nurses were beginning to wonder how genuine my apparent amnesia was. I felt under pressure to come up with some answers. Sometimes, I even considered making something up. ?Oh, I?ve just remembered, my name is Shannon McCormick, I live at number 1, Anywhere Street. Well, that?s that cleared up ? can I go now??
?Another thing that bothers me is that nobody else seems to know who you are. There have been no missing person reports of your description, no police investigations, someone must be missing you, Rosey. They must be. Even if you?re not married, you must have family, friends ? past relationships even. Someone must know you. You don?t get to your late 20s without developing some kind of a relationship with someone ? ?
I halted my pace beside a tall willow tree and inhaled deeply ?How long is this going to go on for?? I asked ?You ask me the same questions day after day. You?ve just told me there is nothing wrong with me. Legally, you can?t keep me here if that is the case, surely??
Dr Rose sighed and took off his glasses. He rubbed his eyes wearily and ran his hand over his scalp. He looked exhausted.
?I have no desire to keep you here against your will. But please, think about this rationally. If I were to discharge you now, where would you go? What would you do for money? The government will not help someone with no fixed address, never mind no name.?
?I?ll get a job? I suggested.
?With no name? No address? Who on earth do you think would employ you when nobody, including yourself, knows anything about you? I will help you, Rose. I care about you. I have an appointment with the social workers tomorrow morning, we will see about temporary residential care ? ?
?I?m not going in a ?home?. There is nothing wrong with me! I just want to get on with my life now, you?re acting like I?m mentally ill? I protested. I heard my voice raise involuntarily.
To my surprise, Dr Rose backed away slightly and lowered his eyes. I didn?t think I?d raised my voice that much. I glanced around at the strangers in the garden to judge their reaction. Nobody else seemed to have heard me. I turned my attention back to Dr Rose.
?But you are mentally ill, Rose. For whatever reason, you?re suffering from severe amnesia ? ?