Falling in Love in New York

by HILL, MELISSA

  As Hannah kept telling her, there were just too many unknowns when it came to the human brain, and while she now understood somewhat better the workings of her temporal lobe and the dreaded hippocampus, there was no way of knowing when the damage would make itself felt.

  “Most of the time, I don’t know what to do with myself,” she confessed to her mother. “I’m so used to having a million and one things to do at work, whereas now I have all this time on my hands.”

  “Well, if you don’t mind my saying so, there’s probably no harm in that all the same. You were working way too hard before all of this happened, rushing here and there and everywhere–you needed to slow down sometime.”

  “I know,” Abby bit her lip. “It was because I was rushing around that this happened in the first place.”

  Her mother was silent, obviously unwilling to agree that Abby was responsible for her own misfortune. “Well, it could have been much worse, couldn’t it?” Teresa said. “That falling slate could have killed you. And speaking of which, I was talking to the solicitor yesterday about the insurance.”

  Following the accident, the hugely apologetic roofing contractor had been in contact with Abby’s family in relation to a claim. Because the accident had happened on a public road, Right-On Roofing was obliged to pay Abby a considerable amount of compensation for her accident. Teresa, who’d agreed to deal with all the paperwork on Abby’s behalf, had learnt that the contractor’s insurance company were currently processing the claim and to the family’s great relief were also liasing with the hospital to cover her medical costs. As there was no issue over liability, she would also be entitled to a once-off lump sum, which Right-On Roofing’ s company director informed her would be paid as soon as the claim was settled.

  “He reckons it should be sorted fairly soon,” Teresa said, referring to her conversation with the solicitor.

  “Really?” Abby was taken aback that it was all going so smoothly. Then again, the roofing company was probably anxious to get the whole thing dealt with as soon as possible–just in case the doctors discovered more serious damage in the meantime! But while the company might want to wash their hands of it all quickly, she was surprised at the speed and efficiency of the insurance company. Bureaucracy wasn’t usually so straightforward–something that as an accountant Abby knew only too well. Still, she wasn’t going to complain, if the lump sum did come through relatively quickly then at least she wouldn’t need to worry about lost earnings from work. In addition, she also had her savings to rely on–considerable savings that were supposed to go towards the purchase of her and Kieran’s first home. But seeing as that wasn’t going to happen now….

  Her mother seemed hesitant. “Love, I don’t mean to sound negative or I don’t want to upset you or anything, but what if … well, what will you do when the doctors say will happen does happen?”

  “I don’t know,” Abby answered, swallowing hard. “Dr Moroney tells me that I should be OK, and that my normal day-to-day life shouldn’t be affected all that much other than the odd memory blip here and there, but to be honest, there are too many ‘shoulds’ in there for my liking. But all I know is that I seem absolutely fine so far, and apart from the occasional headache and a bit of tiredness now and then, I haven’t noticed anything different. To be honest, I’m wondering if they’re blowing the whole thing out of proportion.”

  “Wouldn’t you think they’d be able to tell you something more concrete at this stage!” her mother harrumphed. “All this ‘wait and see’ stuff is just not fair to anyone. Either they know or they don’t know!” Teresa took a sip of coffee, and Abby noticed that her hands were shaking with anger, or was it fear? Fear that her youngest daughter could realistically end up forgetting everything about her family and the people closest to her?

  Because this was something that Abby feared too. After all, it happened to Alzheimer’s patients, didn’t it? But the doctors had reassured her she didn’t have anything like Alzheimer’s, and that it was this so-called episodic memory rather than normal day-to-day working memory that would be affected. But how well did they really know that? According to Hannah, that American specialist knew of only one or two other precedents but as neither had this mysterious ‘second’ injury, they couldn’t really make a comparison.

  Abby sighed. What really terrified her was that there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t end up forgetting all the people dearest to her. And to think, she recalled sadly, that she had spent the last year trying her utmost to forget about Kieran. Be careful what you wish for and all that…

  “What about that other injury, the older one Doctor Moroney told us about?” her mother asked then. “Do you have any idea at all what that might be?”

  Abby shook her head. “None at all. I’ve been racking my brains to try and think of something, some previous circumstance where I might have hit my head or fallen over, but I just can’t think of anything.” She smiled inwardly, thinking about Erin’s take on this.

  “It must be drink-related,” her best friend had insisted, while visiting Abby at the hospital. “Drink and stiletto-related.”

  Although it had been quite a while since Abby had been drunk enough to fall over, let alone go out on the town in stilettos! Still, as she couldn’t think of any ready explanation, she supposed it was something to consider…

  “That’s a very strange one altogether,” Teresa went on. “Especially as they seem to think it could affect this latest one in some way.”

  “I know, but there’s not a whole lot I can do about any of it unfortunately. I think I just need to try and get on with my life as normal, otherwise I’ll go out of my mind.” Abby grinned then, realising what she’d just said. “Although I suppose that’s part of the problem in a way.”

  Her mother couldn’t help but smile back. “I suppose there’s a part of me that wonders if the doctors can be sure about any of this. You say that they keep saying the brain is so complex that they can’t predict anything for sure. So maybe this long-term memory loss thing mightn’t happen at all. Maybe your brain synapses will recover of their own accord.”

  “Maybe.” Abby shared her mother’s frustration with the doctors’ non-committal approach but she knew that it was all she could expect for the moment. And in fairness to Hannah and Doctor Moroney, they genuinely didn’t seem to know when or how things would pan out.

  Now she took a sip from her coffee mug. “Look, whatever happens, I’ll have to deal with it,” she said, hoping to allay her mother’s worries.

  “I really don’t know how you can be so calm about it all though.”

  Because I don’t want to worry you, Abby said silently. And she knew that if she got outwardly upset and revealed to her mother just how worried she herself was, it would only make things worse.

  As it was she was being particularly careful about putting her mind under any strain at all and of course the medication that the doctor had prescribed her also went some way toward maintaining her Zen-like attitude. But instead of confessing her fears, and worrying her mother even more, she now feigned a carefree shrug – something she’d perfected over the last few months following the break-up.

  Just then the telephone rang, and Teresa picked up the portable handset lying on the kitchen table.

  “Hello? Yes, that’s right. You’re there now? OK, just give me one minute and I’ll be over. OK, thanks.” Hanging up the phone, she turned to Abby. “I told Mary Collins I’d take in a delivery for her and that’s them now. Will you be all right here, if I pop over and let them in?”

  Mary Collins was a good friend and nearby neighbour of Teresa’s and each woman held spare keys to the other’s houses.

  “Of course, you go on. Unless you want me to go with you–do you need a hand taking it in?”

  “No, no, it’s only a parcel. You stay there and relax, and I’ll be back in a jiffy,” she said, putting on a jacket. “Make a fresh cuppa and go on into the sitting room. The Afternoon Show will be on soon.”

&n
bsp; Switching on the kettle again, Abby did as she was bid and carried the plate of biscuits into the living room. While her mother was a big fan of afternoon TV, she wasn’t so keen, having had it up to her eyes with TV in general for the last few weeks. She’d much prefer reading a book but as she tired easily these days, she didn’t want to put her eyes under strain. Even spending a half an hour or so on the Internet made her eyes hurt, so Abby was careful not to put her brain under any undue pressure–just in case.

  But as she had nothing better to do while waiting for her mother to return, she turned on the television. Nothing but ads, ads and more ads, she thought, looking around for the remote control, which she eventually spied sitting on top of the piano at the far end of the room.

  Abby approached the piano, but instead of reaching for the remote control like she intended, she impulsively lifted the lid and pulled out the small stool tucked beneath. Then, she sat down and began idly running her fingers along the keys.

  Some ten minutes later, Teresa Ryan returned from her neighbour’s to a house filled with music, and her youngest daughter in front of the piano in the throes of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy.

  “God, it’s years since I heard that,” Abby’s mother said fondly. “Actually, it’s years since I heard you play at all–we really should get you in front of that piano more often.” Then she turned and went back into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of tea. Slightly shell-shocked, Abby stayed sitting in front of the piano, her fingers tingling, and not just from striking the keys.

  Because as far as she was concerned, she had never played the piano in her entire life.

  “No need to worry, that sounds perfectly reasonable,” Hannah informed her the following afternoon, after Abby had frantically phoned her office for an immediate appointment. She’d been completely upended by the incident at her mum’s house, not just by her surprising ability but moreover by the fact that her mother seemed to think that it was nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Reasonable? How could it be reasonable?” Abby cried, slumping miserably into Hannah’s purple armchair. “I don’t remember ever playing the piano in my life!” She shook her head. “As far as I’m concerned I don’t know how.”

  “As far as your episodic memory is concerned, you don’t know how,” Hannah clarified smoothly, “because you can’t specifically remember learning. Your procedural memory on the other hand, isn’t concerned with when or how you learned this particular skill, as it’s only responsible for retaining it.”

  “I don’t understand …”

  “Remember when I tried to reassure you that you would be able to live a perfectly normal life as far as your day-to-day activities were concerned? That you wouldn’t forget how to walk or how to dress yourself, drive a car, things like that?” When Abby looked blank, she continued. “OK, take for example learning how to walk. Like the rest of us, you probably learned this particular skill when you were a baby–what twelve, thirteen months old?”

  “I think so yes.”

  “So forget the head injury for a moment. I’m willing to bet that you can’t actually remember learning, can you? You can’t remember going from crawling on all fours to balancing upright and taking those first steps?”

  “Well no.”

  “But yet you still know how to walk, don’t you?”

  “So far, yes,” Abby muttered wryly.

  Hannah folded her arms. “Well, when it comes to learning a skill, such as walking or playing the piano, episodic memory is responsible for the recollection of ‘where and when’ you learned it, whereas procedural memory is responsible for the skill itself. The brain doesn’t need to access the ‘where and when’ in order to remember the skill. Procedural memory and episodic memory function quite separately from one another. Am I making any sense?”

  Abby nodded thoughtfully. “I think so. You’re saying that the undamaged part of my brain knows that I could play the piano, but the damaged bit couldn’t remember learning to do so.” Although it was still very scary, at least she was now beginning to understand the reasons behind it.

  “Exactly.” Hannah looked pleased that her patient was getting it. “Procedural memory is extremely durable, episodic not so much, which is why most of us can’t remember learning how to walk or recall specific memories from early childhood. But in your case, because of the damage to the hippocampus, its durability is even worse.”

  “It was so weird,” Abby said, shaking her head at the peculiarity of it all. “It really was as if I’d been playing the piano all my life. I just sat down in front of it, and my fingers seem to know exactly what to do.”

  “That’s because they did know. Abby, in a way I’m glad something like this has happened.” When she looked at her wide-eyed, Hannah held up his hands in a gesture of apology. “Forgive me, but what I mean is that it’s a useful way to help you understand the nature of your injury and how your memory function works.”

  Abby didn’t know what to think. This was supposed to be a good thing?

  “Well, I’m sorry but I just don’t share your enthusiasm,” she said flatly. It was really happening wasn’t it? No matter how much she tried to tell herself that the damage might not be so bad, and that she might be OK, there was no now denying that there really was something wrong.

  “Abby, little things like this will be par for the course from now on,” Hannah said gently. “Some things you’ll notice, others maybe not but either way you’ll need to come to terms with the fact that because of the damage, your memory will no longer function the way it used to.”

  After a brief pause, Abby sighed. “Well, as you say as long as I can live a normal life, I suppose I could put up with forgetting a few small things here and there.”

  When Hannah didn’t reply immediately, her eyes narrowed. “What?” she asked fearfully. “What am I missing?”

  “Abby, episodic memory is only a small part of the way our brain stores memories and any changes, however small, in the way it works merely confirms the damage to your hippocampus.” She paused before continuing. “I’m sorry but what happened yesterday is just the beginning.”

  Chapter 11

  Abby realised that over the last few years, she barely had a memory–good or bad–that didn’t include Kieran.

  He’d been there for her graduation, smiling proudly along with her parents as she stood on the podium to accept her accountancy qualifications. She’d taken her very first plane ride with him, her hand tightly clasped in his as the plane sped up and took flight. They’d had their first foreign holiday together, he’d been at her side for Claire’s wedding, and also when her dad suffered a heart attack and died a few years back.

  Now, all those wonderful memories were tainted. In fact, all of Abby’s memories were tainted so really, what did it matter if she ended up losing them?

  “That’s such a depressing attitude,” Caroline chided, one evening not long after incident at her mum’s house, when she invited herself over to Abby’s flat.

  Since the accident, her older sister had been unbelievably attentive, to the point that when Abby came out of hospital she’d insisted on staying over for a few days to ‘look after her’. And as having hyperactive Caroline around at the best of times was enough to drive most people insane, Abby had declined.

  “To be frank, I think you need to stop moping around and letting this whole thing get you down,” her sister scolded now. “For goodness’ sake Abby, when’s the last time you got out and enjoyed yourself–really enjoyed yourself? It’s no surprise you can’t find any good memories, because lately you haven’t bothered creating any!”

  Abby stared, stung by the vehemence in her tone. “Was I that bad?” she asked croakily.

  “Yes!” Caroline exclaimed. “And I’m sorry, I don’t mean to upset you but I’m your sister, and I really think you need to hear this, have needed to hear it for a while and God knows I’ve held my tongue long enough.” She looked away, and her tone softened. “Look, I know you were at the wedding–Kier
an’s wedding.”

  At this her heart hammered in her chest. “What? How could you possibly…?”

  “It doesn’t matter how I know, I just do.”

  Abby wanted to die of mortification. To think that she’d somehow been spotted …

  “Look, I wasn’t going to say anything before, but I really think I have to now. Abs, there’s no going back. You need to forget all about Kieran and start getting on with your own life.”

  “You think I haven’t tried?” Abby cried, wounded. “You think I’ve enjoyed spending every waking minute of the day thinking about him, and most nights crying over him?” Then she stopped short, realising that she’d just admitted this out loud. God, now, Caroline would think she was pathetic, a complete idiot…

  “Hey, it’s OK,” Now Caroline’s tone was soothing. “I can only imagine how hard it’s all been for you. But Abby, the truth is that you haven’t really tried to move on. And you refuse to let any of us help you. Erin tells me you’re always crying off on nights out, or even small things like a couple of drinks after work. Before this accident, you seemed to spend every waking minute of your time working late in the office, and you hardly saw or spent time with any of us until mum’s birthday.” She turned to face her, her expression remorseful. “Abby, I’m sorry and I know you’re still hurting, but you have to realise that Kieran isn’t coming back.”

  “I know,” Abby replied, her heart breaking all over again at having to hear someone say it out loud. “I know that.”

  Caroline sat up straight. “OK, so here’s what I think. And you might think I’m crazy,” she gave her a sideways glance, “but I reckon that blow to the head might have been a wake-up call–something to remind you how much you’re missing out on life. You said yourself that everything in the run-up to the accident isn’t worth remembering anyway,” she added lightly. “So now’s the time to do something about that. Lets go out on the town this weekend–just the two of us! We can go out for a nice meal somewhere and have a good old gossip and a bit of craic.”