The Game - 4. Chapter 4

“Good morning Daniel. How are you feeling today?”

This time it is definitely a hospital. There is a ward, a nurse, the whole thing. But.... there is something wrong, something that doesn’t fit. It’s the noises. People are making noises, singing, crying, moaning, screaming....

“Where am I?”

The nurse touches my arm. “Don’t worry, it will come.”

“What happened to me?”

“You’ve been poorly sweetheart, but you’re all better now.”

My head feels like it is going to explode. It is really hard to think about anything, hard to formulate the words to express my thoughts. I feel terrible. If this is better then I must have been pretty sick.

“What is this place?”

“It’s a hospital. You know that.”

“What kind of a hospital.”

“It’s a psychiatric hospital.”

Ah... now things make more sense. “Am I mad?”

The nurse laughs. “Of course you’re not mad. As I said, you’ve been ill. Now you’re better but you’re still having a few problems with your memory.”

“When you say... ill... do you mean....?”

“You’re full of questions this morning Daniel, which is good, but I don’t have time to answer them all. As you can hear, we are rather busy today. The good news is that the Professor will be around in just a few minutes and if he’s happy then you’re out of here today.”

“Out of here? Where am I going?”

“Somewhere that you can start getting back to normal. Just relax for a while, he won’t be long.”

I lie back and close my eyes. Something is struggling to surface in the soup that fills my head. A memory. A memory? I open my eyes and look around. I am in a cubicle. The curtains are drawn around the bed to shut me off from the rest of the ward. Has the nurse just done that? I remember seeing the ward, other beds, other patients. When was it? Was it just now, or another time? Am I forgetting things even as they happen?

I close my eyes again and try to relax. It’s hard to relax when you don’t know who you are or where you are or what happened to you to get you where you are and the only memory you have is of pain. The cubicle I am in is empty of anything except the bed. I remember machines, I remember being drugged and then... then the pain. Or is it? Is it a memory at all?

I open my eyes again and look down at my arms. Not a dream then. They are bruised and there are clean white dressings over the places where the tubes went it. What did they do to me?

A strange thought occurs to me.... strange because the answer should have been obvious but wasn’t. When they did what they did... were they trying to bring back my memory, or take it away? Why would I think that?

While I am thinking that strange thought, the curtain twitches aside and a man comes into the cubicle. He seems familiar to me but I can’t quite remember how or where or who. I must look puzzled because he smiles. Am I being paranoid to think that his smile is gleeful?

“I am Professor Bowen, Daniel. I have been looking after you, do you remember me?”

“No. I don’t remember anything.”

“That’s a great shame Daniel. I appreciate how hard it must be for you, but I am convinced that it will come back to you in the end.”

“It doesn’t matter.” And it doesn’t. It doesn’t matter at all. I’m too tired, too confused, too.... “My head hurts when I think about it.”

“That will ease in time. You’ve been through a lot.”

“What? What have I been through? The nurse said I’ve been ill.... what was wrong? What happened to me?”

“No one knows for sure what happened to you. Someone took you into a casualty department at the local hospital, they found you wandering in the woods. You had no idea who you are or where you had come from. You were... ill. You had a high fever and you were.... raving. I can’t be sure but I think you had either taken or been given hallucinogenic drugs... you were seeing things, making wild accusations. You didn’t eat; you didn’t sleep; you barely acknowledged anyone or anything around you.... and so once you were out of physical danger you were sent here.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Five days.”

“What... what have you.... what has happened to me here?”

“You speak as if you think it was something bad?”

“I don’t know what to think. I don’t remember anything.”

“You’ve been asleep for most of the time... by my design. I have developed a new treatment programme and you were an ideal candidate. You have responded extremely well to it. The paranoia, the hallucinations, the mania, the suicidal tendencies have all pretty much disappeared. Unfortunately the only thing that has not responded is your memory.

“I’m pretty certain that, given time and the right medication your memory will return to you but it is important that you don’t try to force it. You have to let it come back naturally.”

“That makes sense.”

“Good.” He had been examining me while he spoke and he patted my arm. “Well, apart from the memory problems you’re in pretty good shape now so I don’t see any reason to keep you here. We have a facility not far from here. It’s kind of a halfway house. There are staff on hand twenty four hours a day but it is a more natural situation, it will help you feel more normal and possibly help your memory to return more quickly. I think that you’re up to going there. What do you think?”

“Um... I think.... I think that I .... don’t know what to think. I can’t.... I can’t....” I have to close my eyes because, for some reason, his face scares me, and the thought of leaving the hospital scares me... but not as much as staying there. “Yeah... I think I’m up to it.”

“Good. That’s.... good. You’ve been an excellent patient Daniel. I’m going to miss having you around. I will be calling in to see you regularly of course, to check on you and make sure you are having the right medication. But I think you’ll do better in a less formal environment.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. I have had your prescription made up and given your medication to the staff who will be taking care of you. They will make sure you take it so you don’t have to remember anything. I will be coming to see you regularly to check that it is doing what it is meant to do. To start with it is going to make you feel very strange but bear with it and your body will get used to it quite soon. One your memory starts to come back we will gradually reduce it until, hopefully you will be back to normal.”

“What if my memory doesn’t come back?”

“Then we’ll deal with that when we come to it.”

“Okay.”

“It’s settled then. Your clothes are in the cupboard. I’ll leave you to get dressed. I’ll come back in a couple of minutes to give you your first dose of medication and then you can go.”

It is hard to find the energy, the motivation, to get out of bed. I am tired. When I throw off the sheets and look down at myself I see a stranger. The body is mine but it feels.... it feels like it doesn’t belong to me. I am so detached that it takes a while to figure out how to pull on my jeans. Both they and the plain black jumper are too big for me. Have I lost weight? Are these my clothes at all?

I am still struggling with my shoes when the Professor comes back. “You look tired. Was that too much for you?”

He seems all concern but there is something hollow in his sentiment... is this just the paranoia he was talking about? Am I not as well as he thinks I am... or just not as fooled?

“No. I’m fine.”

“Good. Now, I’m going to give you the first dose of your medication by injection so that it gets into your system quickly. After that you will take it in pill form three times a day. As I told you, it will make you feel strange for the first few days but after that you should feel more normal. Hopefully we will be reducing it very soon anyway. Are you okay with that?”

Okay? I’m not okay with any of it. I am not okay with waking up in a fucking psychiatric hospital with no memory and a deep mistrust of the person who is supposed to be looking after me which may or may not be down to paranoia. I am not okay with the fact that I have a small distant part of my mind telling me that I really should be terribly afraid. I am not okay that I am going to be drugged senseless and sent out to god knows where with god knows who being in charge of my meds. I am not okay with any of it and most of all I am not okay with the fact that I have no control.

But I can’t tell him that I’m not okay and I certainly can’t tell him why so I just nod and hold out my arm.