She smiles at me as if this news should cheer me up.
“What?” I screech, bolting upright in bed. “No.” I shake my head. “That’s not possible.”
That’s a whole year in the future.
Unless…
I gulp for air. “Have I been in a coma?”
I’ve been out cold for a whole freakin’ year?
“No, you were admitted three days ago,” she explains. “Retrograde amnesia refers to the inability to access memories. You’ve lived through the past year; it’s just that your mind isn’t able to retrieve those memories at the moment.”
The year she stated circles endlessly in my mind without making any sense.
“So you’re saying we’ve somehow fast-forwarded in time?”
She gives me a look, the kind one reserves for explaining complex things to a child. “No.” The year echoes in the room again as she repeats it.
Stop saying that, I silently scream at her.
I brace myself, waiting for the punchline of this sick joke.
When the punchline never comes, my chest tightens as the awful truth crashes into me like a tsunami: I’ve lost an entire fucking year?
I can’t breathe. Dr. Ramirez becomes a blob as the edges of my vision blur.
It’s okay. Just focus on breathing. They’ll be able to fix me.
“Will this electro… electro feeling scan… gram… fix me? Will it reboot me so I get my memories back?” I squawk, not capable of keeping a steady tone. “Turn me off and on again?”
To stop myself from screaming with hysteria, I laugh instead.
She indulges me with a sympathetic smile. “We’ll determine a treatment plan after testing. We don’t know the extent of your memory loss yet. We’re still in the early stages here. Just try not to worry too much for now.”
Easy for her to say; she remembers yesterday.
“We’ll be with you every step of the way.”
“I don’t think I can afford you to be with me every step,” I mumble, my mind racing with thoughts of astronomical hospital bills. “Am I really twenty-seven?” I ask in a tiny voice.
She responds with a gentle nod.
None of this makes any sense.
Yesterday was last year? The drinks with Matty, the meeting with Wolfe, the carrot cake I had before lunch, the meeting with Andy and his growly stomach-it all happened one year ago?
My heart hammers so hard in my chest I feel sick. I’m suffocating. My head’s spinning more now than when I first woke up.
I gawk at Dr. Ramirez, who seems unfazed by my meltdown. I suppose for her, it’s just another day at the office.
“I missed a whole year of my twenties?”
The tightness in my throat intensifies. I’m sweating, but I’m freezing.
“Did I miss Comic Con?” My voice squeaks out an octave higher.
“Just focus on your breathing, Lucy. Deep, slow breaths,” Dr. Ramirez instructs, resting her hand on my wrist.
“But… what have I been doing all this time?” My eyes are as big as saucers as I stare at her.
She smiles reassuringly. “We’ll help you figure that out.”
Deep breath in, deep breath out. Maybe, if I close my eyes and nap, this nightmare will be over when I wake up.
Lucy
It’s not.
I squint my eyes open, wondering how much time has passed. I’m still in the seven-star hospital bed. The sunlight filtering in is more subdued now, so it must be later in the day.
Or, knowing my luck, I’ve missed another fucking year.
My headache has dulled to a faint vibration, but fatigue’s ready to drag me back under. I blindly reach for the water glass on the bedside table and nearly send it flying, along with some flimsy papers.
Curiosity piqued, I pick one up-it’s all about retrograde amnesia. There’s a disgustingly cheerful couple plastered on the front page, announcing: “You may not remember the past, but the future looks fabulous.”
Is that supposed to be comforting? We’re talking amnesia here, not a Bahamian cruise.
I pull a face, or at least I give it a shot. I’m on enough drugs to sedate a whale, so even face movements are hard.
“Lucy.” A nurse steps into the room. “You’re awake.”
“Hey,” I croak, water dribbling from my chin, having missed my mouth entirely. “How long was I out this time?”
“Only a few hours,” she says as she comes closer to the side of my bed. “I need to take some blood tests. By the way, I’m Katie.”
“Sure, Katie.” I muster up a weak grin. A flutter of unease has me asking her to confirm the year, in case I’ve somehow lost or gained more time.
“That’s it.” She smiles back sympathetically. “Don’t worry, the doctor will be in shortly to talk to you about the next steps, now that you’re awake. You’re in the best care here. Dr. Ramirez is a rockstar in the world of head trauma medicine.”
“I’m so drowsy,” I moan, lifting my arm a couple of inches off the bed. “Everything feels heavy and sluggish, like I’m swimming in syrup.”
“That’s the pain meds. We’re tapering you off those.” She swabs some antiseptic onto a cotton bud and gently applies it to my skin before fastening a band around my arm. My arm clenches as the blood flow slows down.
“Is my mom here? Does she know?”
“She’ll be back soon, she dashed out to grab a bite. She flew in from England this morning. Brace yourself, sharp scratch coming now.”
“From England? But she wasn’t in England.” Mom wasn’t visiting Aunt Meg. I avert my eyes, feeling the prick of the needle piercing my skin. “She shouldn’t be… I don’t remember,” I whimper.
“Try not to worry, Lucy. You’re on a high dose of medication. You’ve had some friends drop by too.”
Must be Priya and Libby. Maybe Matty? They’ll jog my memory. A few stories from them and it’ll all come flooding back.
Hopefully, I’ve won the lottery. That could explain why I’m holed up in this swanky hospital.
“Hey, do you know where my phone is?”
“I don’t think you came in with one. You must have lost it. Your belongings are all in the locker-you have your purse and driver’s license though.”
“But I don’t drive.”
“You must have learned.” She smiles at me as she places a cotton ball over the puncture wound. “All done.”
She moves away to record my info while I stare at the ceiling.
Maybe not having my phone at this point is a blessing. Am I really ready to have my past unveiled via a screen?