by Jean Levy
‘I was having one of my better days,’ said Bob Gray.
Matthew caught my eye and smiled.
Sam Clegg took three sheets from his folder and handed them to me. They were nicely-drawn cartoons, black, red and white. ‘Sarah, these three drawings tell a story. I’d like you to place them in the order you think they happened. Take your time.’
I took no time at all. ‘This is the first: the boy sees a jar of sweets on the shelf but he can’t reach it.’ I handed him the cartoon. ‘And this is the second. He’s climbing up on a stool to reach the jar. And this is the third. The jar’s broken on the floor.’
‘Excellent,’ said Sam. ‘Your mind can immediately see the logical sequence, which occurred in a forward direction in time. But those events are also linked causally: one thing causes another. So, it’s clear that the boy climbed on the stool to reach the shelf because he wanted the sweets, and the jar is smashed because the boy was balancing precariously and nudged it onto the floor.’ He collected the sheets and put them to one side. ‘Your mind has interpreted those drawings in respect of temporality and causality.’ He took out another three cartoons. ‘Now, in what order do you think these events happened?’
‘Ah, now this one confused me,’ said Bob Gray.
I took the sheets. The three cartoons showed the same boy, at least it appeared to be the same boy because his hair was spiky and he was wearing the same red and black striped jumper. In one of the cartoons he was eating a large apple. The two other cartoons showed the boy rubbing his stomach, in one he was smiling, in the other his expression was wretched. I looked at Sam Clegg and smiled. I handed him the picture of the boy eating the apple. ‘This is the middle one. But both the others could come first or last. There are two possible stories. He could be miserable because he’s hungry so he eats the apple and feels better. Or he might start off seeing the apple then eat it and get stomach ache.’
‘Anything else?’ asked Sam Clegg.
‘Well, this looks like the same boy that knocked the sweets off the shelf, so he might be the kind of naughty boy that would climb a fence and steal a sour apple.’
‘A perfect response!’ said Sam. ‘It demonstrates the ability to construct alternative scenarios. And your observation about the previous, or subsequent, escapade with the sweet jar, shows tacit knowledge, the ability to apply previously-acquired information to a new situation. And you’ve also demonstrated an open mind in that you offered your interpretation as a suggestion not an assumption.’
‘If only suggesting and not assuming was a more widespread ability,’ said Dr Gray.
Sam Clegg gathered up his papers and placed them back in his folder. ‘So, Sarah, you’ve demonstrated that your mind works perfectly.’ He sat back and folded his arms.
‘But my mind doesn’t work perfectly, does it?’
‘Yes, it does. The part of your mind that deals with the logic of your internal narrative is fully competent and it’s with that knowledge that we must consider your lost memories.’
Bob Gray cleared his throat. ‘Sarah, our lives are made up of many events. And we remember those events in sequence rather like a story. And all of those events influence the way we interpret new situations. We perceive and remember within the context of past experience. Now, your unconscious mind, for what it sees as your own protection, is denying you access to an event in your recent past, although it wants you to be able to function. But if something is missing, an episode or a context, then you’d know that wasn’t right.’
Sam was unable to contain himself. ‘Your mind has to take away what comes before and after so that you’re not experiencing a story with a hole in it. But taking out that primary sequence creates a problem because that sequence is part of a larger sequence. Sarah, your unconscious mind has committed itself to a continuum of repression until anything that relates to the forbidden event has been expunged. But the process of repression can lead to confusion. For instance, some of the reasons why you regard things in certain ways might have been edited out as a result of the repression, so you’re left thinking things without knowing why you think them.’
‘Like not feeling right about asparagus?’
‘Possibly, although you just might not like asparagus.’
‘Like loathing orange shoes?’
Sam Clegg looked at me. ‘Do they make orange shoes?’
‘I found some in my wardrobe but I gave them away.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘loathing orange shoes might well be an example of what we’re talking about. There might be a forgotten event in your past which caused you to hate orange shoes. You see, if you take away memories, then other things related to them become stranded. Orange shoes are not that critical so it’s all right if the reasons for your attitude towards them are missing. But some things that are more critical will stick out a mile if their associated experiences are expunged, so the mind solves the problem by getting rid of them too. And, we believe that’s the situation you find yourself in. Having committed you to forgetting a particular episode, the clean-up operation has had to be far-reaching, to the extent that much of your past has become involved. Sarah, a large tract of your time and experience has been removed in an attempt by your unconscious mind to protect you. Right back to the safety of childhood.’
I glanced at Matthew. ‘Dr Clegg, sometimes I can’t remember what a word means, like when Matthew said obfuscation, and when Mrs Parkin said HIV and incarceration. I must have known those words once because they sounded familiar but I couldn’t remember what they meant. Have I forgotten words back to my childhood, just like I’ve forgotten events? Because I think my language is more mature than a child’s.’
‘Quite so,’ said Dr Gray. ‘As Imentioned before, your personal experiences and your language abilities are organised in different parts of your brain, although we must tell Dr Mustafa about your forgotten words. Perhaps they are also victims of your mind’s clean-up operation. And tell me, Sarah, why exactly was Jane Parkin mentioning incarceration?’
I didn’t answer. Matthew replied for me. ‘It was when she was warning Sarah that she would be sectioned if she refused to come for assessment voluntarily.’
‘Good God, that’s a bit steep!’ exclaimed Sam.
‘She has been reassigned.’ said Bob Gray quietly.
Mrs Parkin reassigned? I had to bite my lip to prevent myself smiling with satisfaction.
Dr Gray referred to his notes. ‘Now, Sarah, let’s assess the situation. You returned home eight weeks ago and have been managing well but, as far as you’re aware, you have recovered no details of your past,’ he looked up at me, ‘despite re-establishing your relationship with Matthew, and your friendships with Miss Grant and your work colleagues? Is that correct?’
‘Yes. Nothing jogs my memories. Although some smells seem strangely familiar.’
Dr Gray made a brief note. ‘That’s very interesting. Fragrances can be very evocative. Sam, has Geraint considered olfactory stimuli during MRI?’
‘I’m not sure. We should mention it.’
There was a rap at the door. Sam Clegg got up to open it and Mrs Barr carried in a tray. The room filled with the rich burnt aroma of fresh coffee.
‘Now there’s a fragrance that’s always welcome,’ Dr Gray said.
We drank coffee and discussed my LOST stories. Sam Clegg asked me whether I could remember writing them. I confessed that I had now read them so often that I was not sure whether I was remembering them from before or after whatever happened.
‘That is the problem,’ explained Dr Gray. ‘New memories can influence or even substitute original memories. That was the rationale behind our returning you to a comparatively minimalist environment. So that we could judge any improvement in your condition uninfluenced by the clutter of your previous life.’
‘Dr Gray,’ interrupted Matthew, ‘that suggests that the way Sarah was planted back into her home, deprived of the trappings of her past, was geared more towards your investigation of her condition than to her
recovery. We don’t wish to seem ungrateful, but when I first inveigled myself back into her life, Sarah was living like a prisoner in her own home, being visited only by that unpleasant witch!’
‘Matthew!’
Dr Gray touched my arm. ‘It’s OK, let Matthew speak. As it turns out, his support has been invaluable. In retrospect it was a mistake to distance you entirely from your friends. But, please understand, we were concerned that sudden reminders of people and things your mind had chosen for you to forget … We were concerned that such exposure might cause further collapse, possibly psychosis. Luckily, that worry seems to have been unfounded.’ He turned to Matthew. ‘We are all treading new ground here, and I do assure you that the intended outcome is Sarah’s recovery.’
I knew how Matthew would respond.
‘Dr Gray, I don’t doubt that you and Dr Clegg have Sarah’s interest at heart, but I have to say that others in your team seem more driven by their investigation of her brain than by the welfare of the person who owns it.’
I sighed.
‘Point taken, Matthew. I understand your concerns. For some of my colleagues, indeed for some in the wider research community, Sarah’s situation is very interesting. Ultimately, however, I am the person overseeing her case and I assure you I am also in charge of reining in any practice which I see as intrusive. I will decide upon Sarah’s treatment and I will do so in Sarah’s, and only Sarah’s, best interest.’
Matthew nodded. ‘Thank you. We both needed to hear that.’
‘Indeed. Now, shall we take ten minutes before the others arrive? And, Matthew, let me do the sparring. I’m an old hand.’
Episode Thirty-six
As we were walking back, Matthew asked me why Mrs Parkin had mentioned HIV. I told him about the condoms. ‘She said we ought to use them even after I start taking the pill because of HIV.’
He pulled me to a halt. ‘Are you not taking the pill?’
‘Not yet. I have to wait until after my period.’
‘Right! And when should that be?’
‘This week, I think.’
We walked on.
‘Sarah, when Bob Gray was asking you about things from the past not jogging your memory, why didn’t you mention Jeff?’
‘Who’s …? Dawn!’
A young woman was walking towards us. I recognised her though she looked different today in black heels and a tight grey skirt.
‘Hello, Sarah,’ she said. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine. Do you clean here as well?’ She’d never have been able to vacuum in that outfit.
Dawn laughed. She extended her hand towards Matthew. ‘I’m Dawn Hayley, Geraint Williams’ assistant. I stepped in the other week when Sarah’s cleaner was indisposed, so that she wouldn’t be confused by a change in routine.’ She smiled at me. ‘Although I don’t think I proved to be a very good charlady, did I?’
‘No!’ I realised that was probably a rude response. ‘But thanks.’
‘You’re welcome. Perhaps we’ll run into each other over the next couple of days.’
Dawn went on her way.
‘Williams got her to clean your flat when Annie wasn’t well?’.
‘Yes.’
‘Right! I hate that bastard!’
The arc of seats was fully occupied when Matthew and I walked back into the consulting room. During our absence, the group had expanded to include Professor Isabel Bluet, an expensively-dressed yet relaxed middle-aged woman, who was sitting beside Dr Gray. Shoumi Mustafa was squashed into the chair between Professor Bluet and Geraint Williams, his smile even more sycophantic than usual. Williams himself was looking smug. Sam Clegg was sitting in a corner tapping away at his laptop. He glanced up at Matthew and rolled his eyes. A chair had been placed centrally in front of the arc of buckets, a kind of amphitheatre awaiting my performance. No bucket had been set for Matthew, so he escorted me to my seat and then went over to sit beside Sam. I noticed Bob Gray look over at them and raise his eyebrows.
Geraint Williams took up a position between me and his colleagues and proceeded to outline my case report, unnecessarily since his audience each had a copy complete with imaging sheets. I felt very small, as small as an amoeba about to be poked with a pin. I listened to details of my weeks of unconsciousness, the discovery of my amnesia, numerous clinical investigations, my rehabilitation into my home and the wealth of tests to which I had been subject since this relocation. Williams mainly addressed Professor Bluet, rarely looking at anyone else. His expression made me nauseous. He concluded his presentation with details of my reactions to visual stimuli during MRI. He lifted up a composite of three photographs.
‘This series of prior contacts, designated Series 1, was shown to Sarah – British notation I’m afraid – on 06/03 of this year, before her return home, and on 03/04, two weeks after relocation. There was no haemodynamic response on either occasion. However, since these sessions, it has come to light that M. Parry, who was included in Series 1 and who is with us today …’ He indicated Matthew. ‘… has re-established contact with the patient and has facilitated her further contact with the otherSeries 1 individuals: A. Grant and A. Abercrombie.’
I looked at Matthew. His face was tense with anger.
Geraint Williams was still talking. ‘I anticipate that subsequent sessions will provide positive responses with allSeries 1 individuals. So no pulling the wool over our eyes there!’ The remark elicited constrained laughter from Professor Bluet and, particularly, from Shoumi Mustafa.
I heard myself interrupt: ‘If you’d shown me a photograph of my grandmother you would have got a positive response with that!’
Dr Williams straightened his waistcoat. ‘Ah yes, we did not include an image of the paternal …’
‘Dr Gray had a photograph of my paternal grandmother,’ I said, annoyed at Granny Clark’s exclusion.
‘Thank you, Sarah!’ Again, he pulled at the bottom of his waistcoat. ‘We did not include an image of the paternal grandmother since she died several years ago.’
‘It would have provided an excellent experimental control!’
Geraint Williams turned to Sam Clegg, his face barely disguising his irritation. ‘Thank you, Sam. I do assure you that we are fully satisfied with our experimental paradigms.’
He turned back to his guest. ‘Indeed, our control images can be seen in the composite marked Series 2, which includes images of Dr Gray and, of course, myself.’
More constrained laughter. I exchanged a brief look of triumph with Sam Clegg.
‘Now, let us come on to the three prior contacts in Series 3. The patient was thrice exposed to this series on 06/03, 03/04, and during an additional session two weeks ago. I will refer to these three individuals according to the initials DD, JB or AD printed below each photograph alongside each of their relationships to the patient. On each occasion, with a first exposure to the three images, the patient demonstrated no recognition. However, a second presentation was, on each occasion, characterized by intense and erratic brain activity, with a third presentation invariably demonstrating no recognition and a return to negative response.’
I had absolutely no idea what any of this meant.
Professor Bluet moved to interject. ‘Geraint, has the patient been exposed to the Series 3 images other than during imaging?’
Williams was clearly pleased by this question. ‘Indeed, Isabel, she was given two opportunities to view the images under ordinary circumstances, and demonstrated a complete lack of recognition on both occasions.’ His face was bright with confidence. ‘In fact, I am quite certain I will be able to demonstrate this lack of recognition right now.’ He turned to look at me, unsmiling. ‘I am going to ask Ms Blake to observe JB, and I am inclined to believe that once again she will demonstrate no recognition.’ He stepped forward and held a single photograph in front of me and asked me if I recognised the person. I shook my head.
‘Sarah, are you telling me that you have never seen this person or any image of this person
before?’ His face was triumphant.
I looked again at the photograph. I so wanted to prove him wrong, spoil his pompous performance, but the person in the photograph was a complete stranger. I felt a hand on my shoulder, looked up and met Matthew’s frantic green eyes.
‘Mr Parry, would you mind returning to your seat,’ said Dr Williams.
Matthew looked at Geraint Williams then snatched the photograph he was holding and held it forward so that I could reconsider. ‘Sarah,’ he said. ‘This is Jeff!’
‘Jeff who?’ I replied.
Episode Thirty-seven
Geraint Williams stepped back, all at once willing to relinquish centre stage. Matthew knelt down and held the photograph across my lap.
‘Sarah, do you really not recognise this person from yesterday? It’s from the same photograph.’
‘What photograph?’
‘The photograph from the upstairs flat!’
‘What upstairs flat?’ I was beginning to feel frightened. ‘Do you mean the flat above my flat?’
Matthew let the image slip from his hand. He lifted my fingers to his mouth so that I could feel the slight swelling around the wound. ‘Sarah, how did my lip get cut?’
‘You told Dr Gray you walked into a door.’
