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.Washe 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 theyaren'ttelling 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.”
