When I Was Jane

by Theresa Mieczkowski

  “You mean your daughter. Yeah. I've seen a lot of things come out of that helicopter in my time, but I sure as hell wasn’t prepared for that. I thought we were gonna lose you.” He stops and exhales heavily. “If someone hadn’t driven by and known to put a tourniquet on your leg, you wouldn’t have even made it to the hospital. It’s a miracle we still have you. Anyway, I really wanted a cigarette, but I thought if I did what you wanted me to do, maybe it would somehow bring you back. Like if I didn't smoke, there’d be something important for me to tell you, so you couldn't die. Pretty stupid, huh?”

  “It’s not stupid, it’s sweet.” Tears fill my eyes. I feel connected to Thomas, even without the memories. There’s something very comfortable, safe, and familiar in the air between us. A suchness. An awareness that what I’m part of with him is very rare. I feel almost anchored to something now instead of at the mercy of the currents.

  He gathers me into a hug. “All you’ve gotta do is get better.”

  “And figure out who I really am.”

  He laughs over my shoulder. “Does anyone ever know who they really are?”

  “But—”

  “You're alive, Audrey. That's all that matters.”

  I pull myself away and look him in the eye. “Why are you so nice to me?”

  He leans his forehead against mine. “You ask me that all the time.”

  “And what’s your answer?”

  He sits back and looks at me. “How about you tell me when you remember,” he says. “And do me a favor. Don’t put me through this again. I don’t ever want to have to track Jason down again and tell him you don't have much time left.”

  “Track him down?” This hospital can’t possibly be that big.

  “Yeah, it took me forever to find him. Imagine how hard it was for him to drive all that way thinking he was coming to say goodbye to you.”

  “What do you mean it took you forever to find him? Drive all what way?” I could swear someone told me he'd been working at the hospital when they brought me in.

  “I think after Jiu Jitsu he went to his parents’ old house upstate.” Thomas picks up his phone. “Shit. I gotta go. Patient incoming. Get some sleep.” He pats my leg and gets up to leave.

  “Thomas,” I say as he walks towards the door, “is there anything you should tell me about Jason?”

  He throws another peppermint into his mouth. “Yeah. He loves you. That's really all you need to know.”

  ~6~

  Thomas leaves just before the evening shift change, so I’m not alone for very long. My blonde, ponytailed nurse from the night before has been replaced by an older, stockier version named Dottie, who has a gruff manner and a strong desire to talk. A lot. She continually hurries in for one reason or another, each time bringing a new report of the activity from the nurses’ station. From her, I learn two nurses called out sick and the floor will be short staffed for the night, though one of them, she says, isn’t actually sick as much as lazy and unreliable.

  “They’d call out for hangnail, these dingbats ’round here,” she says before sticking a digital thermometer in my mouth. “Nobody’s got a decent work ethic anymore. And Lord!” she says, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s gonna be a busy night here, full moon an’ all. Thank Jesus I'm no longer workin’ on the seventh floor.”

  “What's on the seventh—”

  “Maternity.” She rolls her eyes. “And damned if I know why a full moon puts ladies into labor all the time.”

  I can't remember going into labor. Or having a baby.

  She asks what it's like to not know who I am, but before I can consider a reply, she remarks that a woman in her soap opera had the very same thing happen to her and she ended up falling in love with her husband’s father and marrying him.

  “But I haven't even met my husband's father yet!” I say in alarm.

  Dottie looks down at me and laughs. “Oh honey, you are sweet, aren't you. I used to see you sometimes havin’ lunch with one of your doctor fellas downstairs and I always thought you looked like the nicest, doe-eyed little thing.”

  “One of my doctor fellas?”

  “Oh, you know what I mean. Your husband and your friend Dr. Charles. Never saw any boys so devoted to a girl in my life.”

  “Do you know my husband and Thomas?”

  “Honey, there isn't a nurse in this building who doesn't know your husband. Mmm mmm mmm. I wish somebody would bang me on the head and I'd wake up married to a man that looks like him. And Dr. Charles…if there isn't a nurse throwin’ herself at him every other shift, then I'm the Jolly Green Giant.”

  I so badly want to yell out that I actually remember who that is, but I don’t bother. It seems a little pitiful that I can remember a man who sells green beans but not the one I’ve been married to for years.

  “Speaking of nurses, who was mine last night?” I ask.

  “Let me check.” Dottie huffs out to the hallway and comes back with her lips pursed. “That was Leslie.” The look on her face tells me there’s a strong opinion just waiting to be invited out. “But she won't be back,” she says. “She's been reassigned to the other side of the hallway.”

  “Why?” I wonder if it has anything to do with her seeing Jason in my bed the night before. It obviously made her uncomfortable.

  “Who knows why. Maybe there's a man in one of those rooms she has her tramp eye on. Maybe she switched with someone so they’d owe her a favor. Maybe she wants to be on that side of the building because it looks over the fountain. You never know with her. Some of these dumb bunnies ’round here are only out for themselves. There’s those who do what we're told and those who do for what it gets them.”

  I can’t focus on anything she says after “tramp eye”. It’s bad enough that Leslie called Jason by his first name, which I’ve never heard a nurse do since I’ve been here, but I also can’t get past the look on her face when she left the room. Was she angry? Jealous? I really don’t know a single thing about any of these people. Not even the one I'm supposedly married to.

  “Do the nurses do that a lot? Throw themselves at the doctors?” I ask, trying to steer Dottie back to our previous conversation.

  “Mm hmm.” She moves around my bed and straightens the sheets.

  I suspect she’s trying to make it seem like she's working so she can talk longer, which is perfectly fine with me. Maybe it’s because I remind her of a soap opera character, or perhaps her other patients are in comas and she can't talk with them. Either way, she's somebody I want to keep around. If knowledge is power, this one’s omnipotent.

  “Would you say they throw themselves at my husband?”

  Dottie snaps her head up. “Now don't let anything I say get you worryin’, honey.” She pats my leg. “You just focus all your energy on getting better. Plus, let them try throwin’ themselves at your husband. Anybody lookin’ at the man for more than a second knows he’s off the market, in love, T-A-K-E-N. By you.”

  “I was just curious.” I try to sound nonchalant. If Dottie is as loose-lipped with everyone as she is with me, the last thing I want her telling people is that I'm suspicious of Jason. Because I'm not. Not entirely. But I’d be a fool not to take advantage of her vault of information and get to know everything I can about the man. “It's pretty boring sitting in this bed with no books or TV or company. I guess I'm looking for a soap opera myself.”

  “Well, honey, why didn't you say so? You're talkin’ to the right lady. I can tell you a little bit of something on everybody here. Or I can read you a book. Or the newspaper.”

  I perk up. “The newspaper sounds good.”

  Dottie hurries out of the room and comes back with a big pile of newspapers tucked under her arm, a cup of coffee in her hand, and a donut hanging out of her mouth. She pulls a chair up to the side of my bed. “Honey, this is my kinda work, bein’ assigned to someone who asks me to sit and read them the paper. These are from the last few days. People always leave them at the nurses’ station.” She scans the columns.
“Let’s see…Here's a story about the wheat mill that blew up in Iowa. Killed a whole lot of people. Did you know about that?”

  “No. Find something else.”

  “OK. There's the mayor in California who was just caught with a couple of hookers in his office.”

  “Why would that even make the news? Doesn’t that happen all the time?

  “Yeah, well, this one's hookers were only fourteen.”

  “Ugh…next. That makes me want to cry and vomit at the same time.”

  Dottie points a finger at me. “No vomiting. I'm the one who has to clean it up you know.”

  “Then try to stay away from mass killings, underage prostitution, and anything else that might make my concussion worse.”

  “There's a man dead from a boating accident. They suspect he was drinkin’ a little too much and got caught in a rocky area. He must’ve fallen over tryin’ to get himself out and smashed his head on a rock and drowned. Why anyone would drive anything while drinkin’ is beyond me.” She looks up at me quickly. “I mean, not like he deserved to get hurt. Well, I’ve gone and put my big fat foot in my mouth again, haven't I.”

  “I wasn't drinking. There were blood tests, you know.”

  “Of course, honey, we all know that.” She pats my hand and goes back to flipping through the paper.

  As soon as she turns the page I see it. A silver Mercedes upside down and smashed to bits in front of a tree. There’s a guardrail bent around it. The headline reads, Police Probe Accident Scene, Local Woman in Critical Condition. I point to the picture. “Please read that to me.”

  “Oh, Lord. If Dr. Patel finds out, I’ll be back on the seventh floor before the end of my shift. We can't have you gettin’ upset, Mrs. Gilbert.”

  “Please. If anyone finds out, I won't tell them you read it to me.”

  “Damn, I’m never gonna learn.” She shakes her head then straightens the paper and clears her throat. “A Reedville woman is in critical condition following a late night accident off of Wood Vine road in Allenton.”

  “I don’t even know where that is.”

  Dottie looks at me sternly before continuing. “Police say the driver was traveling at speeds close to seventy miles an hour when she lost control of her car, flipped over the guardrail, and collided with a tree.” She reaches up to touch the cross that hangs from her necklace. “Oh, honey. You’re so lucky to be alive.”

  “Keep going.”

  “The Hills County Sheriff’s Department states that police initially suspected the woman was driving under the influence due to evidence obtained at the scene, but hospital toxicology reports indicate the motorist was not impaired. Police have threatened to launch a full investigation into the matter after it was reported the husband of the driver…” She bites the corner of her lip. “Oh, dear.”

  “Please keep reading,” I say.

  She continues with her head down. “The husband of the driver, Dr. Jason Gilbert, son of Senator Edmund Gilbert, works at the hospital where the victim was treated and, according to an anonymous tip, was possibly involved in the tampering of lab results.”

  “What? Wait…who?”

  “A hospital spokeswoman stands by the toxicology report and states the victim’s husband was not involved in his wife’s medical care and had no access to the blood tests or the results. Furthermore, the hospital states that any claims to falsifying information are completely fabricated and go against the ethics of everyone involved.”

  “Do people here think Jason covered up for me?”

  Dottie gives me worried smile and shrugs her shoulders. “Audrey Gilbert, thirty-four, was flown by helicopter to the hospital with life threatening injuries. First responders reported major head trauma, several broken bones including ribs, a collapsed lung, and a forty percent blood loss resulting from an injury to her femoral artery. She is listed in critical condition. Dr. and Mrs. Gilbert are longtime residents of Reedville and have a four-year-old daughter. Dr. Gilbert is the son of U.S. Senator Edmund Gilbert (R, NY) and his wife, Vivienne. Senator Gilbert, a contributing founder of the Confederation for Moral Living, has been a top supporter of stricter penalties for drunk drivers. His office has not commented on the accident other than to say the senator and his wife are praying for their daughter-in-law and wish for privacy at this time. Anyone with more information on the accident should contact local police.”

  A feeling of dread forms in the pit of my stomach, a sensation not entirely unfamiliar to me, like an old foe coming to call. That's a pretty famous name. I can’t believe I didn’t connect it before.

  “Senator Gilbert's twin brother ran for president, right?” I say. “He's the governor of Illinois? He won an Olympic medal for rowing or something when he was young. And their older sister is a famous playwright. Are you telling me I’m one of those Gilberts?” I concentrate on breathing very slowly, feeling the lightheadedness return.

  Dottie puts her head in her hands and moans. “You're sayin’ nobody told you that part yet? Oh, Lordy. I’m in for it now.” She jumps up out of the chair and pours me a glass of water. “You are positively white, Mrs. Gilbert.”

  “Why didn’t anyone tell me? That’s pretty crucial information to leave out.”

  “You had lots of injuries, honey. You weren’t expected to make it. Everybody was so worried. They were just tryin’ to help you; the less stress the better.”

  “Why would someone claim that Jason faked my blood tests?”

  She paces around the room. “I don't know. Your father-in-law has plenty of people sayin’ things about his family all the time. I'm sure it goes with the territory. But don't you worry, the hospital is on full alert. Anyone heard speakin’ to reporters will be fired. And damn if I don't get fired for readin’ it to you.”

  “I won’t tell a soul, I promise. But leave the papers in here; they need to think I learned it on my own.”

  “You aren't supposed to be readin’, Mrs. Gilbert. Nobody’s gonna believe that anyone would be stupid enough to hand you a newspaper.”

  “Just leave it to me,” I say calmly. “So Jason's father is Senator Gilbert. They have no other kids. They lost a son. How do I know that about them?”

  “The senator and his wife wrote a book. You must’ve read it. Sad story,” she says, shaking her head. “Your husband had a brother who died when they were young. Tragic.”

  “He died playing sports, right?”

  “Mm hmm. Fifteen years old, and he died playin’ high school baseball. Just keeled over at his game. Can you imagine? Nobody ever knew James had a heart condition. He overexerted himself, and that was it. Dr. Gilbert was in the stands watchin’. He was only twelve.”

  “I wonder if that’s why he became a heart surgeon.”

  “That’s what they say in the book. Never got over it, none of them. How could they, though?” she says.

  It gives me a little more insight into Jason and what he must have gone through. To almost lose another family member must have been unbearable for him. I never considered all the history I’m missing. All the memories, the stories, the little nuances you come to know about people that make you understand them. What if I never regain my memory and have to play catch up for the rest of my life, constantly relearning the things I don't remember?

  I can’t live in a hospital bed forever. Eventually I’ll have to go home, presumably with Jason, and face people who know his family. There will be people in the world who care about whether or not I was drunk when I had an accident simply because it’s gossip-worthy, or maybe because it could help them politically by tarnishing the Gilbert family image. I imagine strangers holding their papers and their morning coffee, reading about me, about Jason's family, talking about my accident, thinking I caused it, discussing my situation. I feel so…exposed.

  Before I know what's happening, Dottie is next to me raising the back of my bed. “Stop taking so many breaths, Mrs. Gilbert. You have to try to calm down. You're havin’ an anxiety attack.”

  I can't s
top my body from reacting. My chest is heaving. Walls are closing in.

  She moves to the door to call for help and runs smack into Jason. “Doctor, she's—”

  He pushes past her and rushes to my bed. “What have you given her?”

  Dottie wrings her hands. “Nothing yet. She had pain meds before the shift change and isn't due for another hour. Seems like anxiety.”

  My heart dances wildly in my chest. Adrenaline surges through me, flushing my skin. I frantically gasp for air but can't quite get enough. I imagine a balloon inflating slowly inside me, taking up all the room in my chest, squeezing out everything else. I’m unable to stop the breaths from coming faster and faster.

  “She can’t afford to do this with a collapsed lung,” he says to Dottie, motioning her to a machine in the corner. She wheels it over, and he carefully places a mask over my face.

  Jason holds my face in his hands. “Audrey, listen. You need to focus on me. Breathe in, one-two-three-four hold.”

  I concentrate on his stormy eyes—deep grey ocean water.

  “Out, one-two-three-four. Again.”

  Panic strains my neck, tightens my face, stiffens my limbs. I'm in a tunnel, the echo of my heart beating in my ears. I hear Dottie page Dr. Patel over the loudspeaker.

  “One-two-three-four,” Jason says. “Good. Keep going.”

  The air reaches down into my lungs, and my arms tremble from clamping him so tightly. When I let go, there are imprints of my nails in his forearms. My heartbeat slows with my breathing, and I swallow hard, feeling satiated by the air I’d been craving. My eyes stay fixed on Jason, whose gaze falls towards the pile of newspapers on my bed. Fury ignites his face.

  Dr. Patel hurries in and checks the clipboard at the end of the bed. “What’s going on?”

  “What's going on is she's having a goddamn anxiety attack. I thought you said we were keeping her off TV and newspapers.” Jason snatches up the page with the article of my accident, the veins in his neck tightening. “Where the hell did this come from?”

  I push his hand off my face to remove the mask. “One of the cafeteria ladies…collected papers from patients’ rooms,” I say between short breaths. “When she came for my tray…I took them from her cart…She didn't know…” Before I can finish, Jason forces the mask back on my face. I take a few breaths and push his hand aside again. “I'm sorry…it's really boring here with nothing to do.”