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 arevastly 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—theotherpart 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.
Chapter Eleven
Trevor
Agratuitous knock on the door just before it opens has my pulse racing. Is this the moment I get to finally figure out who the hell I am?
I recognize Ava immediately. Not from memories of my childhood, our courtship, or the decade we’ve been married, but from the photos I saw yesterday.
I stare at my…wife. My eyes rake over every curve of her face as I wait for the awareness to come. My stomach dissolves into an empty pit of despair when nothing happens. No hint of a spark. No twinge of a feeling. Not even an instinct. Nothing. She might as well be another nurse coming to check on me.
“Trevor?” she says, her chin quivering as tears cascade down her cheeks.
I shake my head. “I…”
She races across the room, leans over my bed, and pulls me into a crushing hug. It tugs on my healing side wounds, but I don’t pull away because I’m still trying to put myself in her shoes.
