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Chapter 341: Back Home? Part 1.
Ethan
The sound of papers sliding across the desk breaks the silence of the room.
I’m standing, I don’t sit, I can’t. I feel that if I sit, something inside me will give way… and I don’t know if I’ll be able to get up afterward.
The doctor in front of us maintains that professional, measured expression, which doesn’t reveal too much, but also doesn’t hide the seriousness of the moment.
Clara is sitting on the examination table, more recovered, more aware.
I’m still here, although I know it’s not what she would want. Here, feel like an intruder, someone who’s in the wrong place.
Her mother is beside her, holding her hand with a gentle firmness, as if that contact were the only thing keeping her calm.
I’m a little further back, as if that were my place now… Far away.
Present… but without a right.
The doctor clears his throat and begins.
“Mrs. Sinclair, as we’ve been assessing these past few days, Clara’s progress has been favorable, within the expected range for a traumatic brain injury of this magnitude.”
I nod slightly.
I’ve heard those words several times already… but they still weigh the same.
“The sutures in the frontal and parietal regions are healing properly,” he continues. “There are no signs of infection. The glass wounds on her arms and shoulders are also showing good progress.”
My gaze drifts to Clara; I remember those wounds, I remember seeing her… And I have to push the thought
away.
“As for the chest contusion, there are no apparent complications. However, she should avoid strenuous physical activity for at least two weeks. The rest of her physical condition is progressing well; however, continued care will be important for her full recovery.”
Clara nods, attentive, processing.
She’s always been like this: strong, composed, even now.
“The most delicate point,” the doctor adds, “remains the neurological component.”
Silence.
The word settles heavily.
Heavy.
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He doesn’t say “probably” out of insecurity; he says it because he’s a doctor.
Because he doesn’t make promises, because he doesn’t affirm what he can’t guarantee.
“It’s not global amnesia,” he continues. “Her cognitive functions are intact; she recognizes her identity, her general surroundings, her past.”
He pauses.
“But there’s a blockage regarding recent events, particularly those with significant emotional weight.”
My chest tightens. I don’t need him to say more. I already know… I’m part of that “blockage.”
“In these cases,” he continues, “the environment is crucial.”
I look up.
“We recommend that the patient gradually reintegrate into a familiar environment.”
Clara frowns slightly.
“Familiar… even if I don’t remember it?”
The doctor nods.
“Exactly.”
He leans slightly toward her.
“The brain, even when it can’t consciously retrieve a memory, does respond to familiar stimuli: places, objects, routines.”
I look at Clara… She listens, but she also questions him.
“And that will make me remember?”
“We can’t guarantee it,” he answers honestly. “But it does significantly increase the likelihood of recovery.”
Silence.
“It’s also important,” he adds, “to avoid pressure.”
His gaze passes over me.
“No forcing memories, or confronting her with information abruptly.”
I nod immediately,
“The process should be natural, gradual… respecting her pace.”
Clara lowers her gaze for a second, as if all of this… weighs more heavily on her than she lets on.
“Regarding die
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“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he replies. “As long as the recommendations are followed.”
He takes the document and begins to list them…
“Relative rest, pain medication if necessary, a check-up in a week, avoid excessive emotional stress, eat a healthy diet…”
Clara listens to everything, nods; as if she were taking mental notes, as if this were a plan.
As if she could organize it. But this… It’s not something that can be organized.
“We also suggest constant support,” the doctor adds. “It’s not advisable for her to be alone during these days.”
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