She nodded, knowing sheshouldfeel better there was nothing physically wrong with her, but in some ways, a positive result would have been a relief, because until she had an explanation for what was going on inside her head, she doubted finding a solution was possible. ‘Do you know what’s wrong with me?’ Her voice sounded small and quiet to her own ears.
Dr Manzar crossed one leg over the other and balanced his clipboard on his thigh. ‘I suspect you have a form of dissociative amnesia.’
‘Suspect?’ Ben said. ‘You don’t know for sure?’
‘It’s what best fits the symptoms and circumstances, but diagnosis of this kind of amnesia can be tricky, but since there’s no physical cause, this is the most likely scenario.’
None of this was making her feel any more hopeful, but she nodded mutely, more to signal she’d heard and understood than anything else.
‘Normally, people with this condition might lose all or some memories of a particular time period, or maybe only memories associated with a particular place or person. It’s much more unusual to have generalised amnesia – no knowledge at all about your own identity.I’ve only come across one other case in my twenty years as a psychologist, and never one of this particular nature.’
She swallowed. This information, although hardly unexpected, was making her head pound again, and she was dangerously close to bursting into tears. She wished shecouldslip into unconsciousness and let them run their tests and find out what was wrong with her while she lay peacefully in a hospital bed. That way, she wouldn’t have to deal with any of it.
Come on,a voice said inside her head.You can’t run away from your problems.
She didn’t know whose voice it was – maybe it was her own – but it was making a very good point. Even though she felt like limply collapsing to the floor and sobbing, she forced herself to slow her breathing, to pay attention to what the doctor was telling her. She needed to understand. ‘Checking out’ wasn’t an option.
He gave her a sympathetic look. So much for faking it ’til she made it. ‘I know this is hard … Do you want to take a break?’
‘No. I’ll be okay, honestly. Carry on.’
Dr Manzar nodded. ‘Dissociative amnesia is nearly always a result of some kind of psychological trauma. It’s the brain’s way of protecting itself. The mind shuts down, if you like, rather than dealing with the painful situation. Sometimes that combines with the “fight or flight” response, and people will not just distance themselves psychologically, but they might also putliteraldistance between themselves and the situation, taking unplanned and unexpected travel, and may only realise they’ve lost their memory when someone asks them for some pertinent personal information.’
She nodded, her teeth clenching together. That wasexactlywhat had happened when the guy at the café had asked for her name. ‘Will I … Will I get my memory back?’
Dr Manzar nodded. ‘Most people suffering from this type of amnesia do eventually recover their memories, although there’s no set timescale for that to happen.’
She began to tremble inwardly. This news made her feel hopeful and scared at the same time. ‘It might be a few more days, then?’
‘Maybe. But it could be weeks or even months.’
‘Years?’ she asked hoarsely, hoping against hope she was wrong.
‘Well, that would be more unusual, but it can’t be ruled out. I’m sorry.’
Ben shifted in his chair. ‘What about treatment?’
‘In such cases, psychotherapy is usually very effective.’
Her heart sank. ‘There’s nothing you can do today, no procedure, no pill, that might hurry things along?’
The doctor shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. Treatment will involve uncovering the memories responsible for the dissociation and then dealing with those. Often there’s an attempt to integrate the two sets of memories, but I also want to prepare you for the fact that regaining your memories may not be a gradual process. They may all come flooding in at once, and if this happens before the two sets of memories have been integrated, it’s possible you won’t remember anything that happened while you’ve been in this dissociative “fugue” state. Just like you did this morning, you might find yourself somewhere you didn’t expect to be,wondering how you got there.’
Morememory loss? Her inward trembling amplified to the point where her legs began to shake, and her breathing became fast and shallow. She was going to have another meltdown, right here in this tiny, sterile consulting room, wasn’t she? Heaving in a couple of ragged breaths, she looked at Ben in panic.
He looked almost as pained as she did to hear this diagnosis. When he saw her looking at him, he reached out and held her hand. There was something about the warmth, the pure reality of him, that helped her feel a little more grounded. She wanted to hug him, she realised, to just bury her face into that fleece-clad shoulder and cling to his solid bulk once more. Hanging onto him by the pier had been the only time her universe had felt steady that day.
Dr Manzar looked sympathetically at her. ‘I know this must all be very distressing for you, but there is hope. Please remember that. I’m going to refer you to a specialist memory loss unit in Glasgow.’
‘I can’t talk toyou?’
Dr Manzar shook his head. ‘While we do have a mental health unit attached to the hospital here, it deals mainly with community cases. You need someone who has more experience with this condition than we can offer.’
That was the moment she chose to burst into tears. She leant over, and began to make large, gulping sobs until she was sure there was no more breath left in her body. When she looked up, Dr Manzar was holding a box of tissues. He offered her one, not looking fazed in the slightest.
‘It’s completely understandable, and – dare I say it – completely normal for you to feel the way you do. But it is very likely you will get your memories back. It just might take some time. You’ll be in good hands with the memory unit …’ He turned away and tapped something on the computer on the desk behind him. ‘You’ll probably get a referral letter in a couple of weeks.’
She sat up straighter. ‘A couple of weeks? What do I do until then? Where do I go?’
