Right Here Right Now

by Nikita Singh

  ‘Oh,’ Dad says.

  ‘But that’s okay. I’ll remember everything pretty soon. So there’s nothing to worry about, right Doctor?’ I say, plastering a brave smile on my face and looking up at him.

  But he’s not smiling.

  Two

  ‘Let’s talk this through.’ Dr Sahani pulls up a chair next to my bed. He’s smiling now, but I can tell he’s serious and the smile is a facade to try and put me at ease—which I’m not falling for.

  ‘What is wrong?’ I ask, my heartbeat rising.

  ‘I won’t use the word wrong. You have post-traumatic amnesia, which is not unusual, given the nature of your injuries.’

  ‘What happened? I mean the accident . . . how did it happen?’

  ‘That’s one thing we aren’t sure of.’

  ‘What?’ I look around at all three of them. ‘Earlier, when you asked . . . I thought you were asking me about it to check if I remembered. But even you don’t know?! ’

  ‘We got a call from the hospital, telling us that you had been brought here,’ Mum says.

  ‘Who brought me here? Was I with my friends? Was anybody else hurt?’ I panic.

  ‘You weren’t with your friends. We asked all of them.’

  ‘Judging by the nature of your injuries, I’m inclined to say you were in an automobile accident,’ Dr Sahani supplies.

  ‘Okay. So I was in a car that crashed? Or a bike?’

  Dr Sahani nods. ‘I’d say a car.’

  ‘Do I drive?’

  Mum shakes her head. ‘Not that I know of, at least.’

  ‘Okay, so if I don’t drive, I must’ve been with somebody who does, right? A friend.’

  ‘We asked everybody . . . all your friends,’ Mum says.

  ‘All we know . . . you were hurt and found unconscious on the side of a street . . . some passers-by noticed and brought you here . . .’ Dad’s expression is pained as he says this.

  ‘OH MY GOD, WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?!’ I shout. I’m suddenly terrified. I shut my eyes tightly and try to remember. The only memory that comes to me is of falling down something and waking up here. And that very well could have been a dream.

  ‘Please try to relax, Kalindi. I’m sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation to how this came about,’ Dr Sahani says.

  ‘But what if . . .’ I don’t even want to think of the possibilities. I look at my parents anxiously and they stare back at me equally helplessly. God, what must they be going through?

  ‘Let’s concentrate on the present situation,’ Dr Sahani continues, trying to steer the conversation towards the medical issues at hand. Because, of course, he’s a doctor and not a detective. ‘As I told you earlier, you were brought here with moderate traumatic brain injury. You had severe swelling in the nerves of your brain and once we began operating, you slipped into a coma and we let you be. We wanted to wait till the swelling subsided and your systems calmed down to bring you out of it. But after a few days, when we tried to bring you back from the coma, your systems did not respond. And today, as you know, nineteen days since the accident, you automatically came back to us.’

  I processed the information. ‘Was there a chance that I could have . . . you know, stayed in a coma all my life?’

  ‘We did not think it was likely, but yes, it was possible.’

  I nod.

  ‘And now it appears you have post-traumatic amnesia. At this point, we will need to conduct some tests and ask some questions to gauge the situation and find out how soon we can get your memory back. You have retrograde amnesia, which means you have lost your ability to recall memories before your head injury. But we also have to check for signs of anterograde amnesia, which means we need to find out if your brain is able to encode new memories. You do remember everything since you woke up, don’t you?’

  ‘What? Yes, yes I remember everything since I woke up here . . . but, do you mean there is a chance. . . I won’t? As in, I don’t remember anything from the past and now I won’t be able to retain new memories either?’ I ask in horror.

  ‘We don’t know anything yet, but we do need to explore all the possibilities. Post-traumatic amnesia can be retrograde, anterograde or mixed. You clearly have retrograde, but there might be chance of it being mixed too.’

  ‘How do I . . .? What . . .?’

  ‘I would advise you to not panic. Post-traumatic amnesia is often transient, and if that’s the case, then it will pass and you will recover your memory soon.’

  ‘What if it’s not?’ Mum asks.

  ‘There might be a chance that this is permanent. It’s too soon to be sure of anything just yet. We’ll need to conduct tests throughout the week and estimate—’

  I slump back into my bed. I can’t take this anymore. I thought I was going to remember everything in, like an hour or so, and the doctor’s talking about a lifetime of this clean slate situation, teamed with inability to make new memories, too! That sucks big time. I must have been a really bad person in my last life—or the first seventeen years of this life—to deserve this.

  ‘What is wrong? Are you alright?’ Mum is suddenly rubbing my arm and looking into my face with concern just as she’d been doing since . . . as long as I remember.

  ‘I . . . can’t. Can we do this later?’ I ask the doctor, trying not to be impolite.

  ‘Sure, of course. That is quite okay.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m just . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. You rest and we will do this when you’re up for it. This is clearly a lot to take in.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I smile up at him and he excuses himself.

  There’s silence in the room again, and as I punch my pillow into a more comfortable position, I voice my fear, ‘What’s going to happen now?’

  ‘It will be okay,’ Mum says soothingly.

  ‘These will be a series of routine tests, and then we can take you home,’ Dad says. ‘Dr Sahani was telling me about it before. But it’s okay, we can talk about it later,’ he finishes quickly, probably noticing my reaction.

  ‘No, no. I want to know. Just promise not to use the scary language Dr Sahani was using?’ I smile. The least I can do is try to be a good daughter to my parents for as long as I’m up and still remember them. Who knows, I might turn out to be a freak who forgets everything every hour or as soon as I sleep. I shudder at the thought.

  ‘They’ll just check all your body functions and such, you know, to make sure that everything’s fine,’ Dad says. See, that’s the difference. The doctor uses terms with an ‘if’ infliction, while Dad uses ‘that’ which is very reassuring in my situation of immense crisis.

  ‘Right, I’ve been sleeping for about twenty days now!’

  ‘And don’t worry, you’ll be okay. I’m sure this is just temporary.’

  I nod. I’ve got good parents. It would be such a shame if I didn’t remember much of the seventeen years we’ve spent together.

  ‘Do you want to sleep for a while?’ Mum asks.

  A ‘NO!’ escapes me. ‘I mean, like, I’m not sleepy.’

  ‘Okay . . .’

  They share a suspicious look and I know they are wondering the reason behind my reaction, but I don’t tell them. What if Mum starts to cry again, thinking I won’t remember her when I wake up?

  ‘Should I inform Ada that you’re up and okay?’ Mum asks.

  ‘Ada is your friend,’ Dad supplies.

  ‘Umm . . . but it’s going to be so weird . . . I don’t really know her, so . . .’ I drift away.

  ‘I’m sure she will understand. And the doctors always say the best way to jolt memories is to meet people from the lost time,’ Dad says.

  ‘In my case, “lost time” is seventeen years! I wonder how many people I’ll have to meet.’

  ‘Let’s start here,’ Mum smiles.

  I nod. I’m actually a little excited about meeting my friends and seeing what they are like. Then later, when my memory comes back, we’ll remember it and say, ‘Remember that time when
Kalindi didn’t remember us for three whole days?’ and laugh.

  That should be fun.

  ‘You should go home and rest for a while,’ Mum suggests to Dad. ‘I’ll be here with her.’

  ‘No, I’m alright. You go ahead, I’ll stay here. You haven’t eaten properly in weeks.’

  They go on like this for a while, before I ask them both to go home and come back after resting. They obviously don’t agree, but after a little persistence and playing my guilty card (I feel bad for being the reason for all your problems, I’ll really feel better if you go home, eat something and get some rest) they finally agree to leave, promising me they’d come back in the evening, which is three hours away.

  Meanwhile, I am to rest and get ready for the tests later in the day. The first thing they’re going to do is try to get me to eat so they can remove the feeding tubes. I wonder if they’ll let me have Maggi for dinner.

  Which confuses me. I remember what Maggi is, and I know that I like it, but I don’t remember even one time I actually ate it. Hmm. I think about it for a while, before my eyes close. I force them open, because—not to be paranoid or anything— there actually is a possibility that I won’t remember the things that have happened since I woke up if I go to sleep.

  But I soon find out that a battle against sleep is one that is inevitably lost.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ the fat woman in a nurse’s uniform with the badge on her chest saying ‘Anita’ asks. I think I should just call her Anita.

  ‘I . . . I think so.’ I look around the room and frown.

  She picks up my chart and goes through it. In the interim, I observe her. She must be in her mid, maybe late, thirties. Not very tall, not too short. Her hair is tied back into a tight bun and she has a bindi on her forehead. I think her weight suits her. It makes her look like somebody qualified to take care of sick people. Like somebody who’d lovingly look after her patients, not just because it’s her job, but because she genuinely wants to help. I like her.

  I’ve noticed that I’ve liked everybody I’ve met since I got up.

  ‘I remember you!’

  ‘That’s great! Everything looks fine in your chart. Did you have a good nap?’

  ‘Umm, yeah, I guess . . . but not really,’ I shrug.

  By far, I seem to remember all that has happened since I came out of my coma. After Mum and Dad left and I fell asleep, I woke up in terror once again, because my subconscious kept nagging at me that I couldn’t take the risk of sleeping, that I’d forget my parents again if I did and after a disturbed sleep filled with nightmares I no longer have any recollection of, I woke up. I calmed down when I found out that I had been sleeping for two hours and I still remembered my parents. Though I’m still scared that if I sleep tonight, I might forget everything by tomorrow morning.

  But I decided to worry about that when the time came. Right now, I feel a little suffocated. And that’s why I hit the red button next to my bed, which brought Anita to my room.

  ‘Can we go out for a while?’ I ask.

  ‘Out?’

  ‘I mean, is there like a lawn or something outside? Or even open corridors would do fine. I just need a little air.’

  ‘I’ll have to check with Dr Sahani first, but I think we can take you outside for a while,’ Anita smiles at me.

  ‘Great! I just—’

  ‘What? She can’t go outside!’ the thinner nurse with ‘Priya’ on her badge says, making kind of a dramatic entry, if you ask me.

  ‘Why can’t I go outside?’

  ‘Because you’re a patient. And you have a room. These rooms are especially designed for patients to be in. For as long as you are in this hospital, this is where you’re supposed to stay. Not out on the imaginary lawn!’

  ‘Were you eavesdropping? How long have you been standing outside listening to our conversation?’ I ask, looking at the young nurse and trying to understand what her problem is with me.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that you guys were best friends and your conversation was supposed to be private.’

  ‘What is wrong with you?’

  ‘Me? What is wrong with me?’ Priya laughs. ‘Look who’s asking! I’m not the one on that bed, you are!’

  ‘Why are you so angry?’

  ‘Why are you so stupid?’

  ‘ENOUGH!’ Anita shouts over us and we shut up. ‘Priya, you need to leave. Now.’

  ‘Do I? I don’t think so. I was assigned to—’

  ‘OUT!’

  Priya stares at Anita for a moment, then shrugs and leaves.

  There’s a brief silence in the room.

  ‘What was that about?’ I finally ask.

  ‘Oh, she’s a medical student, assigned sixty hours of nurse work as detention—three hours per day for twenty days. Isn’t too happy about it. But she should’ve thought of that before, shouldn’t she?’ Anita shakes her head.

  ‘What did she do?’

  ‘Stole her friend’s assignment and passed it off as her own. Stupid, really, since it was a case study and every student was assigned a unique case.’

  ‘Didn’t she realize that?’ I ask. Medical students are supposed to be really bright, right?

  ‘You’d think she would’ve. But I don’t think she even bothered to find out. On the date of submission, she just picked up her friend’s assignment, changed the cover page and handed it over to Dr Sahani.’

  ‘Dr Sahani teaches too?’

  ‘Yes. This hospital is linked to a medical college, that’s where he teaches,’ Anita replies.

  I nod. ‘Can we go out now?’

  She checks with the doctor and he grants us permission. A few nurses come to unplug the various instruments or whatever attached to me. I turn red in embarrassment at one point. I have been doing all of my private business right here, on this bed. It’s not a pretty thought. When they are done, Anita holds my hands and makes me get up slowly. We do a few warm up exercises and loosen up some muscles.

  ‘For now, we need to take the wheelchair. The physiotherapy department has been informed that you’re up and somebody will come down in an hour to check on you. Let’s not strain anything before that.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say. Going out on a wheelchair is better than not going out at all, isn’t it? And well, I’m a little excited about the wheelchair thing, actually. I don’t know for how long I’m going to get to use one, so why let this chance pass?

  I sit down on the seat of the wheelchair and hold both the armrests. Anita tells me how to place my legs and I do as instructed.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Yes,’ I reply, trying not to let my giddiness show. She’d think I’m some kind of a psycho. Even more than she already does, that is, what with the blank slate condition and all.

  The wheels start rolling and I feel awesome. They should have wheelchair rides at Disneyland and fairs and such. This is really so much fun!

  It doesn’t last long though. We couldn’t have moved more than thirty feet from my room when Anita stops to acknowledge some people dressed in white coats, obviously doctors. Then she introduces me to one of them, telling me he’s my physiotherapist and he’s going to see me now. And then she wheels me back to my room. So much for my awesome wheelchair ride and fresh air.

  ‘Move your toes, one at a time.’

  The physiotherapist has been making me move every part of my body one by one, and observing me carefully for the past hour. So far, everything’s been normal except my right arm, which still hurts, but that is justifiable, since I’m told it suffered a hairline fracture when the mysterious accident occurred.

  ‘Does it hurt?’ Mum asks.

  ‘Not at all!’ I reply. I feel relieved that the physical examination is over with, and that all my body parts are in order. Now if we could just do something about the memory part . . .

  ‘That should be all,’ the physiotherapist says, before getting up from his crouching position on the floor, where he’d been inspecting the movement of my legs.

/>   ‘Yeah? So it’s all good?’ I ask.

  ‘Seems so. We’ll keep checking on you and would be running a few more tests this week, just to make sure. As far as I can tell, everything seems to be fine.’

  ‘Thank you so much,’

  Dad walks out with the doctor and they talk for a couple of minutes. From where I am, it looks like the doctor’s doing a whole lot of talking and my dad, a whole lot of nodding.

  ‘Did you get some sleep?’ I ask Mum.

  ‘Not sleep, but we did lie down for some time. There are so many things to think about . . .’

  ‘Mum, come on!’ I exclaim. I really hoped she had slept. ‘I have so many thoughts in my head too, but I slept!’

  ‘That’s because you’re my brave girl,’ she says proudly, which makes me feel good inside, but I’m not done scolding her yet.

  ‘My being brave has nothing to do with you not sleeping. See, this is good! I’m up and I’m physically okay. There’s nothing to worry about,’ I try to cajole her.

  ‘Okay, okay, I’ll sleep tonight. I’ll be right here on the couch so you can make sure I follow through on my promise,’ she agrees.

  ‘On the couch?’ I point to the two-seater brown couch in the corner of the room, which is presently overflowing with what I can only assume to be bags of our clothes and stuff. It doesn’t look comfortable at all. ‘That’s where you’ve been sleeping every night? For the last twenty days?’ More guilt.

  ‘We take turns—your father and I. It was his turn tonight but now that you’re up, I don’t want to be away from you.’

  She is looking at me seriously, and her eyes are saying more than her words. I look away. I really don’t like her dark circles. I wish they would go away. My throat is a little constricted, and I don’t know what to say.

  Thankfully, Dad comes back and the atmosphere changes. We switch on the TV and watch Chak De India! which Mum tells me I’ve already seen, but I obviously don’t have a clue. Dad gets dinner for Mum and himself from the hospital canteen downstairs. Mum unpacks the dinner she had cooked for me, after asking Dr Sahani what I am allowed to eat.

  It’s basically saltless and flavourless food, but it still tastes pretty darn good to me anyway.