Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Ava
Dawn holds my hand as we await news. Chuck is watching CNN on the corner TV while sipping his third cup of coffee. We’ve been here for hours. An administrator checks on us from time to time, telling us it won’t be much longer. That they’re admitting him and running baseline tests.
I’m still numb. And I don’t know what to think or how to feel.
I’m not sure I’ll truly believe he’s alive until I physically see him with my own eyes.
After all, they made a mistake once, who’s to say they haven’t made another.
Then again, if he was stable enough for an overseas flight, I’m sure he’s conscious enough to talk to his doctors.
That realization brings me some relief. Still, I don’t know the extent of his injuries. The casualty assistance officers told me he hadn’t lost any limbs. But things could still be seriously wrong. He could be disfigured. Brain damaged. Burned.
I’m about to make myself crazy with what ifs when the door opens and two men wearing business casual clothes covered by white coats walk in.
The three of us stand as one unit.
The tall one has kind eyes and a friendly smile, which do little to put me at ease. “I’m Dr. Wheeler,” he says. “Chief of neurology, and this is Dr. Cranz. We’re heading up Trevor’s care team.”
Since I’m frozen in place, nervous anticipation slithering up my spine, Chuck shakes both their hands and introduces them to Dawn and me.
“Shall we sit?” Dr. Cranz asks.
As we do, Dawn blurts, “Is Trevor okay?”
Dr. Wheeler’s hesitant nod is not exactly reassuring. “He was stable enough to be transferred back to the states, so that’s always a good start. But he’s also conscious. And he’s talking, eating, and getting up to use the bathroom.”
Dawn squeezes my hand and smiles, and I can’t help my deep, relieved sigh. He’s conscious. Talking. Things can’t be all that bad if he’s doing things on his own, right?
“We have a lot to go over,” the doctor says. He looks at me. “What have you been told?”
I’m scared, tense, and practically paralyzed with anxiety. Chuck doesn’t fail to notice and proceeds to tell them what little information the CAOs gave us, which is next to nothing.
“I’ll give you the rundown of his injuries,” Dr. Cranz says.
“He sustained partial thickness burns to both lower legs, which are healing up nicely. His right arm will be in a cast for four more weeks due to a radial fracture. There are several areas along his left torso that were hit with shrapnel. Luckily, there was no damage to his organs. The stitches have come out, and he just needs to be careful not to lift much or strain himself. There was an orbital fracture of his left eye which led to a considerable amount of facial swelling. Along with that, there was other trauma to his face causing substantial bruising.”
Tears fall from my eyes as I ask, “Was all that from the accident or from…” I can’t even say the words. Was he tortured?
“We believe so. His injuries are consistent with what’s been seen after other IED explosions.”
“And the head injury? The coma?” Chuck asks. “What about those?”
Dr. Cranz turns to Dr. Wheeler, apparently giving him the floor.
“Here’s where things get tricky. Trevor has suffered memory loss.”
Dawn gasps. “As in amnesia?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“He doesn’t remember the accident?” I ask.
“It’s more than that, Mrs. Criss. And at this time we’re unsure of the true nature of the amnesia.
It’s been tossed around that it’s possible he’s suffering from a condition called dissociative amnesia, or DA.
This type of amnesia can happen when the mind tries to block out important memories about oneself, namely traumatic ones.
In my professional opinion, however, I’m not convinced this is the case.
It’s been confirmed they were only in captivity for mere hours.
That’s just not enough time for the brain to want to suppress memories.
DA usually happens after repeated or prolonged events.
Think of a child who’s been continually abused—”
Chuck leans forward, cutting off the doctor’s narrative. “So in your professional opinion, what do you think is going on?”
“I believe it’s a traumatic brain injury. TBI’s can present differently in every patient.” The two doctors share a look. “But with Trevor, well, it’s just beyond anything I’ve seen, and I’ve been at this for decades.”
I’m really beginning to be freaked out here. My hands turn clammy and my heart rate accelerates as I try to keep myself from spiraling into hysterics over what they aren't telling us.
As if Dawn senses my complete and total unease, she wraps her arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. It’s comforting even though I can feel her trembling at least as much as I am.
“Most people who suffer from amnesia experience localized or selective memory loss, meaning they can’t remember specific events or periods of time. Trevor’s memory loss goes far beyond this.”
“How far?” Chuck asks, his voice laced with concern.
The doctor hesitates, locking eyes with the other one for a moment before he replies. “Well, total, sir. Trevor has no recollection of who he is. He’s lost all sense of self.”
My hand covers my mouth, muffling my sob as I hear Dawn cry out. I close my eyes and make myself breathe slowly in an attempt to stave off the sick feeling of acid eating its way up my throat.
“He…” Chuck is completely ashen. “He doesn’t know who he is?”
Dr. Wheeler shakes his head. “I’m sorry, no. But the hope is when he sees the three of you, his memories will come flooding back. It can happen that way. Or the memories can come back over time.”
I swallow. “Or… never?” I barely get out the words, my voice small and shaky.
“That’s a slim possibility,” the doctor says, causing me to take a relieved breath, because right now, any sliver of hope is better than nothing.
“There’s more.”
My chest tightens again and I squeeze my eyes tightly shut.
A hand lightly touches my knee. “No more bad news, Mrs. Criss.”
My eyes open. “Then what is it?”
“Let me tell you a bit about how we hold memories. Think of the memory like a library inside your mind. And there are vastly different parts to that library. Autobiographical memories are stored in one area of the library. You can think of this area as every book holding an event from your life and each of those books are categorized with similar books. It’s also called episodic memory, or the memory of experiences.
This is the part of the library Trevor can’t access.
But the good news is—and this is why he’s being looked at as somewhat of a medical phenomenon around here—the other part of his memory, what we call the long-term semantic memory, or the memory of facts and knowledge, seems particularly intact. Practically unscathed.”
“In English please,” I beg.
“Sorry. Let me back up. Trevor shocked the doctors back at Landstuhl when although he had no memory of who he was, where he was, or why he was there, he knew all the ins and outs about his medical condition.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Trevor knows a lot of things. After speaking with him myself, I’m fairly confident he could easily take out my appendix.
He’s retained his medical knowledge and also has a vast knowledge of random facts and trivia.
As an example, he might be able to tell you the capital of France, but he’s unable to recall how he learned that information. ”
“Oh my god. How is that possible?”
“The brain is a tricky and magnificent organ, Mrs. Criss.”
“So, let me get this straight,” Chuck says. “My son remembers that he’s a doctor, but not that he’s our son?”
“He doesn’t recall being a doctor. And he was quite shocked to find out he is one. In fact, he’s expressed that he didn’t know that what he knows is any different than what you or I know. He thought everyone around him knew the same things he did.”
“That’s really confusing,” Dawn says.
“Yes, it is, especially for Trevor. As I said, we’re hoping seeing the people whom he was closest with will spark his memory. He’s hopeful as well. But if it doesn’t, you’re going to have to be very patient with him.”
“Of course we will be,” Dawn says. “Whatever it takes.”
“I’ll warn you that people suffering from amnesia can be difficult at times.
He will be frustrated and confused. But he may also be agitated or develop behavioral problems. He could suffer from anxiety.
He could even be combative. And even if—or when—his memory returns, it’s not uncommon for people who’ve had TBIs to experience changes in their personality.
I’m not saying any or all of that will happen.
I just need you to be prepared for the possibilities. ”
“Doctor?” I say with hesitation. “You said Trevor is hopeful his memory will return when he sees us. That means he knows about us and that we’re here?”
“Yes. He’s actually already seen you. He’s seen photos of all of you on social media.”
My heart falls into the pit of my stomach. “He’s seen us, but he still doesn’t remember?”
“Believe it or not, sight is one of the weakest senses we have. Smell, touch, hearing. Those tend to evoke much stronger memories and emotions.” He stands and gestures to the door. “Shall we?”
I stand between my inlaws, eyes unfocused with tears, body shaking. Because I’m about to see the man who is the love of my life. The man whose child I’m carrying. The boy who stole my heart when I was thirteen.
The man who may not have any idea who I am or the dreams we shared.