Give up and wait for the doctor

You might as well wait for the doctor, you decide. You are too weak to move, after the strain of getting to the bathroom, and you have no idea how badly injured you are. Jolts of pain shoot down your spine at irregular intervals, causing your muscles to clench, and your arms and legs to jerk in response. The pain is becoming unbearable. Everytime it happens you feel almost as if you are being ejected from your body: you become dizzy, light-headed, and disoriented.

But it doesn't seem like anything you should worry about. After all, it is a beautiful day, and there really is nothing to be afraid of.

You look up at the sky, which is a rich, cool blue, marked with traces of cirrus clouds rolling slowly by, like the breakers of a long, slow tide. You are surrounded by thick, luscious greenery. Pear and apple trees, heavy with fruit, form a protective ring around the grassy little clearing. A panoply of gay flowers dot the clearing with bursts of color, like fragrant fragments of a rainbow.

In the middle of the clearing is a small pond which gleams in the sunlight, as smooth and clear as a pane of glass. Below the crystalline surface, small, brightly colored fish swim to and fro. You watch them swim with a feeling of pure delight. And then, suddenly, you hear the woman's voice again. That beautiful voice, the voice that always fills you with such a sense of comfort and security.

"Soon you will remember," she says.

And that's when you realize that you can see your reflection in the pool....

"John! John, can you hear me?"

It is a different voice. The voice of a woman, but not the same woman. It has an urgent, forceful quality that you can't seem to ignore, though it seems somehow to be tied to a different world, a world of pain and uncertainty.

"John, you need to wake up. You need to come back to us, John."

Your eyes flicker open and shut again quickly. You feel strange, disconnected, like you are looking through a window into an alien landscape. You open your eyes again. You see a woman. She is attractive, about forty. She has an olive complexion, big, serious, beautiful brown eyes. Wisps of chestnut brown hair have escaped from the loose bun and coil girlishly around her face, which is serious and compassionate. Her face is very close to yours, and she seems to be doing something to you. Your arm hurts a little, like it is being pinched. You look down to see that she is giving you a needle. You jerk your head back up, because it hurts to bend it. Pain goes shooting up and down your spine. Suddenly there is a hand supporting the back of your head. A large, friendly-looking black man in a cornflower blue uniform is bending over you, holding your head steady. You can't move your head anymore, but you can still roll your eyes over the surroundings. You see the smokey grey walls, the counter. Of course! You are in the rest room. You must have passed out again.

"Can you hear me, John? Are you back with us?" the woman asks you, unmistakable concern in her voice.

"Y-yes," you grunt, unable to make the word come out right. Your tongue feels fat, like a steak, or a big piece of liver.

"Ok. You're ok, John. You're doing good. We're going to try to move you now, and I want you to try to stay as still as possible. We're going to lift you up and put you on the bed."

"O-ok," you say, nodding just a little, instinctively, sending a wave of pain down your spine. The black nurse's grip on your head gets a little tighter.

"Don't move your head or your neck, John," says the woman imperatively. "Ok? Understand? Don't move it. Keep it still. Don't nod, just don't move."

There is an awkward moment as two more male nurses try to squeeze into the tiny rest room to get a grip on you to lift you up. Gingerly, like you were made of glass, they lift you straight up off the floor and carry you gently over to the bed.

Once they set you down, the woman, who is wearing a doctor's coat, leans over you and looks into your eyes with a small pen light. "You gave us quite a scare," she says. "We weren't expecting you to wake up quite so soon."

You wonder how long you have been here.

Satisfied that there is no immediate danger, the woman sits on the edge of the bed and gives you a kind, compassionate look. "I'm Dr. Pembrost," she says. "I'm the surgeon in charge of your case. I'm sorry I've been calling you John all this time, it's just that we don't know what your real name is yet."

You notice that the nursing assistant, the girl with the blonde pony-tail, who was rearranging the sheets for you, has stopped to listen to your response. Everyone in the room seems expectant, waiting for the mystery to be solved.