Lynn Leslie: The Other Amanda

“You did well, Amanda.” Dr. Newman patted her arm.

“Can Jonathan come in now?” She felt alone and afraid without him. The dark emptiness in her head was terrifying.

“Yes. I’ll send Jonathan to you.”

She sighed. As nice as this doctor seemed, he wasn’t Jonathan. She sank back into her pillow, willing the tension to recede.

IT SEEMED FOREVER to Jonathan before Pat Newman came out of Amanda’s room. “Well, what’s the verdict?”

“I need to do a whole range of tests over the next several days for a complete assessment. However, she appears to be suffering from autobiographical memory loss, atypical in these cases. However, it does occur.” Newman seemed to evaluate him. “You’re going to have to be very careful, Jonathan. She remembers nothing before you on the night she came into ER. She’s developing a very strong attachment, which for the sake of her mental health we can’t sever, but we can’t let her grow too dependent on you. She wants to see you now, in fact.”

Newman searched his face, all business. “Can you handle this?”

“Of course.” Jonathan rubbed his face with both hands, trying to disguise his feelings. “I’ve dealt with the doctor-patient thing before.”

Except his other patient hadn’t been so terrified and so alone, or evoked such provocative memories. Every time he looked at Amanda, a knife twisted in his gut. Would the beautiful, sensual, headstrong woman he had once cared for ever return?

“Doctor Newman!” Margaret Chambers, with Randall in tow, headed toward them.

Jonathan looked to Newman for guidance.

“She’s not ready to see them.” Dr. Newman squared his shoulders. “They’ll only confuse her more.”

“You know Randall. He’ll insist on it. C’mon. We’d better all talk to them.” Carl moved purposefully down the corridor to intercept them.

“Pat, you help Carl stall as long as possible. I’ll try to prepare Amanda.”

She was lying still, her eyes wide, then her fingers began pleating the sheet. Careful not to get too close, trying to walk that thin line between doctor and friend, Jonathan stayed at the end of her bed.

“Jonathan!” she gasped, as if she’d been holding her breath until he returned. The soft trembling of her voice begged for reassurance. A tear trickled down one cheek.

“Amanda, everything will work itself out.” He spoke briskly, professionally. “You don’t have to be afraid. Dr. Johnson, Dr. Newman and the rest of the staff are here to help you. I’m only the plastic surgeon. To get you well, we’ll need lots of help.”

“I’m sorry.” A deep sigh rippled through her body. “It’s just that to me you’re the only real thing in this world. To make any sense out of the rest of it, I have to have a…a lifeline. For me that’s…you.” With a quiet sob, she turned her face away.

Could he handle this? The power she offered him could have enormous consequences. Could he forget the past? Treat her like any other patient? Ruthlessly he switched off all the red lights flashing in his head.

“I understand, Amanda. But your family is here, and they’re very anxious to see you. They’ve been here every day just waiting for you to wake up. I know you don’t remember them, and they may seem a bit intimidating at first, but your aunt and uncle love you and want to help you.”

She raised her head, frightened but determined, and very, very vulnerable.

He couldn’t resist. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay with you. We’ll do this together.”

Her grateful response triggered something he thought had died a long time ago. Without warning, memories rushed over him. The taste of her mouth. The feel of her body under his. The passionate abandon they’d shared that summer.

“I don’t remember my family. Will they think I’m crazy?”

“You’re definitely not crazy.” Was that why she seemed so fragile? Why hadn’t Newman reassured her? “There’s nothing wrong with you that can’t be fixed with a little time. Now close your eyes and rest.”

Like a trusting child, she obeyed him, and that small action tore at his heart. Maybe, just maybe, he couldn’t handle this after all. Pausing at her bedside, he critically assessed the healing process. He’d remove the gauze wrap tomorrow, the wires and metal plate next week. She’d have bruising and swelling to deal with for a time, and the hair would grow out where they’d shaved her. He was used to dealing with the transient consequences of traumatic reconstructive surgery. But repairing her memory, the essence of who she was, was out of his hands. He hoped to God that loss would be as temporary.

“I KNOW THE DIFFERENCE between semantic and episodic memory. Dr. Johnson. I was a nurse in this hospital before you were out of med school! So what does this have to do with my niece?”

Jonathan entered a conference room fraught with frustration. Apparently Carl Johnson had been trying to explain Amanda’s condition to the Chambers with little success.

“You are deliberately keeping us from our own flesh and blood. Do I need to call a lawyer?” Margaret Chambers had the polished confidence of a beautiful, mature woman. A woman who was sorely tried at the moment. Randall sat with his head down, wringing his hands, apparently overcome with emotion.

Jonathan intervened. “Your niece is resting, which is most important to her recovery. I’m sure Dr. Johnson and Dr. Newman are only trying to prepare you so you’ll be able to assist in that recovery.”

Randall looked up, a hopeful light in his eye. “It’s not irreparable, then?”

“Actually, I think you’ll be pleased. Carl did an excellent job with the hematoma, allowing me to operate before a lot of swelling set in. In fact, Margaret, her bone structure will be restored to the perfection of your own.” He’d dealt with hysterical relatives before.

“We aren’t deliberately keeping you from her, Mrs. Chambers.” Pat Newman jumped into the fray. “I’m her psychiatrist….”

“Yes. Yes.” She shook her head dismissively. “But why does she need a specialist in physical medicine and rehabilitation like you? What has happened since we were here last?”

Randall reached over to pat his wife’s hand. “Margaret, let the doctors explain.”

“She’s awake—” Dr. Johnson stared into Margaret’s pale face “—but Amanda is suffering from some memory loss.”

Margaret gasped and shrank against her husband. Jonathan had the impression that the only thing holding her together was the strength in Randall’s arms.

“Is it permanent?”

“Most probably not.” Johnson looked as if he meant business. “However, for the moment, Dr. Newman believes her personal memories are completely gone.”

“She doesn’t remember us?” Shock registered on Randall’s face.

“I don’t believe she does, Mr. Chambers. I’m sorry.”

Randall buried his head in his hands. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Margaret waved away any attempt at reassurance. “Is this a complication from the surgery?”

The tone in her voice drew a quick response from Johnson. “No. All her neurological tests have been normal. I would have told you if I’d seen any indication of this.”

“Autobiographical memory loss is highly unusual in this type of case. If, as Dr. Johnson feels, it is not caused by the neuro-trauma, it might have other causes. That’s why I’ve been called in to consult.” Pat Newman spoke quietly and confidently. “In many cases like this memory returns gradually over a month or two, but the patient never recovers the moments of the attack. We believe it’s a defense mechanism to spare the recurrence of pain and suffering. In any case, I won’t know without more testing.” Newman stood, as if the whole problem were settled.