Page 18 of Am I Allergic to Men?
They’re doing it now. I can hear hushed whispers from the corridor chatting about me, thinking I’m still in my coma, believing I’m still the baby on the end who needs protecting, who’s still vulnerable.
‘How can she think it’s 2010? That was over ten years ago?’
I don’t know who is in that huddle but amongst them is my brain surgeon, Mr Gomes, who came in earlier and asked me a bunch of questions and shone a lot of light in my eyes. He does this a lot and inspects my scar, looking by and large extremely proud of his work. When he came in, I fully expected one of the sisters to be married to him. Maybe I was married to him. Maybe I fell in love with a Portuguese doctor who has a rounded paunch like a teapot. Maybe we have kids called João and Inez and a house full of cats.
I don’t know who anyone is any more because it’s 2022. I’ve literally lost years and no one knows why. Am I scared out of my mind? Yes. This is like the future. Are the cars flying yet? Because the phone technology is crazy. Is Justin Bieber still a thing? I had a whole season of30 Rocksaved on the planner. Did anyone get rid of it? But I daren’t say this out loud because I should feel lucky to be here, to be alive. It feels like a hangover. A really terrible one. I watched that film. I remember that film. We all wanted to shag Bradley Cooper after that except Emma, who was strangely drawn to the singing, toothless dentist.
Or maybe I’m a traveller in time. Like a female Michael J. Fox. Like maybe a bus hit me into another dimension or forward in time. Yet all my theorising, all my worry, is also mingled with suspicion because I know what my sisters are like and this could possibly still be a very elaborate joke. Those cows told me for years that my real father was Giles fromBuffy the Vampire Slayerand that he had to leave the actual country to be a Watcher because he was so ashamed of me. They loved the pranking.
I’ve been introduced to so many children. One nephew is literally months old. His name is Jude. Nieces and nephews for days. They all seem to like me very much and I’m surrounded by their artwork so I’m glad that whatever has transpired in the last ten or so years means I’ve been a quality aunt. But the life stories, the sheer amount of extra people we seem to have acquired, makes me think this could be a very elaborate set-up. These are all actors, perhaps. Maybe the sisters have gone to extra lengths to prank me. A prank that has seen Beth go up a few dress sizes, Meg dusting her hair with talc, Emma pretending to be a qualified doctor. If it is a prank then there is a lot of attention to detail, almost too much. This means there is only one outcome here and that is my brain has shut down the last ten or so years of my life. It’s literally forgotten them.
‘The brain is a very curious mechanism and amnesia like this is not something we can ever hope to understand. It could be brought about by injury or the trauma. I would need to do more investigations. The earlier MRI showed no clots or other injuries that could be causing this,’ explains Mr Gomes.
‘So is this permanent?’ Meg.
‘What if the MRI missed something?’ Grace.
‘How can this be happening? She remembers everything.’ Beth.
‘Emma, is this the best neurosurgeon we know? Is it time for a second opinion?’ Mum.
‘I can’t answer that for sure. Sometimes these things can be temporary. I’ve had people in comas who’ve woken up with accents, new personalities, the deficits and changes can be so different. I can’t say anything until I’ve done more exploratory tests,’ continues my poor brain surgeon.
I wonder what those tests will be. Will they involve needles? Then again, I must be OK with needles because I have these tattoos. Not just the leopard. I have some flowers down one shoulder that trail along my bicep. I have an actual Tweety Pie on my ankle. Did I do that as a bet? I close my eyes for a second. Come on, Lucy. You were on a bike. Remember the bike. It must be in there. Maybe it’s like a maze. I have to open up all these doors and channels to remember anything. Try harder.
‘All I know is that her initial reflexes and observations are good. Please give her time to rest. Don’t inundate her. It may just be some sort of fog. We need to let the fog clear. I’ll let you know when I know more. For the meanwhile, I’m going to ensure someone from psychiatry comes down too.’
‘You think this may be caused by some psychiatric disorder?’ Emma.
‘What she has been through is traumatic, and when we have no organic answers for why Lucy’s amnesia has happened then we have to look to other psychological mechanisms to explain things.’
Lucy. She always had a touch of crazy about her.I try and piece together what I’ve just heard. So the brain is intact. That’s good. But maybe there are some screws loose. Christ, this could be a hallucination of sorts, some form of psychosis. I’ve not left this room. What’s outside this room? Maybe there’s nothing. I’ll know if I start seeing twins dressed the same and twisting staircases, right? This could be a truly excellent episode ofThe X-Files. What was the last thing I remember? What did I last eat? What was I wearing? I don’t have a bike. There is certainly no bike. I clench my eyes closed. Come on, Luce.
‘Are you in pain? Are you wincing, my dear?’
The door of my room is open and Zahra stands there in an apron and with a trolley.
‘No. Come in… I was just closing my eyes to see if I could retrieve my memory.’
‘Well, that is one way of doing things. Has it worked?’
‘No.’
She leaves the door ajar as my family continue to fire questions at poor Mr Gomes. Zahra watches me listening, taking in all these words about my poorly working brain, about a part of my life I’m desperately trying to find.
‘Is Mr Gomes safe? Are they coming at him from all directions?’ I ask.
‘Haha, I am sure Mr Gomes can handle himself.’
‘You’ve not met my family…’
‘I can tell them to move into one of the rooms down the corridor if you don’t want to hear anything? It can be a lot to take on.’
‘It’s fine. This way I get to earwig. I’m good at that. One of my best skills from being the youngest. Have they at least stopped crying?’ I ask.
‘Your dad is still quite bereft. Him and Grace are standing there holding each other.’
‘Grace apparently lost a husband recently. His name was Tom. My sister must have been through so much. All that grief and I can’t remember any of it.’
