“How long does this disorienting process last?” I ask, trying to squelch the panic rising in me.
“No two cases are the same. Some people regain their memories in hours, some in weeks,” he says. “For others it can take months, and in some rare cases, patients may never recover them fully.”
My whole body stiffens when I hear those last words. How can this be happening to me?
“I’m going to send in the nurse, who will give you a handout on activities you need to refrain from to help your brain heal.”
“Like what?”
“Nobody likes this, but you need to stay off screens as much as possible for the next six weeks.”
“Six weeks! I can’t do that. I need to be on screens for my job.”Job searchis more accurate. I only have one client right now and I can’t afford to lose her. I need to be online, applying for jobs and updating my LinkedIn page; plus, I have a screening interview tomorrow.
“I understand that it may not be possible for everyone,” Dr. Malik says. “But you must try to minimize your time on screens. No more than thirty minutes a day. Got it?”
I pull a face and turn to Miguel for commiseration, but he shakes his head. “Don’t look at me.”
Dr. Malik sighs. “You wouldn’t walk on a broken ankle, right? Give your brain a chance to heal.” The doctor stands up. “There’s one more thing. We are legally obligated to contact law enforcement when we know that someone has been physically assaulted, but this is a gray area. We don’t know what happened to you last night.”
“You think I was assaulted? I mean, I would remember that, I’m sure.”
“Not necessarily. The brain can try to protect you by erasing frightening things. And we can’t tell from your injury. It’s certainly not out of the question. Your head wound is consistent with blunt force trauma. Worst-case scenario, when your memory comes back and you realize you did fall, then you wasted half an hour with the police. But if you remember something else…”
“Like if someone attacked me?”
He shrugs noncommittally. “If that turns out to be the case, you’ll be glad to have initiated an investigation. To not have to start from scratch. If it were me, or my wife, I would call thepolice.” Dr. Malik pauses. “And it’s not a bad idea to run a tox screen.”
“Wait, what?” Miguel asks. “You think someone roofied her?”
I shoot him a look. “Why is that so crazy, because I’m almost fifty? Who would want to roofie me?”
He laughs nervously. “I didn’t mean that.”
“Tell you what,” Dr. Malik says. “We’ll take some blood before you leave and send it to the lab. It takes a few weeks to get results. It’ll put your mind at rest.”
On the ride home, I press my face against the cold glass of the window to help keep me awake. I’m thoroughly exhausted, the kind of full-body fatigue I associate with having the flu or jet lag. The nurse said that this was normal and that it might linger for several weeks. The whole thing feels like an awful fever dream. Just last night I was drinking in the Allards’ backyard, toasting our kids, and now I face aroad to recovery. I hate that phrase.
“I want to call the police when we get home,” I say as we pull onto our street.
Miguel does not respond.
“Did you hear me?”
“I heard you. If you think that’s the right move.” He pulls up in front of our house and cuts the engine.
“I do. Don’t you? I mean, something happened to me last night, Miguel. I don’t know what but I think the police should be involved.” I unclick my seat belt. “It would be nice if you supported me.”
He takes my hand in his and squeezes it. “I do support you. We’ll call the police, okay?”
Once inside, I curl up in the living room with Kugel at my feet as Miguel makes the call from the kitchen. Ensconced in the sofa’s soft pillows, I feel the pull of sleep. I take out my phone and look at the call log. The last person I spoke to was Yumi, and the call ended at 8:36 last night. A text from her also time-stamped at 8:36 reads:
You OK? Got disconnected. Pls check in.
And my response:
I’m fine. Just going to call it a night. Talk tomorrow.
I have no recollection of either the phone call or sending that text. Maybe I can stop by Yumi’s later and ask her what we were talking about.