"Move here!"
When I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital. A Cannula hangs on my right hand. I was strapped to the gurney.
The hospital bustles with frenetic energy, the chaotic symphony of urgent voices reverberating through my consciousness. Fragmented phrases echo in my ears, their meaning shrouded in the haze of confusion that envelops me.
"Move here!"
"Push the damn gurney that way!"
"We need more blood here. Where is Doctor Pitt?"
As I struggle to make sense of my surroundings, I force my heavy eyelids to open, revealing the sterile white walls of the hospital room. Panic rises within me like a tidal wave, crashing against the barriers of my mind. What happened to me? Why am I here?
I try to move, to sit up, but my body feels tethered, restrained by invisible bonds. Panic transforms into desperation as I realise I am strapped to the gurney, a prisoner of uncertainty and vulnerability.
My tongue feels heavy, and metallic, as if the words I yearn to speak are trapped beneath a suffocating layer of silence. Frantic thoughts whirl in my mind, seeking answers, seeking clarity. But the more I strain to remember, the further the memories slip away, like whispers carried away by the wind.
Faces blur in my vision as medical professionals rush past me, their urgency a sharp contrast to my disorientation. I long to call out, to demand answers, but the words remain lodged in my throat, suffocated by a veil of psychological paralysis.
A nurse, her face a blur of compassion, approaches me, her voice a gentle lullaby amidst the chaos. "Take a deep breath, dear. We're here to help you. Just hold on a little longer."
Her words offer a sliver of comfort, a lifeline amidst the tumultuous sea of my mind. I close my eyes, allowing her voice to guide me through the treacherous labyrinth of my thoughts.
Fragments of memories flit through my consciousness, elusive as butterflies on a summer breeze. Faces, places, flashes of emotion, but no coherent narrative emerges. The puzzle pieces of my identity remain scattered, the edges blurry and indistinct.
Fear and frustration intertwine within me, fueling a desperate determination to break free from this prison of confusion. I focus on the sensations coursing through my body—the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor, the cool touch of the cannula against my skin, and the distant hum of conversations.
The hospital room led me to the truth. Where is Sebastian? I asked myself. He wasn't here.
"I'll be right there in a minute."
"Alright, doctor."
I remain confined within the hospital walls, the constant hum of medical equipment serving as the backdrop to my relentless search for answers. Nurses come and go. I kept wondering what could have happened. The last thing I remembered was at a cafe with Sebastian. What am I doing here?
At first, no one could hear me. It became apparent I could only speak to myself. Then I got better.
One day, as the sunlight streams through the window, casting a gentle glow upon my face, a doctor enters the room. He approaches my bed and his eyes meet mine with a gentle intensity.
"Good morning, Fiona," he says, his voice warm and reassuring. "I'm Dr. Stevens. How are you feeling today?"
I struggle to find my voice, the words still trapped within the labyrinth of my mind. With a flicker of frustration in my eyes, I manage to utter a single word. "Confused."
Dr Stevens nods, his expression understanding. "It's completely normal to feel that way given the circumstances. We're still conducting tests, trying to piece together the puzzle of what happened. But I want you to know that we're doing everything we can to find answers."
A mixture of relief and frustration washed over me.
"Can you tell me anything about my past?" I ask, my voice quivering.
He takes a seat beside my bed. "We're still gathering information, Fiona. But what I can tell you is that you've endured a great deal. There are signs of trauma, both physical and psychological, but the specific details are still unclear."
A surge of emotion rises within me, a potent mix of fear, anger, and determination. I long to remember, to piece together the fragments of my life that have been scattered in the wake of this amnesic fog.
"Will I ever regain my memories?" I ask. "I mean, I want to know why I am here."
He takes a moment to consider his response, his eyes scanning mine for any signs of comfort. "It's difficult to say with certainty. Memory is a complex and fragile aspect of our consciousness. But I have seen remarkable recoveries in cases like yours."
"Aright. But, I was with someone in a cafe…"
"Don't worry about that for now. We have a team of specialists who will be working closely with you."
"AAlrigh."
"I have to go now. Call the nurse when you need anything. Use this button."
"I'll. Thank you."
As Dr Stevens rises from his seat, he offers me a reassuring smile. "We're here for you, Fiona. Remember, healing takes time. Trust in the process, and we will support you every step of the way."
I nod my head.
"I trust the process."
"Good."
I look around me and the walls are just there staring back at me. Where could Sebastian have been? What happened? This place is new. I can't start a new life like this.
Across the room, a nurse walks past. She carries a bag that looks like a duffel bag. Just like the type I used when I was young and visiting Alex.