I opened my eyes to a dim and unfamiliar ceiling over my head.
Not fully there, not entirely awake. But conscious enough to be puzzled by what was happening.
"Are you alright? How are you feeling?"
Hearing a faint sound calling out to me, I turned my head groggily. By my side stood a woman, a nurse it seemed, middle-aged, holding what seemed to be a clipboard.
"Do you know why you're here? Can you remember anything?" she asked.
"No," I managed to utter between the crusts of my dry lips.
"Where... am I?" I croaked, feeling my parched throat as my words grated out of it.
"You're at the Saint's Hospital, currently under recovery after an operation. You don't look ready yet to have a conversation by the looks of it, so we'll hold this talk for a little while until you've recovered somewhat.
I will call someone to help you eat. They will come here shortly. Until then, please be patient. I promise we will answer every question you might have."
She gave me a soft smile as she tucked my blanket a little higher up my chest and left the room.
With the nurse having left, I allowed myself a few seconds of pause. Feeling extremely weak and drained, to the point where I did not think I could even move my own hands. Had I any leeway to express myself, I was sure I would be feeling more terrified of this moment.
Instead, I focused on trying to orient myself and maybe understand where I was exactly.
The room was dark but not so much that I could not see what was around me. The faint lights coming from computer surfaces, as well as the ambient lights flickering from appliances within my immediate surroundings, affirmed what the woman said to me mere moments before she left.
It looked like I was in a hospital room.
Turning my head to the side and hearing the constant beeping of what I assumed to be a heart rate monitor further confirmed this.
I tried to recall what might have happened that landed me here, but I could not muster anything of significance, not even a clue. It was as if I was mentally blocked, unable to remember the littlest things that should have come to me naturally.
The door to my room then opened as a different nurse walked in, pushing a trolley carrying what I assumed to be food for someone undergoing recovery.
"Look who's awake," she said.
Placing the trolley next to the gurney I was on, she pressed a button on the side of my bed, carefully lifting my upper body to an elevated angle.
"You were the last one to wake up. We were a bit worried with how long it was taking you to gain consciousness. You know, you were a big concern for almost every mother in this ward.
Even after the successful operation, you did not wake up. The doctors could not find anything wrong even after running multiple tests and different diagnoses.
In the end, all we could do was wait and pray for your recovery. I thank the Lord that you finally woke up."
She then brought a glass of blue liquid from the tray to my lips, clearly indicating for me to drink what she was giving me, so I did. It did not taste like anything, despite its unique color.
"It's to help with digestion. You've not had anything solid for around three months now. But don't worry, we will take care of you until you can get back on your feet and feel healthy again.
Let's wait for around ten minutes for the medicine to take effect, and then I'll start feeding you something delicious. Is that okay with you, Rell?"
Letting out a grunt of confirmation at her words, the lady gave me a kind smile before turning around and doing her thing.
I must say, while I do appreciate the warmth with which she takes care of me, I do not know how to feel about being talked to like I am a child. I have not had much experience with hospitals, but I am damn sure this is not standard procedure.
Lady, just for reference, I'm probably older than you by twenty years. I have, like, three more years at the very most before I reach forty.
A point in anyone's life where being talked to in this way would demand for any person to feel some level of outrage. And I would, if I had the energy to even attempt to do so.
Using the few minutes that I had to myself, I struggled to recall any bit of information that could help me understand what was happening to me and how I got here in the first place.
I remember... Me and Prescilla coming home after a romantic dinner. Spending time together afterward and falling asleep in each other's arms...
Sleep being the most recent memory.
But that does not make any sense—why am I in a hospital then? And this talk of an operation. Did something happen to me while I was sleeping?
Breaking my thoughts, the nurse finally spoke up.
"That should be enough time. Now, let us get you to eat this for me. Tell me if it is too hot for you, alright, Rell?
You need this so you can quickly recover. Then... Sigh... I suppose by then we will have a talk about everything."
As she started feeding me spoon after spoon from a bowl of gruel, I continued trying to recall whatever I could. I figured since I clearly could not reliably remember memories of recent dates, I should start from the basics to jog my brain.
My name is Andres Generoso. I can remember my name, so that is a good start.
Born from Maria Banal and Francis Generoso. I am the second of three siblings. Hernes being the oldest and Alfon being our youngest.
I am also a family man now, married to Prescilla Torrer, the love of my life. And we have a brilliant son, Marcus—named after my wife's departed grandfather.
Speaking of which, where is my family? And why have I not seen them? They need to know that I am alright.
"Rell!"
Breaking me from my trance, I looked toward the nurse by my side, who was wearing an obvious look of concern.
"Are you alright?"
Then and there, something finally clicked.
Feeling as though I had truly woken up from my slumber, I asked the most pressing question that I should have asked from the very beginning.
"Who? Who... is... Rell?"