I have hardly slept, but it must be morning because a woman comes in with a cart and gives me a tray.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” she says. When she’s gone I open the lid and inspect the pancakes. They are limp and the color of cardboard. I am deciding whether I can force myself to take a bite when I hear someone clear his throat.
A short man with black hair and a salt-and-pepper beard stands in the doorway. His hands are in the pockets of his khaki pants, like he’s going for a stroll in the park. The sure way he walks and the confidence in his smile both scream “doctor,” but not in an arrogant way. I surprise myself by knowing his name: Dr. Lavoie. And I remember what the Man and Woman told me: this man saved my life. He is a hero, my very own Super Doc.
“Hi, Jessica,” he says. “Your parents are meeting me here in a bit, but I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d pop by early. Okay if I interrupt your breakfast?”
I nod, replacing the lid on the pancakes. “I would be forever grateful,” I say. He smiles and steps into my room, pausing to look at the photos on the bulletin board: the beach vacation, the Girl holding a newborn baby boy, the Girl wearing a giant cowboy hat. There are also cards signed Get Well Soon and Lots of Love xoxoxo. Super Doc stands with his hands on his hips, moving his head slowly from side to side as he works his way down the rows of photos.
“Hmm,” he says. “Hmm.”
Warmth rises into my face. He has probably poked and prodded me all over, this doctor. But his looking at the pictures feels more intimate somehow.
“I was a happy camper, wasn’t I?” I say, wanting more than anything for him to stop hmming and staring. He turns and gives me a gentle, even smile.
“I especially like the one with the cowboy hat.” He waits to see what I will say. Maybe he hopes he will catch me off guard, that I will reveal some hint of a memory or some preference for another picture. I laugh too loudly instead.
“I guess I had bad taste too.”
“You have something against Western wear?” He winks as he pulls a pen out of the front pocket of his blue-striped shirt.
“I’m not sure,” I answer.
He nods and sits down on the chair next to my bed. “I thought it was time we had a little chat.”
I suddenly feel stupid that I’m wearing Hello Kitty pajamas. He’s waiting for me to give him the thumbs-up, I guess, so I say, “All right.”
“You seem to be doing well.”
Well? If that’s another way of saying screwed in the head, maybe. I meet his gaze and am trying to think of the best way to correct him when the Woman bursts into the room. Her hair is messy, but she pats it down.
“Sorry,” she says. “Ray had a bit of trouble with the tractor this morning, but he got it going and here we are.” I don’t see any “we,” only her, but the Man must be close behind.
Super Doc laughs politely and stands to shake her hand.
“Glad you made it.” He gestures to the chair, and she sits down as the Man strolls in.
Friendly handshakes between the men, and we settle down to business. I sit on the bed and we talk about my Brain. The Accident. My Life.
Super Doc is amazingly positive and has nothing but good things to say. I am strong, he says, and young, and that has allowed my brain to heal quickly. Although my walking is a bit shaky at the moment, it won’t be long before it is back to normal. “It’s amazing, Jessica, how far you’ve come in the past three weeks. The human brain’s ability to recover from trauma never ceases to astound me.”
“Uh, thanks,” I say.
The Woman’s eyes are shiny and proud, like I’ve won a spelling bee.
The Man’s face, however, is solemn. He leans forward. “So,” he says, “when is she going to start remembering things?”
Super Doc doesn’t miss a beat. “That was what I wanted to talk about next.”
The joy on the Woman’s face fades. Super Doc turns to me then, and his brown eyes are warm and kind. “Everything I’ve said is true. You are bouncing back remarkably well, Jessica. Most people with this kind of injury eventually recover the majority of their memories. But I can’t lie. There’s no real way of knowing yet, and no guarantees.”
I keep my eyes down, studying my hands, and though I probably should be upset or worried, I feel strangely numb. My post-traumatic brain struggles to absorb what he has said. Most people get their memories back. Not all. And, of course, Super Doc wouldn’t lie. I want to ask him if having no feelings is usual too, but that would only add to the Man’s and Woman’s stress.
“For now, Jessica should continue with her rehabilitation,” Super Doc says. “We’ll do another CT scan soon and take it from there. Feel free to ask me questions anytime.”
Suddenly they are all standing up and exchanging handshakes. “Thank you,” the Woman says. Her face is as white as my bedsheet.
Super Doc reaches over and gives my knee a squeeze, then heads toward the door. I nearly grab his arm, beg him to stay and save me again, get me out of this mess for good. But I am a wimp and watch him go.
“Oh, Jess,” the Man says softly, his arm going around my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”
My mouth answers without my brain’s permission. “And how do you know?”
I’m not sure whether the flash in his eyes is hurt or just plain worry, but either way, I disgust myself.