Chapter 14
Simeon stared at the vending machine dispensing coffee into his paper cup. He didn’t know how much longer he could take this. Why hadn’t Abigail’s memories come back yet? It’d been two days, and the effects of the anesthesia should have worn off by now.
They’d taken her for yet another neurological test, and then Simeon was supposed to have yet another meeting with the doctor to discuss the results.
“Coffee’s done.” Dad pulled the cup off the vending machine and handed it to Simeon.
“Oh. Thanks.” Simeon lifted it to his lips. The scorching liquid burned its way down his throat, but it was better than the burning that had been there since Abigail had opened her eyes and not recognized him.
“Mr. Calvano?” A nurse popped into the waiting room. “Dr. Dorn is ready for you.”
He nodded tightly, his gut twisting.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Dad asked.
Simeon didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
The nurse led them to the end of the hallway, then ushered them into a small office. Dr. Dorn sat at his desk, studying a computer screen, but he stood and shook their hands, then directed them to the two stiff chairs on the other side of his desk.
Simeon sat on the very edge of his. “What did you find?”
Dr. Dorn folded his hands on the desk in front of him. “We’ve done a CT scan and an MRI. There are no signs of swelling or bleeding. No fractures. No brain trauma of any kind. We also did a functional MRI to test her brain function. Everything looks normal.”
“That’s good, right?” Dad patted Simeon’s shoulder.
But Simeon couldn’t answer, and Dr. Dorn kept talking as if Dad hadn’t interrupted. “Does she have a history of depression or emotional stress?”
“Depression?” Dad dropped his hand from Simeon’s shoulder and leaned forward in his seat. “What would that—”
But Simeon nodded dully. He knew where the doctor was going with this. “She’s—we’ve—lost a number of pregnancies over the past couple of years. It caused her significant emotional stress and depression.” Why had he not found some way to help her? He’d tried so hard . . . but he should have tried harder.
“I still don’t understand,” Dad interjected. “What does that have to do with the accident?”
“We’ve done a number of neurological evaluations,” Dr. Dorn explained calmly.
Simeon could sense Dad’s impatience for the doctor to make his point, but for his own part, Simeon wished the doctor would stop talking altogether.
“Her procedural memory is intact,” the doctor continued. “But retrieval of long-term memories seems to be compromised.”
Simeon’s stomach roiled.
“What does that mean? Simeon?” Dad turned to him.
“It means,” Dr. Dorn explained when Simeon couldn’t speak. “She seems to have generalized amnesia.”
“It could still be the effects of the anesthesia.” The words shot out of Simeon’s mouth. He had to believe it. Because if what Dr. Dorn was saying was true . . .
Dr. Dorn kept the same bland expression. “I would have expected it to resolve itself by now, if that were the case. Given that, and the fact that depression and trauma are risk factors for—”
“Generalized amnesia is very rare,” Simeon argued.
“First case I’ve seen in thirty years of practicing medicine,” Dr. Dorn agreed.
Simeon nodded grimly. He didn’t want to mention the one case he’d seen while completing his clinical hours. He’d only worked with the amnesic and his wife for a few months before their marriage fell apart and they stopped coming to counseling.
“But she’ll get her memories back, right?” Dad asked.
“There’s no way to know,” Simeon said quietly. “Some people get them back after a few days. Other people . . .” He couldn’t finish the thought.
“I’d like to keep her under observation a couple more days,” the doctor said. “But if all goes well, you should be able to take her home before the end of the week.”
Simeon nodded numbly. He could take her home—to a life she didn’t remember anymore.