#scrawledchronicles

4) Favourite songs to listen to when writing? - Gee, I have a lot of songs. I use Spotify now like a holy grail and have my whole playlist on shuffle. I have a wide taste in music (which, I'm forever thankful for)! 5) Do you have a favourite place in the world that you like to visit? - One word, one continent: Europe (which I never visited, meh).

6) Seeing as February has begun, did you have a good start to the year in January?  - Yes, I believe so!

7) Do you have a favourite time of day? - Early mornings when everyone is still in bed, the atmosphere is quite and calm before the day starts. I love it a lot. 8) Do you like tea or coffee? - Oooof, coffee. I'm a huge coffee addict, quite literally. I like tea though every now and then! But, tea is for my boyfriend, coffee is for me. ;3

9) Favourite movie? - It's hard to decide because I love film in general and I have A LOT that I loved. My top 3 would be: The Unnecessary Death of Charlie Countrymen, Inception, & Batman: The Dark Knight Rises, hehehe.

10) Last but not least, What is one thing you want to accomplish in your life? - I recently have been curious about travelling solo one day to somewhere in Europe. I think I'd like to do that. Growing up, independence has always been a big thing for me, something I want to grow into. A trait I would like to have.

I felt like a baby again. Well, that’s not to say that I actually remember being a baby. I don’t think anybody does, especially not me. I say that because I don’t remember anything; anything before the white, sterile hospital room that I woke up in.

I’m helplessly swaddled in a thin blanket and an even thinner gown. At first, all I can manage to do is be acutely aware of my surroundings. The blinding florescent lights. The uncomfortable pinching of the heart monitor on my finger. The stiff bed that I’m lying in and the ache it’s giving my lower back. This went on for what seemed to me like hours, until I realize that there is nothing that is familiar around me. I try to think of something or someone to look for in this place, but when I search for the memories, I can only remember numbers; the same sequence of numbers over and over again. I keep thinking and I realize that nothing else is there.

That’s when I panicked.

It took two male nurses to keep me from ripping the needle in my arm out, scrambling out of the bed, and running out of that place, half-naked. Though I didn’t appreciate it then, I wish now that I could thank them for it. After they strap me down, I taste the medicine on my breath, as another nurse, a woman, injects something into my IV bag.  My eyes roll back into my skull and I’m subdued.

The next time I awaken, a doctor is standing at the foot of my bed. I keep calm this time. I’m unsure whether it was because of her calming presence or the drugs that they are dripping into my bloodstream. She takes a clipboard and sits beside me, though I eye her suspiciously. I watch her with squinting eyes, still adjusting to those damned lights.

“Hello,” she says. “My name is Dr. Burnbaum. I’m going to ask you a few questions, if that’s alright.”

I nod.

“What is your name?” My mouth opens to answer, then closes when I realize that I do not have a response. I shake my head. She looks worried, though she tries to hide it behind her professionalism. I feel panic rising in my stomach again, but I don’t act on it this time. I don’t want to sleep anymore.

“What is the last thing you remember before you woke up here?” she asks, scribbling something on the clipboard. I am silent and she looks up at me. “Anything at all?”

“No.” I say a simple word, but it still manages to come out distorted and garbled. I try again. “Sorry.”

“Alright, hun, that’s okay,” she forces a smile. But her kind tones and the tender nickname keep me calm. She tells me where I was and why. “You were found in your apartment, overdosed on sleeping pills. Your name is Shane. Shane Mueller. You’ve been in a coma for almost three days.”

Those were my first memories.

I waited until after she left to cry. I didn’t have the strength to even curl up or hide my face. I just turned my head to the blank wall and sobbed. I did this a lot over the course of the rest of the night. I had woken up for the second time at 3:26am and because my body refused to sleep again, I had nothing else to do. At about six, a nurse, the one who had sedated me before, finally told me about the T.V. and I can almost forgive her.  At least she gave me that to distract me from my empty memory bank. It’s a wonder why I didn’t ask her about myself. I don’t recall really caring who I was at that point. Why would I want to know about that person? That man who was so cruel enough to allow this to happen to himself.

When Dr. Burnbaum returns, she tells me specifics about myself that I can only assume was learned from my driver’s license. I was twenty-nine. I was born on March 22nd. I lived on 433 Oak Dr. Apt #12. After that and a few more cognitive tests, she tells me that it was the end of her shift and that I would see her later that night. I recall feeling very alone afterwards. I tried to remember my life again, but still I could only see those same numbers. After a few minutes of that, I resolved to watch T.V. again.

Then, two hours later, Knocked-Me-Out Nurse, whose name I saw was “Jill” on a nearby whiteboard came back. She told me that I would be moved to another, more comfortable room, then asked if it would be okay for a visitor. I almost said no.

“Who is it?” I asked, my voice still strained from not being used in three days. At first, I don’t think Jill understood me, but after a moment of thought, she replied.

“I think it’s your mother.” I swallow my fear and nodded.

Karen Mueller, though I could not trace this from any memory, was the warmest, most beautiful sight that I had ever seen. She had a plump face which, though previously sagged with worry, brightened when she walked into my room and saw me. Her appearance was disheveled. Her pink pajama shirt was wrinkled, her thick gray-blonde hair tied in a loose scrunchie. She was wearing faded high-waist jeans and worn-out Nike’s. It looked as though she had gotten dressed in a hurry, though quite possibly that had been days ago. In her hand, she held a tissue, torn and nearly falling apart from excessive use. For a short moment, she stood in the doorway and took in the sight of her son, a man that I no longer remembered. I smiled nervously, the corners of my cheeks trembling with something like embarrassment. Then, she broke down.

“My baby boy!” she wailed and suddenly she attacks me with kisses. Her arms wrap around my fragile body, somehow managing to not bother any of the cords attached to me. Over her shoulder, I saw Jill, looking as though she might protest to the excessive attention that I was getting. I probably looked shocked at first, but I eased into the embrace. This was my mother, after all, even if I didn’t remember her. I had thought, maybe that some imposter, anyone at all, could have walked into that room and claimed to be my mother. But, the love I felt coming through her was raw, unabashed, and so maternally pure that the doubts in my mind quickly flew away. I weakly lifted my own arms and hugged her back. Again, I cried, harder than I had when I was alone. She cradled my body, which, though frail, was twice the size of hers. Somewhere far away, I heard Jill step out of the room.

Karen stayed with me until I was discharged from the hospital. They even gave her a roll-in futon for her to sleep on. She spent the next few hours after I first saw her filling me in on who I, or rather who Shane Mueller was. Shane was her only child. His father had died when he was three. He had been a straight A student (always so good with numbers, she said). He had gone to school to be an accountant. He had landed a big job across the country and had moved away. He hadn’t spoken to her in a while. I could tell that it broke her heart that I didn’t remember any of it. That night, Dr. Burnbaum returned and told us that the sleeping pills that had put me in a coma were a new brand that was quite strong and that they were unsure what effect they had on my brain.

I was so enthralled in piecing together my life before the coma that I had nearly forgotten the only memory that I did have: the numbers. I asked Karen for a piece of paper and pen and when I wrote them down, she took one look at them and heaved a sad sigh. “Shane, that’s my home phone number.”

“I wonder why that’s what I remember, out of everything….” I was frustrated. It didn’t lead me any closer to my memories.

Karen suddenly fidgeted, tearing apart the new tissue she had clasped in her small fist. I pressed her and she confessed. “The night that you took those pills, you called me. It was the first time in months. It was so late at night, that it got me out of bed. You were in hysterics.” She sniffed and wiped her nose with the tissue. “You were saying that you had taken something and that you had wanted to die.”

So, I did it on purpose, I thought. She was trembling and I took her hand and squeezed it, feeling so guilty for having put her through what I had. But, my curiosity overtook me. “Did I say anything else, like why?”

“That girl you were seeing. Jesus, Shane, I don’t even think you had told me her name. You caught her with another man.” I shook my head, angrily. How stupid could I have been? I had been willing to throw out my life for some woman that I didn’t even remember. The new information led to so many more questions. But, Karen continued.

“You were so scared. You didn’t want to die and you called me and asked me what to do…” she was barely holding it together. “So I told you to throw those goddamned pills up, but you couldn’t and you got quiet and I kept screaming at you to answer me and when you didn’t I got my cell and called you an ambulance. I didn’t hang up until they got there. I don’t know how they did it from across the country, but they did. They saved you, Shane.” She hiccupped and sniffed again.

For the second time, my chest swelled with emotion. I knew that throughout my life there had been moments like this; moments where I knew that I was so loved. I wanted to remember them and I knew that Karen Mueller was the key. I leaned forward and kissed her hand.