I sat at the restaurant waiting for Ana, who was extremely late. I got worried after she didn’t answer my third call.
I’d started to dial her number again when a waitress came up behind me, “Excuse me, sir?”
“There’s a call from St. John’s Hospital for you.”
“Okay, thanks,” I reluctantly took the phone from her and put it to my ear, “hello?”
What was this about? You only get calls from the hospital when someone you love is hurt.
“Sir, the hospital has you down as Mrs. Anastasia Scott-Meyers’ emergency contact.”
I tensed up, “That’s my wife, what about it?”
“We need you down here immediately, your wife was in a car accident and was recently admitted to the ER.”
“I-I’ll be right there.”
I grabbed my coat, and put some money on the table before exiting the restaurant.
“So,” Dr. Strauss opened up a portfolio, “Mr. Meyers, you wife was admitted into the ER last night and was cleared around the time you got here.”
“Okay.” I sat next to the hospital bed, holding her hand. They’d finally let me in the room a few hours ago. Before this, I just paced the waiting room.
All the hospital needed from me was permission to run a few tests and stitch up her leg.
“I’m not sure how much you know so I’ll fill you in. Your wife has injuries consisting of a broken ankle, a gash on her leg that was stitched up and has a cast, a few cuts, and some bruised ribs. She hasn’t woken up since last night due to the pain medication she was given, but she should come around in the next few hours.”
“Thank you, doctor,” I shook his hand.
“I have do my rounds, but I will be back; get some sleep Mr. Meyers, it’s seven in the morning.”
He left and I didn’t hesitate to do as he said. I’d been awake for the past seventeen hours. My eyes closed and I was dead to the world five seconds later.
Later, I was jolted awake by the sound of a loud scream.
“What is it?” I looked up at Anastasia, who was awake also and sitting up in bed, “Oh, sweetie, you came around.”
I went in to kiss her, but she backed away, “Whoa there, buddy, buy me dinner first,” she took a glance around, “okay, why exactly am I in a hospital and who the hell are you?”
I chuckled, “Wait... you’re serious?”
“Uh, yeah,” Dr. Strauss walked in before I could respond.
“Ah, Mrs. Meyers, you’re awake.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Meyers?” Ana asked with furrowed eyebrows, “No- no, my last name is Scott.”
“Yes, Scott-Meyers, correct?”
“No, just Scott.”
He looked at me and I looked at her, “Are you okay, Anastasia?” I asked.
“Okay, doctor, who’s this is guy and how does he know my name?”
“I’m Tyler...” she didn’t look like she recognized the name, “Your husband, you’ve kinda been married to me for six years. Any of this coming back to you?”
She shook her head, “No.”
Dr. Strauss clicked the flashlight off, “Alright, Anastasia, I’m going to ask you a series of questions to test my theory.”
“Okay,” she replied. I sat in a chair next to her bed.
“What is your name?”
“Okay... how old are you?”
It took her a while, but she finally came up with, “Twenty-eight... I think.”
“Where do you live?”
“New York City.”
He nodded, “Alright, I know some of your memories are foggy right now, but what’s the clearest most recent one?”
She bit her lip and looked down, something she only does when she’s thinking really hard, “Um, my dad’s funeral. That was pretty recent right?”
I groaned, “That was almost ten years ago.”
“Okay, that’s really annoying me, h-how are you doing that?”
“Knowing things about me that I can’t remember, my social, birthday, blood type."
“I told you that we’re married.”
“I don’t believe you,” she crossed her arms over her chest, “show me the marriage licence.”
“Maybe I should do that after this.”
“Tyler, Anastasia, no need to go at each other’s throats,” the doctor turned to me, “Mr. Meyers, your wife here seems to have PTA- post traumatic amnesia.”
“Okay, could you explain that?”
“PTA is a state of confusion that occurs immediately following a traumatic brain injury, like a car accident, in which the person is unable to remember events. The type she seems to be experiencing is retrograde amnesia the loss of some memories that were formed before the injury.”
“You mean to tell me this is something that was overlooked, after you put her through every big scan machine in the building?”
“Yes, and I’m extremely sorry, I did not perform any of the procedures myself.”
“What are the odds that she’ll, you know, get her memory back?”
“Her scans should show the severity of the injury, let me see...” he opened Anastasia’s injury portfolio again, “ah, it seems that damage to the temporal lobe was noted. I was jusy not made aware of it. The damage is mild, mild enough that she can remember her own name, but serve enough to where she may not regain her memory for up to about a year or possibly ever.”
A female nurse came in the room with a file folder, “Dr. Strauss, the blood work came back and we need to take Mrs. Meyers in for a sonogram.”
Anastasia sat up straighter, “Wait, why?”
“Oh, you guys didn’t know?” she asked.
My brow furrowed, “Know what?”
“Congratulations, you guys are pregnant!”