Into the Unknown

James Herman - October 9, 2019

My vision is blurry and fogged when I wake up. I don't know how long I've been out but it's obvious that I've been asleep for a while. I'm not quite sure how I ended up here.

There's the figure of a woman asleep at the edge of the bed near my feet, with her head resting on the mattress. Her body raises up and down in even, slow motions. She's asleep. Brunette hair covers her back, falling onto her arms.

I shift, lifting myself so I'm sitting up. One of my arms is casted. What caused that?

An IV drip is hanging beside me to my left, dropping liquid into the tube at even lengths of time. The tube leads to the vein below my wrist where a needle has been inserted into the vein, taped to my skin.

Still unsure how this happened, a nurse walks in with a happy smile and takes a look at the clipboard hanging from the edge of the bed.

"Hello, Mr. Herman. Good to see that you're awake." She comes over, lifts my left arm up, looking at the spot where the IV has been injected, making sure it's still in place.

"Thanks." My voice is raspy, dry from being unused. I clear my throat. "What happened?"

"You were in a car accident a couple days ago. You sustained some pretty serious injuries but it looks like everything will heal just fine." She writes down my vitals onto the clipboard, keeping a thorough record. Between looks at the vitals monitor, she says, "I'll notify Dr. Crichton that you're awake. He'll want to see you as soon as he can." The nurse places the clipboard back where it was hanging, walks out of the room, sliding the glass door almost all the way closed, leaving a crack between my room and the hallway.

How did I end up in a car accident? The last thing I can force myself to remember is getting onto the plane in New York. Everything after that is a haze, unknown.

. . . . . .

A man walks in wearing a white lab coat, a laptop in hand.

"Good morning, James. I'm Dr. Crichton, and no, before you ask, I'm in no way related to the author. I get asked that a lot." The doctor chuckles and then goes back to a straight face. "The nurse let me know you were awake. I'm sorry it took a little while to get here. I was performing a surgery." He opens the laptop, turns it on, setting it atop the counter while it wakes up. "Have you been able to retrieve any memories since the accident?"

"The last thing I remember is the plane ride from New York."

"Well, it's pretty common after something traumatic for our brains to go into a . . . lockdown mode, if you may. Not everybody does it, but sometimes our brains unintentionally protect ourselves by blocking out certain memories. The majority of the time, they're memories of traumatic events. In your case, the event would be the car accident you experienced."

"Will those memories come back to me?"

"Sometimes they do, other times they don't. It's different for every individual. If you would like, I can have the hospital psychologist come for a consult if you think that would help."

"What would they do?"

He pulls up a stool and sits beside me, speaking quietly enough not to wake the woman at the end of the bed.

"My guess is that they would want to ask you some questions like what's the most recent memory you have before the wreck and if you recognize this woman, for instance." He gestures to the sleeping woman. I don't let him know, but I honestly do not recognize her . . .

"What if there's something I can't remember?"

Dr. Crichton folds his hands together. "Well, in that case, the psychologist would likely prefer to try a cognitive interview. It's a way of releasing forgotten or locked away memories by using your senses and retracing your steps. If you watch any criminal investigative shows or read those sorts of books, giving cognitive interviews is one of their more widely used techniques."