“I DON’T KNOW MY NAME!” I heard myself scream. I tried to sit up again, but felt two hands push me back down.
“Try to be calm. I know it’s hard, but I need you to stay calm.”
But I couldn’t. “I need to get out of here. I need to . . . WHY DON’T I KNOW MY NAME?” Pain thumped in my head. Loud, hard, sharp.
“It’s okay. I’m with you. Try to keep still,” Noah said, but I struggled against him as he put a mask on my face.
“Take some deep breaths. In and out. In and out.”
I continued to struggle until I saw two bright blue beacons piercing through the mist in front of my eyes. I grabbed hold of them and stared back. Blue eyes. He had blue eyes. His features finally came into focus and his mouth twitched into a small smile.
“I’m right here. Just relax.”
I nodded. His smile pulled some of the tension out of me.
“Good, just like that. Deep breaths.”
I followed his instruction and started to feel strangely calm.
“A little better now?”
“Yes. Can I ask you a question, Noah?”
“Sure. Anything.”
“How did you get the snakes in?”
“The snakes?”
“And the bees, what about the bees? And how did you know which one was male, and which one was female?”
He smiled and I felt him pat my hand. “I’m just a paramedic, ma’am. That’s all.”
And then I closed my eyes and everything went black again.
CHAPTER 2
Unknown Jane Doe.
Blunt force trauma to the head.
Confused on the scene with a GCS of 12.
BP 130 over 90.
Pulse 115.
Patient was confused and combative due to hypoxia, settled with a poly mask.
Patient is displaying amnesia and doesn’t know her name.
The words swarmed at me through a thick, gooey haze and I felt myself being lifted up. I was airborne for a moment or two: was I flying? And then my back came into contact with something hard and everything around me exploded.
Lights.
Voices.
Rushing footsteps.
Beeping machines.
“Noah?” I whispered, clasping at the air in front of me.
“Ma’am, we need you to keep still, please,” a woman said, taking my hand in hers. She was wearing a glove and I craved the reassuring warmth of Noah’s hand.
“I’m Dr. Bennett.” A man shone a light in my eyes. “Pupils equal and responsive,” he said to someone over his shoulder. “I’m a neurologist. Can you tell me what your name is?”
“I think my name is Jane Doe.”
The man looked at me for a while, an expression on his face I couldn’t read. “And do you know what happened to you? Why you’re in the hospital?”
“No.”
“Can you tell me what day of the week it is?” he asked.
“It’s . . . uh . . .” I bit my lip to stop the tears.
“Don’t worry.” His voice was extra calm and slow now. “Do you know what city we’re in?”
“Yes, I think so. Johannesburg.”
“Very good. And who is the president?”
“Uh . . .” I scanned my memory again. I felt like I knew this too. Words began echoing in the deepest, darkest, most distant places in my mind and I concentrated hard, trying to listen to them. “CYRIL! Cyril Ramaphosa!” I shouted when the answer finally came to me.
The doctor smiled and I felt an instant bolt of relief. “Excellent. We’re going to take you down for an X-ray and a CT scan to see what’s going on in your brain.”
“Did you know that the X-ray was discovered accidentally by Wilhelm Roentgen in 1895?” I heard myself say, and then everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at me. I waited for someone to say something, but no one did. Instead, the doctor pulled his gloves off and exited the room. I wanted to yell not to leave me alone, and almost did, but then I felt a hand on my arm.
“It’s okay, I’m here.” I strained my eyes, looking as far left as I could to see who was talking to me.
A smiling face met mine. “I’m Ntethelelo. I’ll be taking care of you. So, you mustn’t worry, you’re safe!”
But I didn’t feel safe. How did I know who the president was, and about X-rays, but not my own name?
“I’m going to take you to CT and X-ray now,” Ntethelelo said sweetly. And then, I was on the move again, being pushed down a long corridor. We arrived at an elevator and, for some reason, it filled me with absolute terror. Ntethelelo pressed the button and we waited for the doors to open. I watched the numbers lighting