I walked into my apartment for the first time in nearly four months. My husband dutifully escorting and helping me walk, along with my crutches. My left leg was still broken from the accident and the doctors said I would still need them for another week or two. Most of the rest of my injuries had fully healed, only a handful of scratches and bruises remaining, aside from my leg, indicating the horrific car wreck I was lucky to walk away from.
I looked around the living room seeking out the objects and signs of being home at last. Sadly no such feelings stirred in my mind of remembering this as my home.
It was the one other injury caused by the accident that hadn't healed, but wasn't visible. My memories, they had all been lost to the miasma of my mind, assuming they were still there at all, while I laid in a 3 week long coma. When I awoke in a dazed stupor the doctor and nurse tending to me began asking me all sorts of questions once they ascertained that I was indeed conscious once more.
"How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Can you tell me your first name?"
"What year is it?"
"What's the last thing that you remember?"
The last question left me most shaken. As I tried to remember, I realized that I couldn't remember anything. Sure I knew what things were, objects, words, etc. But my past, my identity, were missing from my mind. The last thing I remembered was waking up just moments ago. When I told the doctor and nurse, a man standing off by the window made a sobbing sound. I hadn't noticed him before in all my disoriented confusion and focus on the doctors. When I looked over at him, his hand was over his mouth and tears were forming in his eyes.
"Mrs. Marvet, do you recognize that man?" asked the doctor.
"No... Should I?"
The tears in the man's eyes began falling down his face, as he turned away and exited the room, undoubtedly to prevent everyone from seeing him break down.
I was soon to find out from the nurse that the crying man was my husband.
The majority of the past 3 months had been spent recovering from my various wounds, rehabilitating my now underused muscles and undergoing every scan, x-ray and test imaginable to determine what kind of damage had been done to my brain and how, or if, I could get my memories back.
According to the doctors, nothing appeared to be physically wrong with my brain, though there was some swelling from the accident that has since healed. My parents, sister and best friend, Sarah and Jenna, all came to visit me while I recuperated and the doctors hoped that perhaps one of them could have helped spark my memory. I remained a blank.
With my physical recovery nearly finished, the doctors decided it would be best to let me go home and put me back into familiar surroundings. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that it wasn't an immediate remedy, but still I was hoping...
Eric, my husband, has rarely left my side the entire time. I was told that even while I was in the coma he rarely left my bedside, wanting to be there if and when I woke up. He did go in to work for a few days after I remained unconscious for more than a week, trying to get his mind off of the issue and do something productive. But it was too much for him to bear to be away while I was injured and helpless.
He's been an amazing help and support in my physical therapy, and he's been trying everything he can to help me remember my past with him. I can understand why I fell in love with him, why I married him.
He's highly intelligent, patient, and sensitive with a quirky sense of humor. "Nerdy" is how he described himself to me. At 6' 4", dark hair, green eyes, strong build and a comforting smile, he's quite handsome to boot. In these past months I've often caught myself thinking that it's a lucky woman to have him as a husband, then I would remember that I am that lucky woman.
I must be akin to a ghost for him; helping me with my physical and mental rehabilitation every day like he does. Knowing that my memories of him, of us, are gone. His wife is here, in front of him, but gone all at once. Sometimes, he'll just stare into my eyes and I can see the pain he's going through in his; looking for that spark of recognition, that twinkle in my eye indicating my ever dying love for him. I see that affection he holds for me in his eyes just before it turns to sadness in seeing the stranger that I now am inside.
Now here I was, feeling like a stranger in my own home. Even the bedroom, the place where Eric and I shared many a night making love, did nothing to jog my memory of my past life.
Perhaps there was nothing here worth remembering?
In the few days after I had awakened from my coma, the lack of my memories caused me to question everything I was learning of my life. Plenty of marriages are out of convenience, or impulsive, or simply the result of one or both parties settling for the best they think they can get.
I had no reason to assume that my marriage was anything but a loving one due to Eric's constant and passionate support and attentions for my well-being and recovery. But still, the absence of my memories left me uneasy and questioning everything about what I've been told about my life. Even to question how loving my marriage was. All I had up to this point is everyone else's memories told to me. It was a terrible feeling.
My thoughts were brought back to the present as Eric walked into the bedroom and began talking to me.
"Your clothes are in this dresser here; underwear and bras in the top, shirts and shorts in the middle. Most of your nicer outfits are hanging in the closet with your jeans. I moved those out of the bottom drawer so you wouldn't have to bend so far to get them should you want to try to wear some of the looser ones over the cast. If you would like, I can draw you a bath tonight and help you into the tub so your cast won't get wet."
"No thanks, I think I'll just try to shower with the bag over my leg. Are my pajamas in the top drawer as well?"
He hissed and blushed a little, as if reluctant to give his response, before saying, "Well, there are some teddies in there that might pass for PJs. Though you don't really wear anything to bed."
"Oh!" I exclaimed, also now blushing. "Well, no offense, its just I wasn't exactly planning on getting in bed with you naked on the first night home. I mean, since I still don't remember you and all."
"Don't worry about it. I was planning on sleeping on the couch for a while anyway. Got my pillow and blanket all ready. "
"Oh, no! You shouldn't, it's your bed too. I could..." he cut me off and put his hands on my shoulders.
"No, its fine. I wouldn't expect you to sleep next to a man you barely remember. You're going through a lot. I want you feeling as comfortable as possible in your own home until you get your memories back, however long that takes."
