my legs carefully so as not to nick the skin. I take my time at both these things and then I just stand there a while in the spray. I’ll deal with my pubic hair some other time -- for now I just wash myself clean, inside and out.
It’s only when the water begins to chill that I turn it off and towel dry. If I could, I’d stay in there all morning until my skin begins to prune and pucker.
On any normal day I’d blow-dry my hair, I’d moisturize, but this is not a normal day. Now I do want that coffee. After the shower, I think my stomach can handle it. I slip on my robe and pad out into kitchen.
The microwave tells me it’s seven-thirty. I’ve been in there almost an hour. I sit at the kitchen table and sip the strong hot coffee, black with two sugars. There’s no cream. He’s not picked any up for me. Patrick takes his black.
Doc’s an early bird. He’s the kind of old country black-bag doctor you hardly ever see anymore. He opens at eight. So at eight o’clock sharp I’m on the telephone.
My hands are shaking again. I don’t think it’s the coffee.
Millie, his receptionist-slash-nurse, picks up right away.
“Hi, Millie, it’s Sam. Is he in yet?
There’s a strange hesitant pause on the other end.
“Sam? Why, it’s so good to hear from you, dear. I’ll put you right through.”
Then it’s Doc on the line. He sounds surprised and happy.
“Sam! Damn, girl, you had us worried!”
And hearing his voice I can’t keep the sudden tears out of my own. Rational Samantha Burke is having a complete and total meltdown on the telephone.
“John, what’s…I don’t understand…what’s happening here…I don’t…I’ve…somehow I’ve lost days, weeks, I don’t remember…and Patrick won’t…he’s…he just…our living room’s destroyed, and my wedding dress…John? Who’s Lily?”
There’s a silence.
“Sam, Lily’s you. ” he says.
And that’s how I learn that for eighteen days, I’ve been a little girl.
He asks me to calm down and try to begin at the beginning so I tell him about waking up and Patrick’s strange, scary reaction and his sleeping and the trashed living room and the children’s toys and all the rest and I try to go slow but it’s hard, I know I’m skipping over things, but he listens patiently without interrupting and then he tells me about Patrick bringing me to his office and his interview with me and the subsequent results of the MRI, which were negative. He tells me that Lily appeared to be a smart, polite child of about five or six years old. He tells me that apparently I’d suffered from selective memory loss and age regression -- he avoids the phrase split personality -- that I knew my cat Zoey, for instance, but not my husband.
“I gave him the name of a psychoanalyst to call, Sam. I wanted you to see her right away. For some reason Patrick wanted to try to bring you back himself. I guess he did.”
“Will I…good god, John, is this going to happen to me again?”
“I honestly don’t know. Will you try the therapist?”
“Of course I will.”
“Good. And from what you’re telling me, so should Patrick. Tell him to give you her name and number. I’d see Patrick myself today but I’ve got a meeting in Oklahoma City at ten o’clock and I’ll be gone all afternoon. I’m really glad you caught me. Can you bring him in tomorrow?”
“Yes. I’ll see to it.”
“Okay, nine o’clock. In the meantime, let him rest. He’s had quite a shock. And you might try to get some yourself. Any valium in the house, anything like that?”
“I think so. I’ll check.”
“If you need some, call Millie. I’ll leave a prescription for you.”
“Thanks, John. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Sam. You try to relax now, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
I sit down with the dregs of my coffee and think this over. It’s a hell of a lot to take in all at once like this but that’s
It’s only when the water begins to chill that I turn it off and towel dry. If I could, I’d stay in there all morning until my skin begins to prune and pucker.
On any normal day I’d blow-dry my hair, I’d moisturize, but this is not a normal day. Now I do want that coffee. After the shower, I think my stomach can handle it. I slip on my robe and pad out into kitchen.
The microwave tells me it’s seven-thirty. I’ve been in there almost an hour. I sit at the kitchen table and sip the strong hot coffee, black with two sugars. There’s no cream. He’s not picked any up for me. Patrick takes his black.
Doc’s an early bird. He’s the kind of old country black-bag doctor you hardly ever see anymore. He opens at eight. So at eight o’clock sharp I’m on the telephone.
My hands are shaking again. I don’t think it’s the coffee.
Millie, his receptionist-slash-nurse, picks up right away.
“Hi, Millie, it’s Sam. Is he in yet?
There’s a strange hesitant pause on the other end.
“Sam? Why, it’s so good to hear from you, dear. I’ll put you right through.”
Then it’s Doc on the line. He sounds surprised and happy.
“Sam! Damn, girl, you had us worried!”
And hearing his voice I can’t keep the sudden tears out of my own. Rational Samantha Burke is having a complete and total meltdown on the telephone.
“John, what’s…I don’t understand…what’s happening here…I don’t…I’ve…somehow I’ve lost days, weeks, I don’t remember…and Patrick won’t…he’s…he just…our living room’s destroyed, and my wedding dress…John? Who’s Lily?”
There’s a silence.
“Sam, Lily’s you. ” he says.
And that’s how I learn that for eighteen days, I’ve been a little girl.
He asks me to calm down and try to begin at the beginning so I tell him about waking up and Patrick’s strange, scary reaction and his sleeping and the trashed living room and the children’s toys and all the rest and I try to go slow but it’s hard, I know I’m skipping over things, but he listens patiently without interrupting and then he tells me about Patrick bringing me to his office and his interview with me and the subsequent results of the MRI, which were negative. He tells me that Lily appeared to be a smart, polite child of about five or six years old. He tells me that apparently I’d suffered from selective memory loss and age regression -- he avoids the phrase split personality -- that I knew my cat Zoey, for instance, but not my husband.
“I gave him the name of a psychoanalyst to call, Sam. I wanted you to see her right away. For some reason Patrick wanted to try to bring you back himself. I guess he did.”
“Will I…good god, John, is this going to happen to me again?”
“I honestly don’t know. Will you try the therapist?”
“Of course I will.”
“Good. And from what you’re telling me, so should Patrick. Tell him to give you her name and number. I’d see Patrick myself today but I’ve got a meeting in Oklahoma City at ten o’clock and I’ll be gone all afternoon. I’m really glad you caught me. Can you bring him in tomorrow?”
“Yes. I’ll see to it.”
“Okay, nine o’clock. In the meantime, let him rest. He’s had quite a shock. And you might try to get some yourself. Any valium in the house, anything like that?”
“I think so. I’ll check.”
“If you need some, call Millie. I’ll leave a prescription for you.”
“Thanks, John. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Sam. You try to relax now, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
I sit down with the dregs of my coffee and think this over. It’s a hell of a lot to take in all at once like this but that’s
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