Into the Unknown

Shannon Herman - October 8, 2019

I received a call from the hospital at around two in the afternoon yesterday. They said it was about my husband. Since I was called about the accident, I've waited eight hours for my husband to come out of surgery and now he's here laying in the hospital bed still knocked out from a cocktail of pain medications and aftereffects of the local anesthesia.

While my husband has been resting, I've been wide-eyed the whole time, staying by his side making sure he's alright.

The beep from the heart monitor continues at an even rate and his blood pressure is normal at the moment. I take his warm hand and hold it in mine.

"You'll be alright dear. I'm right here beside you."

A tear falls from my face onto the bedsheet. I wipe it off, leaving a dark spot against the stark contrast of white. My mascara is coming off but it doesn't matter.

Someone knocks at the door and they walk into the room, tablet in hand.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Crichton. Are you the spouse?" He shakes my hand and starts typing on the tablet's screen.

Sniffling, I say, "Yeah, I'm Shannon, his wife."

He gestures for me to sit. Of course, it's the same seat where I've been sleeping and watching James since he was put in this room.

"I thought I'd let you know what injuries he's sustained as far as the accident goes." Dr. Crichton pulls up a picture on the tablet and points to certain things as he goes along. "So the bone injuries that Mr. Herman sustained aren't as severe as they look. Most of it is bruising from the impact of the car when it was driven into the ditch. As you can see, here's where the most damage is." The doctor zooms in on MRI photos and he circles over an area of the brain that's void of any highlighted activity. "This is the hippocampus, where memories are regulated, including short-term and long-term memories. Based off of how extent the damage to the hippocampus is, the fellow neurologist and myself estimate that there's a high chance James may not have any memory whatsoever."

"So you're saying my husband won't remember who I am once he wakes up?" I grip my hands tight, trying to hold back any more tears that might try and escape.

Dr. Crichton speaks more sympathetically now. "We're not one-hundred percent sure what will happen. He may have short-term memory, but no longer have the capacity to regulate and recollect his long-term memories. Or it could be the other way round. James could have short-term memory loss, which in similar cases I've seen, that seems to be the most common side effect of the hippocampus being damaged. I would suggest that James stay hospitalized at least for another week or two before we send him home. He'll need to receive physical therapy and go to a chiropractor after the bones have healed. Other than that and the worry about the brain injuries, I'd say James is a very lucky man for not receiving worse injuries than he did."

He gets up from the stool where he was seated. "If you have any more questions, just let me know," he says right before he departs, leaving James and I in silence.

Unaware before, I now realize how exhausted I really am. My body feels abnormally heavy, a headache is coming and sleep suddenly sounds wonderful. Still by James's side, I rest my head on the bed and doze off.

When I wake up, there's a new vase of flowers and a card that weren't there before I fell asleep. Looking at the clock, I notice I've slept five hours.

Rising from my seat, I reach for the card, plucking it out of the crème envelope.

Whenever you are available soon, I'd like to speak with you