by Karen Klyne
It wasn’t surprising, but she hardly slept at all, and when she did nod off, a weird clash of images, some of the life she knew, some from a life she didn’t recognize, kept her from sleeping well. Back and forth, they melded together and split apart, and when she tried to hold onto any of them, they slipped away like fog through her fingers. When she woke, she could swear she smelled roses and apples, and the scent made her gag. She opened her eyes to unfamiliar surroundings, and her eyes darted around the room. Then she remembered, and her stomach sank. It wasn’t a nightmare. This was reality.
There was pandemonium outside her door. She half laughed to herself. This is bedlam. Then again, there was a lot of shouting and laughter, so it could be Butlin’s holiday camp. But this wasn’t a holiday, and it wasn’t amusing.
There was a knock at her door, and it opened slightly. “Morning, Gemma. Would you like to take a shower before the masses arrive?” the man asked.
She pulled her duvet up to her chin. “Where’s Erin?”
“If she’s got any sense, she’ll be at home tucked up in bed. My name’s Terry. I do the morning shift. Erin left a note that you might be more comfortable showering without other people around.”
She didn’t like the idea of a male nurse just barging in. She could have been stark naked, but she had the feeling this wasn’t a place where you’d get much privacy. Alex nodded, pulled her dressing gown from the chair, put her slippers on, grabbed her sponge bag, and followed him along the corridor.
He left the door to the bathroom ajar. “There you go. Call me if you need anything. I’ll be right here.”
Alex looked around the shower area. “Where’s the hairdryer?”
“I’ll go get you one. I’ll have to stick around whilst you’re using it though.”
Alex frowned, then shook her head as she understood. Hairdryers had cords. Still, she was thankful he wasn’t going to supervise her ablutions as well.
She slipped her clothes off, organised her toiletries, and stood beneath the shower. At least the water was hot. It was refreshing, but she doubted it would wash away this almighty cock-up. She sighed and stuck her head under the water and lathered her hair with shampoo. She rinsed off, dried herself down, and stood in front of the mirror, expecting to see someone else, maybe the person everyone thought she was. But no, just her usual self, if a bit more tired looking than usual. She shouted Terry, who got her the hairdryer and waited until she’d finished her hair. Thankfully, no one else came in while she was getting ready, giving her one less thing to have to deal with. When she got back to her room, she found underwear, then rummaged through the wardrobe and picked out a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and a pair of trainers. The casual clothing felt like wearing someone else’s uniform.
“Are you decent?” Terry called.
“Yes.” At least he asked.
He put his head around the door and smiled. “After breakfast, you have an appointment with Dr Bollard. I’ll come and collect you and take you to his room.”
“Great, thanks.” Perhaps this Dr Bollard would see through all this. Maybe he could help her figure out what had gone wrong. It gave her hope and a spring in her step as she headed to the restaurant. The room was full of people and when she walked in, they all stopped eating and stared at her. She tried to ignore them, tried to blank them out as just another dream aspect of this strange world. She opted for cereal followed by a poached egg on toast. The choice was unexpectedly good for a hospital, and she was glad she had something somewhat healthy to eat. She took it over to an empty table, ate it quickly, then went back to her room.
She sat on the bed and waited for Terry. He arrived and escorted her to the doctor’s suite. She’d never have found her way without him. He made small talk all the way, and he was obviously a golf fanatic, but she managed to tune him out.
Terry knocked on the door, announced her arrival, and left.
Alex thrust her hand forward. “Good to meet you, Dr Bollard. I’m hoping you can sort this mess out.”
He got off his chair and shook hands. “Take a seat, Gemma.” He leaned back in his chair. “So, tell me why you think you’re here.”
She breathed deeply and let out a sigh. “It’s all a question of mistaken identity. Everyone thinks I’m Gemma Tennant, but my real name is Alex Gambol.”
He nodded. “Go on.”
She tried to stick to the facts. “Two mornings ago, I walked my dog on the beach. It seemed like any other morning, apart from a stranger accosting me and telling me I’d dropped a shoulder bag. It wasn’t mine, and eventually I said I’d take it to the police station for her. My dog ran off, so I went back home expecting to find him there. When I got into my house, there were two children sitting at my table. My mother had disappeared, and everything looked different. A woman called Reece turned up and claimed she was my wife. Then it all got out of hand, and I ended up at the GP’s surgery. I’m sure you know that part. It’s all been one big mistake, but I can’t figure out where things went haywire. I can’t figure out where my life has gone.” She listened to herself relating the story. It did sound rather far-fetched, but it was the truth.
He smiled and nodded throughout her account, reminding her of one of those nodding dogs you used to see in the back of cars. Then he scratched his chin. “Interesting.”
She could hear the scraping sound as he scratched his designer beard.
“You say that you have no knowledge of any of these people? Your wife, your children?”
She turned her palms up. “None whatsoever. I’ve never met any of them before in my life. There are photos, and everyone seems to recognize me…” She shrugged helplessly. “But it’s not me.”
“I see. What do you think will happen when you leave here?”
“I’m sure I’ll be able to prove I’m the legal owner of the house, with the aid of a good lawyer.” Somehow, she doubted that last statement. “Although, I can’t understand the changes in it. Or the photos of me being somewhere I haven’t been.” She sighed, frustrated. “I can’t explain any of it.”
He nodded again and rested his chin on his hand. “What about your problems?”
“What problems?”
“I think we have to work on your acceptance of the past.”
Alex tapped her fingers on his desk. “I know my past. There’s nothing to accept. I work hard, I take care of my mother. I’m responsible, and I’ve built up a hell of a business for myself. That’s who I am.”
“This is how I see it, Gemma. You know that you’ve been taking an awful lot of medication and alcohol? And you’ve been depressed.”
“You’re not listening. I hardly drink, I never take medication, and I’m not depressed. Not yet, anyway. I know that’s what that woman, Reece, told my GP.”
“Gemma, I believe that the combination of chemicals and your depression has caused a sort of dissociative amnesia.”
Alex banged her fist on the table. “I don’t have any fucking amnesia…doctor.”
The vibration knocked his chin off his hand. He smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Condescending bastard. If she ever saw this particular Bollard in the middle of the road, she’d drive into him and then reverse.
“Let’s take one day at a time, Gemma. I’m a little concerned that now you’re off the medication you might start suffering withdrawal symptoms. We’ll keep an eye on that and see how things go. Then we’ll address the depression. Try and get to the root of it.” He paused. “Are you still self-harming?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I explained how I got that cut. I was cutting carpet.” He hasn’t listened to a bloody word. Alex folded her arms across her chest. “I’d like to leave now. It seems like a very nice hospital, but I don’t want to stay here. Thank you for trying.”
Bollard leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. For your own good it’ll be much better if you spend some time with us.”
Alex pushed her chair back. Her nostrils flared. �
��You mean I can’t leave?”
“It’s for your own health and safety. We’re here to protect you. And given your lack of awareness about your family and history, I’d say you’re a danger to yourself at the moment. I’m afraid I have no choice but to section you until we know you’re in a better place.”
It didn’t matter what she said. In fact, telling him her story seemed to have made it worse. She got up, went to the door, and slammed it behind her.
She eventually found her way back to her room. She sat on the edge of the bed and tried to calm herself. Her ears pounded, and her mouth was dry. She beat her fist into the mattress. She’d like to smash it into Bollard’s face. They were going to lock her away forever. How the hell was she going to get out of this?
***
Over the next few days, her mood deteriorated. She didn’t sleep. She stayed in her room and refused to go out. There was no point. She missed her mum, even though they’d never been that close. She missed her workmates and the satisfaction she found in working every day. She missed her dog. She missed it all, the sum parts that made up her life. She’d never see it again, because it didn’t appear to exist anymore.
She mustn’t give up. Somehow, she’d have to find the strength to carry on. She reminded herself constantly that she wasn’t crazy, that something was off, that she’d fallen into a twilight zone of some kind. She couldn’t let them make her think she was the one in the wrong.
Reece kept visiting, and she wished she could stop her. She supposed she could, but then it was the only outside contact she had, and maybe one day, she might need her. There was no one else out there. Obviously, Reece was a dutiful wife. She visited every evening and kept bringing in all manner of things. Pictures for the wall, flowers, more clothes, more everything. Alex had nothing to say to her, because she didn’t know her and Reece didn’t believe a word she said anyway. Reece tried to make polite conversation, but Alex didn’t answer. She brought news of Callum and Mattie, even produced some pictures they’d drawn which Reece stuck on the wardrobe door. She reported how they were doing at school and most of all, how they couldn’t wait to see her. Why would she want to see them? They weren’t hers. Or were they? Everyone else seemed to think they were, and in her sleep, in the moments right before she drifted off and right before she woke, the overlapping memories would hit, making her wonder who the hell she was. It was bizarre.
Luckily, the doctor had decided against prescribing any medication. He thought she’d had enough in the past and thought it better to wean her off and assess her in a few weeks’ time. Time itself seemed to turn against her, and she had no clue how much had passed. She thought it was days, but it could have been weeks. It rained and rained outside which suited her gloomy mood. She took no interest in her appearance and realised she was wearing the same old tracksuits even though the muted part of her hated them. They were clean, so it didn’t really matter. As for eating, everything tasted the same. She ate enough to keep her alive. During the day, she was dragged along to group meetings. She didn’t contribute, just sat there, and said nothing. She wasn’t interested in her own problems, let alone theirs. They banged on about depression, drug addiction, abuse, and eating disorders, but none of them had had their life stolen. If they had, she’d have sat up and listened. It was obvious nobody liked her. She ignored them and kept herself to herself. She wasn’t there to make friends. All her fears, all her impotent rage, even her despair, had turned into indifference.
One night, when Reece visited, she drew up the chair and placed it opposite her.
“I’ve never seen you looking like this, Gemma. When did you last wash your hair?”
Who cares? If she had her way, she wouldn’t even bother showering. There wasn’t any point.
“You’re losing weight, too.”
She knew that. The clothes were getting looser. There was nobody to impress, and nothing mattered. She certainly wasn’t the suicidal type, but she simply didn’t know what there was to live for. Who could give her a reason? She wished she’d never gone out that morning. If she’d stayed at home, her life would be hers. Hindsight was a bummer.
The doctors, the staff, the medical social workers…they all said they were letting her find her own way. To where? She couldn’t have found her way out of a paper bag.
Reece looked like she was about to give up on her. It was a shame, because despite the way Alex had treated her, she still came back for more. She seemed like a nice person, and she was attractive despite the haggard lines around her eyes. She was someone Alex would have been happy to call a friend in her old life. Still, she couldn’t find the energy to return her kindness given the darkness she couldn’t seem to climb out of.
When Reece left that night, she got off the bed and sat at her table. She picked up the notebook that Reece had left some time ago. She started to write a diary. There wasn’t much to write, but she tried.
06:00 a.m. I lay awake in bed, and it’s comfortable, but I’m used to sleeping on two pillows. I asked for another, but it never arrived. They give me a mild sedative at night. I could easily sleep until maybe seven, but they wake me at six. Then they report that I have insomnia. Now I lay there listening to all the sounds outside my door. I should be thankful I’m not sharing with a roommate. I can’t abide snoring. It drives me crazy. Ha ha.
07:00 a.m. Drifting off and someone bangs on my door. No more sleep. Breakfast is in thirty minutes. I’d love to close my eyes again, but that’s not on their agenda. I brush my teeth and take a shower, then go back to my room and dress.
07:30 a.m. And it’s breakfast time. Goody, goody. It’s Friday, and it’s omelettes. Popular with everyone. I eat more than usual. The nurses are watching me, and I’m sure they’re making notes on how much I stuff in my gob. Back to my room. I close the door in hopes that they’ll leave me alone.
09:00 a.m. Surprise, surprise. Today they dragged me to the community group. Not sure what it’s about, but everybody seems to have complaints. Their book is missing, someone has taken their pillow, someone’s stolen their shower gel. God, they’re always crying. Most people seem to be here because they’re depressed or have anxiety problems. They even panic when there’s no washing up liquid. Shit. They’re almost suicidal about it. Then there are the ones who’ve been here a while and get involved with other inmates. It never works. Then they’re back to square one on a suicidal ward. I do feel sorry for them, I just don’t feel like I’m one of them.
10:00 a.m. A meeting with Dr Bollard. My amazing psychiatrist. Not. I can’t help thinking about our first meeting, although he seems to have moved on since then. I haven’t. He runs through the usual routine of questions: How are you feeling? Why aren’t you eating more? Are you punishing yourself? Do I feel like hurting myself? I hurt enough. I don’t want to inflict any more pain on myself. How’s your sleeping, mood, depression? I say I’m feeling a lot more positive, even though I’m not. I don’t want to be a disappointment. He seems to be happy with that.
11:00 a.m. Process group. Combating negative thoughts. Write a negative thought and three positive ones to counteract it. That’s difficult for me. Where are the positive thoughts going to come from, a past no one thinks I’ve actually had? I wish people would stop crying.
12:30 p.m. Lunchtime. Pizza today. Everyone in good spirits. Apart from the anorexics.
1:15 p.m. Wander around. Keep out of everybody’s way.
2:00 p.m. Recreational therapy. Sometimes there’s a film. I don’t care.
4:00 p.m. Visiting hour. None today for me. Obviously don’t have any friends.
5:30 p.m. Dinner, or some call it tea. It’s an odd time to serve food.
7:00 p.m. Reece visited. I want to thank her, but the words won’t come.
8:30 p.m. Go and watch a bit of TV.
9:30 p.m. Back in room. Lay looking at the ceiling feeling sorry for myself. I wait for my sedative.
When I get to tomorrow’s page, all I’ll have to do is write “ditto.” No, this wasn�
��t an exercise she’d be repeating. She shoved the book away and went to bed. Writing it all down made everything feel even more hopeless.
Tomorrow came. Same old daily routine. Substitute omelettes for pancakes and pizza for chilli, and it’s done.
After a bowl of cereal, she went back to her room. She lay on the bed and dozed off again. One minute it was insomnia, and now she couldn’t get enough sleep. Nobody bothered her today, with a group or anything else. Maybe it was the weekend. After lunch, she did the same thing. There was nothing to motivate her, so she closed her eyes and slept.
A knock on the door woke her. She opened her eyes and blinked a few times. “Come in.”
Reece walked through the door.
“Bloody hell, is it that time already?”
Reece smiled. “It’s only four o’clock. It’s Saturday, Gemma. I don’t work at the weekends.”
“Oh.” She knew nothing about Reece. She’d never asked her what she did for a living or what things she liked. She propped her pillows up behind her and pushed herself into a sitting position. Whatever the hell was going on, it probably wasn’t Reece’s fault and taking it out on her was unfair.
“How are you?”
Alex shrugged. She couldn’t say anything positive, but she was tired to her bones of being negative.
“It’s lovely outside. Why don’t we take a walk?”
That sounded like a good idea. Why hadn’t she thought of it? It might be a distraction, and she could do with some fresh air. She swung her legs off the bed and put some trainers on. Whilst she was doing so, she saw Reece glance at her notepad. “You can read it if you like.” She was sure she’d be enthralled.
Reece picked it up and scanned through it. She didn’t comment, just set it down carefully with the pen placed just-so on top.
They walked down the corridor and out through the side door. As they stepped into the garden, there was a beautiful array of flowers with cone shaped clusters of blossoms in shades of scarlet, burnt orange, and crimson.
