“Of course, you told us about the places you have gone, and all the things you have enjoyed there. Have you forgotten already?”
Zed tried to be on the safe side by asking if I already forgot. If he feeds me the things I wanted to know, it’s like confirming that I really forgot everything about my going to Japan. And that would make him think that such answers would make me question myself.
“I have become so forgetful already.”
“It’s because there are so many things in your mind,” said Zed in a thoughtful and calm way that I would never suspect that he knew about my amnesia.
“Maybe.” I smiled and continued eating.
“I would be expecting that one of these days, you’d be looking for your hairclip that is just on your head,” he chuckled.
“But what if I forget that I have a husband?”
Zed shook his head and answered, “That would be terrible. I couldn’t accept it.”
Right at that moment, I began to worry about his reactions when he would know the truth.
Later at my parent’s house, Zed just kissed my parent’s hands and left afterward. He could have stayed longer, but I insisted that he shouldn’t waste time. Anyway, we could come back here on some other days when he doesn’t have a scheduled speaking engagement.
“Yen, how are you?” asked my mother after Zed left. We were in our dining room, taking our usual breakfast of hot chocolate and rice cake we locally called, “puto and sikwate.”
My father just glanced at us once in a while, but I knew he was listening. He only pretended that he was engrossed in reading his newspaper.
“I’m fine, ma. My sensitivity to food has already mellowed down.”
“That would be over soon,” she said, smiling happily at the thought of their first grandchild.
“Hopefully, ma. By the way, I’m here to get my books.”
“The ones by Jakara Blue? Yes, it’s on the bookshelf in your room.”
Later in my room, I indeed saw about ten books by Jakara Blue that were arranged neatly on a shelf. I picked one of them and traced the embossed author’s name with my finger. This explained why I used the name Jakara Blue as my new name in Japan. It must be because I was an avid reader of Jakara Blue’s books. Remembering about my purpose in coming here, I started opening the folders that were arranged on another corner of the shelf. I had the habit of placing important documents in a folder.
I wasn’t still in the next folder when I found a stapled sheets of paper. I hurried to flip the sheets one by one and realized that those were all laboratory and diagnostic results. My heart began to pound into a frenzy, drumming in my ears. Finally, I saw the sheet that spoke of my condition – a medical certificate issued by a psychiatrist. And the word, “dissociative amnesia” rang in my head right away.
Dissociative amnesia. What could it mean?
I flipped some more sheets and found a discharge instruction signed by Zed. So, Zed knew about my case. But to what extent does he know about my life in Japan?
I folded the stapled sheets and put them inside my bag. I also picked up two books by Jakara blue to let my mother believe that those books were indeed my purpose in coming over. Instead of going directly to the office, I went back to the hospital where I worked before. I should see Dr. Rivera, the psychiatrist who handled me.
I bought packs of nuts and chips and a few bottles of iced tea. I brought it with me to the medical records. One of my friends was assigned there, and I was hoping I could access my file. I wanted to know about the whole story of my admission before I would meet my psychiatrist.
“Yen!” Myrna squealed as soon as she saw me opening the door to her office. “What brought you here?”
“To see you, of course,” I giggled.
“How’s married life?”
“Wonderful and amazing.” It was Myrna’s turn to laugh.
“I know what makes it amazing. But you should slow down, young miss. You’re pregnant.”
I shrugged and laughed. “It doesn’t matter. I have a high, anterior lying uterus. His rod wouldn’t reach there.”
Myrna knew I was speaking nonsense, but she laughed so hard that her eyes were brimming with tears. Then perhaps realizing that I wouldn’t go there to see her during working hours, she asked,
“What do you need?”
“A medical abstract.”
“Why?” she asked, perhaps thinking why I needed them when it was already more than a year ago that I got admitted the last time.
“For my health records required by my new company.”
Myrna stood up and went inside a room. When she was back, she already had a chart on her arm. Sitting on a chair behind the desk, she started flipping over the pages. I also pulled my chair next to her to get a good view of the chart. I knew this was against the rule, even if it was my record, but I took advantage of Myrna's reluctance to say no to me.
Myrna suddenly frowned as she read the notes on a page. “Yen, are you sure you want a copy of your medical abstract?”
I didn’t answer her. I grabbed the chart and read the part that made her question my decision. And just as what I saw in my discharge instruction, it also mentioned “dissociative amnesia.”
All the smiles on my face disappeared when I felt the seriousness of the situation. I looked at her with pleading eyes and held her hand.
“Please, Myrns, I want to know what happened to me and how I was brought here.”
She then flipped over the pages again until she found the patient’s history sheet.
“Last year, someone brought you over for admission because of incoherence. But Yen, you know this is confidential. You shouldn’t read a chart even if it is yours.”
I placed a hand over hers again and pleaded, “I would still know because I am asking for a medical abstract. It would state the history of my symptoms, treatment, and medication.”
“Okay, then. But why do you ask about it now?”
“I want to know who took me here.”