Dear Readers,
This is the second installment of this series. Sorry that it's taken so long. This installment is a bit lengthier. I've enjoyed going on this ride with the protagonist. I hope you come along. This is not a stand alone, so please read the first chapter.
As always, comments are appreciated!
~M
*
Shock does not even begin to compute with what I was thinking and feeling. This woman was standing there with tears in her eyes looking distraught, and she was my WIFE! I tried my hardest to not look at the guy to my right, but my eyes slid over to him anyway. Who was he? ... And why did I feel more for him than my supposed wife?
I hung my head, and let the tears fall. Whatever happened to me was worse that I could have expected. I glanced down at my hands, well the one that wasn't bandaged. I noticed that although my hand was badly bruised and swollen, there was no ring on my left hand... there wasn't even a tan line.
I held my hand up and asked, "Why aren't I wearing a ring?" It was the only safe question that I could ask. I couldn't exactly ask why in the hell I had a wife when I was gay. It was just something I was going to have to sort out when my memory returned... if it returned.
My wife... god that sounded weird, pulled out a jewelry bag, one of those small ones you put earrings in and showed me some bloody pieces of gold. "Your hands were damaged in the accident and your ring was cutting off circulation because of all the swelling so it had to be cut off." My wife said.
"Can anyone tell me what the hell happened to me and why I can't remember anything from before whatever happened?" My frustration was evident and so was my fear.
The doctor stepped forward with a look of concern. "You were on a construction site. From what we can ascertain, a pile of lumber was not secured, you walked to the side of the truck and when it went to move, the lumber came loose and buried you. You somehow blocked your face with your hands, hence the damage to your hands. You were very lucky in that the lumber was a stack of 2x4's and also wasn't stacked that high. That coupled with the fact that the wood created an almost barrier against itself and didn't completely crush you means that you are very lucky to be alive." The doctor rambled on but said that everyone needed to clear the room so that he could actually discuss my condition.
I didn't remember any of that. Not why I was even at a construction site or almost being crushed by wood. My wife put her hand against my cheek stating that she didn't want to hear about my injuries again. Once everyone had cleared out I learned about all the shit that'd happened to me and what I had to look forward. I almost wished that the accident had killed me.
The largest of my problems was the amnesia, which was attributed to the accident. I asked him why I knew certain things like who the president was or what a hospital was. He stated that this was a good sign. My memory of outside events, or things external to me seemed to be intact. I couldn't remember about me personally or my life. The doctor assured me that there was ample time to assess the extent of my amnesia and that my current condition was a good sign.
Now let's get onto my physical injuries. I already knew that my hands were damaged and my right one was even bandaged. My whole head was bandaged because my brain swelled and I had to have surgery to relieve the pressure, hence the medically induced coma. My left shoulder was badly damaged; I'd already had one surgery on it and was looking at a lot of rehab if not more surgery. My legs were badly bruised but otherwise ok. I had a broken ankle, a fractured collarbone, and a multitude of bruises and lacerations. Yeah I felt really fucking lucky.
I asked how long I'd been in a coma. Because the doctors were most concerned with the swelling in my brain, they'd done everything from icing me down to reduce my body temperature; they'd also given me some drug to help. When all of that didn't seem to work, they'd done surgery to decrease the pressure in my skull. When that didn't work they put me in a medically induced coma. Although I'd only been in the coma for a little less than a week, it took far longer for me to regain consciousness. Not mentioning all of the things that had happened before that, I'd been out of it for over a month. I'd been in and out of consciousness.
Now where would I go from there? Here's the kicker... I still didn't know my damned name or what I even looked like. I knew that in amnesia cases, the doctors liked for the memories to come back on their own, but surely there were some things that I could be told. I knew that my face was bruised and that I was pretty heavily bandaged, but I needed to see a picture.
"Doc?" I said. "What's my name?"
He looked at me with sympathy, and a little of something else that I didn't want to describe. "Your name is Marvin Rutherford... and your wife's name is Vivian."
I lulled over that name, turning it around in my head. I didn't like the name. It sounded sort of nerdy. I passed the day trying not to talk to anyone. I had a lot to think about. I tried to keep my recovery in the forefront of my mind, but it wasn't easy with all of the large questions hanging over my head. Namely, things like my wife and the fact that I was gay. Although the gay thing wasn't sitting with me well either. Unless I was just a complete bastard trying to live 'straight', I didn't know what to think.
The next day after my physical therapy my wife came in. I was so uncomfortable with her. I felt that she had expectations and I just couldn't fulfill them.
"Do you have a picture of me?" I asked. I was burning to know if I matched my name. I was kind of hoping that I didn't look like a total loser.
She looked a little startled that I'd spoken, but looked into her purse. "Sure Marvy, honey, let me get my phone."
