Page 7 of Just My Puck
She leans forward with a large magnifying lens, and I do my best to keep my right eye open.
“Might be a scratched cornea,” she says.
Great. I don’t even know what that means.
“It’s hard to know for certain. I’ll have to take you to ophthalmology for a diagnosis. In the meantime, we’ll give you something for the pain. Do you remember what happened?”
I purse my lips, racking my brain. “I don’t recall. I guess I took some kind of blow to the head at an arena? That’s what the paramedic said, but I don’t remember being there.”
“What’s the last thing you do remember?”
I draw a blank, my migraine intensifying. Groaning, I rub my forehead. Dang, it hurts. “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything.”
“That’s okay,” she says, her voice soothing. “Claire, here, is going to take you to radiology for some exams. After that, an ophthalmologist will look at your eye, okay?”
I force a nod.
“All right. We’ll talk right afterward.”
I want to pepper her with questions, ask her why I don’t remember anything, but I’m already being whisked out of the room on the rolling bed.
After doing a CT and an MRI scan, the ophthalmologist confirms I do have a scratched cornea. He puts some drops in my eye, then tapes a pirate-looking patch over it to prevent the eyelid from moving over the damaged area. Then, he sends me back to Dr. Silva with a prescription, telling me to check back with him in a few days.
“All right,” she says, marching into the room. “I’m still waiting on your results, but it shouldn’t be long. How’s your pain level?”
“Better.” I nod. “Thanks.”
“Can I ask you a few questions?” She sits on the side of my bed.
I clear my throat. “Um, sure.”
“Okay. Do you know what your name is? Or your last name, maybe?”
Panic rushes through me again as I draw a blank. Why don’t I know the answer to this simple question? Everyone knows their own name.
“It’s okay,” she says with a comforting smile. “Don’t panic. Do you know where you are right now?”
“A hospital,” I say, relieved to know at least that.
“Good. Do you know which city you’re in?”
I look around for clues, anything, because I have absolutely no idea.
“You’re in Brooklyn, New York,” she says softly. “Do you live in Brooklyn?”
“Uh.” I frown again, scouring my brain to find an answer to this basic question, but it’s no use. “I’m not sure.”
“That’s okay,” she says, her voice still soothing. “Do you know what day it is, or even just the month?”
“December,” I say, my eyes drawn to the Christmas lights in the corridor.
She follows my gaze, and I know she caught me cheating. “That’s right. Do you know who the president of the United States is?”
I shake my head, tears welling inmy eyes. I know—out of all of the questions she’s asked me, it’s the one about the president that brings on the tears. I don’t feel like the kind of person who would follow politics, but I also know that you can’t spend one day in this country without seeing the president’s face on social media, TV, or the newspaper. Yet, I have absolutely no idea. Maybe a woman finally made it to office? What year is it? Am I in the future?
I saw no indication of that during my trip to radiology. Not one robot in sight, and the ambulance I arrived in was definitely not flying.
“Try not to worry,” Dr. Silva says with a warm smile. “I’ll let you get some rest while I go check on your results. I’ll be right back.”
