Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Tatiana
I’m sitting next to Dante on the sofa in the consultation room with my hand clasped in his.
After the doctor scraped out the gravel, fresh scabs formed on my knees and the heels of my palms. The stitches in my temple came out yesterday.
All that’s left is to find out why a part of my memory is gone.
Dr. Chad stands behind her desk, bent over her computer with her hand poised on the mouse.
We’ve declined the herbal tea her secretary has offered us.
I can’t speak for Dante, but I’m too nervous to drink anything.
My stomach is drawn into a tight ball as we wait for the doctor to share my test results with us.
The only sound in the room is the sporadic clicking of her mouse and the hum of the printer as it spits out pages.
The space where she receives her patients has clearly been designed to emit calm and serenity.
The neutral colors are warm and inviting.
The modern taupe-colored sofa is both elegant and comfortable.
Artful nature photographs with soft hues of green adorn the walls.
Potted plants add to the biophilic style of the interior design.
Dressed in a red fitted skirt suit and black heels, the doctor stands out against the earthy tones of the backdrop. I suddenly feel very under-dressed in my casual blue sundress that I paired with ballerina flats.
Dr. Chad gathers a thick stack of papers from the printer and slips them into a glossy folder with the logo of her private practice printed on the front.
Presumably, those are my test results that will—hopefully—explain what’s wrong with me.
I watch her face for any clues, but her expression gives nothing away.
A tall, slender woman, she moves with natural grace. She reminds me of a model on a catwalk as she sashays over and hands me the folder before draping herself with easy confidence and innate elegance into the chair facing us. Stretching her arms along the armrests, she crosses her long legs.
Her shiny gray hair is cut in a short, funky bob. Light make-up accentuates her attractive features.
Regarding us with observant blue eyes from snazzy, red-framed spectacles, she says, “Those are your test results.”
For some reason, I find the doctor and the setting intimidating.
Everything from her stylish person to the immaculate interior decoration is simply too perfect.
I would’ve felt more at ease if a few of the scatter cushions were out of place.
Instead of relaxing me, the flawless environment makes me nervous.
As if sensing my discomfort, Dante squeezes my hand.
The doctor smiles amiably. Her manner is always calm. Sometimes, I find that reassuring. At other times, such as now, it’s unnerving. A calm demeanor is often a smokescreen for delivering bad news.
She folds her hands in her lap. She has unblemished hands with slender fingers and manicured nails. She never fiddles or gestures with her hands. They’re as quiet as her composed manner when she says, “Mrs. Morici, the good news is that your test results don’t indicate physical head trauma.”
Dante clenches my hand so hard it hurts. “Then how do you explain the fact that she can’t remember?”
“Your wife’s amnesia is of a psychological nature.” Addressing me, she continues. “You’re suffering from selective amnesia.”
“What exactly is that?” Dante asks in a tight voice.
“That’s the terminology we use when a person loses a part or specific parts of their memory.”
Dante watches her with a stony expression. “Is there an explanation for why this happens?”
“In the event of no apparent physical damage, which is the case in your wife’s situation, it could be the mind’s way of protecting itself from a stressful event or a combination of events.”
Dante glances at me. “So she’s subconsciously suppressing the memories?”
“You could say so.”
I swallow. “Is there a treatment for that?”
“There’s a treatment for everything, Mrs. Morici.” Dr. Chad’s tone is friendly. “How well a patient reacts to the treatment depends on the individual.”
Dante rubs circles over my palm with his thumb. “What do you recommend?”
“I’d like to start with hypnotherapy. I’ve had great results using this method with my other patients, but you should know that it’s a long process that requires patience. There’s no magical fix.”
I’ve read she’s an expert in the field. She’s world renowned for hypnotizing patients when, due to health risks, general anesthesia can’t be administered during operations. Some of her patients have undergone open-heart surgery under hypnosis.
Dante looks at me again. When I nod, he turns back to the doctor. “How do we proceed?”
“I’ll schedule weekly sessions to start with.” Dr. Chad moves her gaze from Dante to me. “We can reduce the frequency later, depending on how well you react to the treatment.”
“And if she doesn’t?” Dante asks.
“Then we’ll discuss alternative treatments.
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. In cases like these, it’s important to keep the patient’s stress levels reduced.
We’ll focus on one thing at a time and look at alternatives if hypnotherapy doesn’t produce the desired results.
Although, so far, it’s been the most effective and noninvasive method of therapy in the amnesia cases I’ve treated. ”
Dante’s eyebrows snap together. “So there’s nothing more we can do with allopathic medicine?”
“Not for now. I could prescribe anti-anxiety and sleep medications, but Mrs. Morici indicated on her questionnaire that she preferred to try natural remedies, and I agree with her decision. Insomnia, which could be a stress-related side-effect of amnesia, isn’t an issue in this case, and we’ll work on breathing and mental exercises to manage panic attacks should more occur.
I’m positive that these methods will be effective.
” She fixes me with another friendly smile.
“It’s normal that you’ll be eager to remember.
Forgetting parts of your life is a great cause of anxiety.
However, don’t be hard on yourself. Trying to force yourself to remember will only worsen your symptoms. The mind’s worst enemy is stress, especially with selective amnesia. ”
“What if she asks about events she can’t remember?” Dante continues to rub soothing circles over my palm. “Can I tell her, or is it better that she remembers in her own time?”
“If you want to know anything, Mrs. Morici, you can ask your husband. Mr. Morici, don’t hesitate to tell her if she asks you to fill in the gaps for her.
But don’t sit her down and give her a history lesson as some of the family members of my patients are inclined to do.
They mean well, but instead of helping, rushing the process just adds to the anxiety of the patient.
” She looks between us before settling her gaze on my face again.
“You don’t have to feel pressured to remember anything.
In most cases, the patient’s memory returns on its own. ”
In most cases, meaning not necessarily in all.
This isn’t exactly great news. There’s no assurance that my memory will return.
I steal a glance at Dante to measure his reaction.
A muscle ticks in his temple. “What kind of timeline are we looking at? Months or years?”
The situation is obviously as stressful for him as for me.
“That depends on the patient. As I said, each situation and person are unique.”
He pulls my hand into his lap. “What can I do to help?”
“Your support is fundamental to how well Mrs. Morici reacts to the treatment.
Of course, the situation can be trying for everyone close to the patient.
The key is open and honest communication.
Understanding and patience can go a long way in helping your wife to heal in a stress-free and nurturing environment.
“Avoid placing expectations on her that will only add to her stress. Simply try to be there for her when she needs you. Most of my patients heal faster when their loved ones accept their condition and provide a loving and safe environment for healing.”
I clear my throat. “Something bad happened to me, right?”
The doctor’s smile doesn’t falter. “There’s a probability that something traumatic took place, something that was stressful enough to have caused your mind to block out the event.
Sometimes, it’s one major event. At other times, a series of events can build up to a point where the smallest external factor can trigger a reaction.
But nothing is cast in stone. The mind is a complex and vastly unconquered organ.
Rest assured, you’re in good hands. My methodologies have a high success rate, and I achieve good results with my patients. ”
“What if those stressful memories return?” Dante traces the scars on my knuckles where I’ve broken the skin. “Won’t it be harmful for her on a psychological level then?”
“That’s what we’ll be working on during our sessions.
” She checks her watch. “Just as we do exercises to strengthen our physical body, we can do exercises to strengthen our psyche.” Standing, she straightens her skirt.
“We’ll practice techniques for working through trauma and prepare you to deal with it when your memory returns.
My job is to help you process it.” She holds out a hand.
“My secretary will email your appointment schedule.”
Dante helps me to my feet. We shake the doctor’s hand and thank her, even though I’m not a hundred percent convinced that hypnotherapy is the answer.
Dante guides me from the room with a hand on the small of my back. His bodyguards, who wait in the doctor’s reception area, follow us from the building. More men surround us outside.
A bearded man wearing a black T-shirt, sleeveless denim jacket, and faded jeans waits next to the car in the parking lot. He opens the back door when we approach.
I shoot him an uncertain smile. “Thanks.”
He looks familiar. I’m sure I should know his name.