Anomia - Part 1

Randy waited patiently for his turn, as he always had. There was no point trying to speak up before then; every time he’d tried that before, he’d been met with frustration from the other patients and disapproval from the staff. He disliked both.

Instead, he sat and listened for the woman whose turn it was, wanting her to talk faster so she could get to the point and the next person could talk and so on until it finally got to him. He watched her lips move up and down, her tongue forming different shapes, barely able to concentrate on the words she was producing. All he could think about was his turn; what he was going to say.

He didn’t even want to speak. He hated the attention. But he knew that the quicker it got to him, and the quicker he told his story for the hundredth time to these people, the quicker it would be over, and so would the anxiety building in his chest, the pressure in his stomach.

She finally appeared to be wrapping up her speech as Randy focused back on what she was actually saying. ‘That’s why I’m here,’ she said, her eyes glued to the floor, refusing to meet all the others in the room currently watching her. ‘That’s what everyone else tells me, anyway. I guess you all already know that, too.’

Randy narrowed his eyes as she snickered – a small, nervous sound. He was fixated on something entirely separate from anything she was saying: her name.

He was sure she’d said it at the start of the meeting, and besides, he’d seen her enough times that he would’ve learnt it at some point. Even her story of why she was here was one he could recite almost word for word for the amount of times he’d heard it. Yet, her name completely escaped his mind.

Just as it always did, any time he looked at someone and tried to remember their name.

‘I’m sorry,’ Randy found himself blurting out, unable to stifle his frustration. ‘What was your name again?’

She looked at him for one nervous second, before dropping her eyes again and snickering, unsure how to process the question.

‘I mean, I know I know it, but you know.’ He tapped the side of his head and rolled his eyes.

‘Maybe you should wait your turn before you ask questions,’ a man piped up, sitting between Randy and the girl. ‘It’s my turn, right?’ he asked, looking at the group’s doctor.

The doctor nodded. Dr Hargrove, Randy remembered. At least, he would’ve been able to remember it, even if it wasn’t written on the staff member’s nametag.

‘Yes, Harold. It’s your turn,’ Dr Hargrove spoke, her calm tone meant to soothe the circle of patients. Randy scoffed to himself and leaned back in his chair as Harold began to speak.

The minutes went by as the elderly man spoke, informing everyone of his own problems and why he was there with the rest of them. Instead of listening and nodding along, adding comments here and there to show interest, as everyone else in the circle was doing, Randy tuned out all other voices in the room to focus solely on the one in his head. As he listened to it, the pressure in his chest built, rising to his throat and shortening his breath.

‘Is it my turn now?’ he blurted out again, unable to stop himself.

The old man glared at Randy, along with most of the other patients in the circle brave enough for the confrontation, while the doctor simply looked at him, patient, before raising her eyebrows to the old man in question.

‘Were you finished, Harold?’ she asked.

Harold’s eyes still on Randy were almost hidden beneath his brow, before saying through his teeth, ‘sure.’

Randy breathed a sigh of relief. Closing his eyes, he recited the small speech he’d prepared for this meeting, and all the other meetings like it he’d attended for the last few weeks. Or was it months?

‘I know we all know why I’m here, and why we’re all here, but I still have to say it every week, like you all do. So, here it is: it’s impossible for me to remember names. That part of the brain is missing, or damaged, or something.’ He sighed and looked around the room, the few faces willing to meet his stare frowning with disapproval or discomfort. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, speaking to those willing to listen. ‘I do remember all of you, as I’m sure you remember me. After all, we’ve spent a lot of time in here together. But that doesn’t help me remember who you are; your names, or any real details about you. It’s like you’re all just… blurs, or something.’

Everyone in the room was silent, as if waiting for him to say more. But that was the end of his speech.

He looked at the doctor, reading her nametag again before speaking. ‘What did you call it again, doctor Hargrove?’

The doctor looked at a clipboard of papers in her lap, flipping through before finding Randy’s file. ‘Anomic aphasia, or simply anomia. The inability to remember certain words; in this case, people’s names. But, of course, we all already know this. Right, everyone?’

Doctor Hargrove looked around the circle of patients, waiting for them to chime in and agree. One by one they did; the woman who’d spoken before the old man, an overweight man, an orange-haired girl, a tall, thin boy, a few others, and finally even the old man, too.

‘Right. Who’s next?’ Doctor Hargrove asked the group, looking around for another volunteer. ‘Jamie? You haven’t spoken in a while.’

Jamie, the skinny, tall boy, avoided her eyes and shook his head. After some gentle prodding from the doctor and some other patients, he accepted and spoke in a soft, quiet voice.

After the group session had finished and they were allowed to, one by one the patients left, heading back to their respective rooms or the cafeteria for lunch or the activities area. Randy was unable to join any of them, stopped by the doctor outside the door.

‘Randy, hi. Where were you heading?’

‘I was probably going to get some food.’

‘Great. Can I go with you? I just wanted to discuss some things.’

Randy nodded and they headed towards the cafeteria, walking along the stark, white hallways, cleaned to the point you could see your reflection in every surface.

‘I wanted to ask you about your condition. I know it’s all things we’ve discussed before, but you know that it helps me to regularly check in to see how much you can remember; not just people’s names, but everything. Even about yourself. You’ve had trouble recalling things in the past.’

Randy nodded as they walked by other hospital staff, nodding to each of them knowingly, though he couldn’t for the life of him place names to their faces. ‘What do you want to ask about, specifically?’

‘You’re able to remember your own name?’

‘Of course. Randy. Randall Peters.’

‘And you know where you’re from? Where you were born, and when?’

‘Yes. I was born and raised right here in… uh…’

‘Glan…’

‘Glantonville, right. 23 years ago.’

‘And can you tell me where we are right now?’

‘The hospital. Glantonville…’

‘Yes, Glantonville Hospital. The psychiatric ward. And do you know how long you’ve been here?’

‘I do. I mean, I don’t think I could tell you an exact number of days, but I know it’s been a few weeks. Maybe even a month, or two? The days kind of blur together, eventually.’

‘That’s fine, Randy. Thank you for taking the time. I’ll let you get on with your lunch now.’

Randy nodded goodbye to the doctor and she disappeared down another hallway and into a door, her office, her short dark hair bobbing with each determined step. He continued on into the cafeteria, where he stood in line with a tray, waiting for his meal to be served.

When it was his turn, he studied the rows of assorted hospital food for his choosing; mashed potatoes, boiled peas and carrots, meat that seemed artificial in every way, stale and unsalted fried potatoes. He met the eyes of the man behind the trays, smiling.

‘Anything good today, uh…’ Randy looked at the lunchman’s nametag, thankful he was required to wear one. ‘Dave?’ Though the nametag read David, Randy remembered upon reading it of the staff member’s nickname.

‘Uh, just the usual,’ replied Dave, a little confused, though friendly.

‘And how’s the family?’

‘They’re… they’re good. Thanks for asking.’

Randy always tried to make small talk to stay on good terms with all the staff he could. Even the ones who weren’t as social as others.

He sat down to eat, noticing that almost everyone in the room had at some point looked at him with strange expressions. Most would look away when he made eye contact, but some held their gaze, like the old man, and some wouldn’t look at all, their faces glued to their trays, like the thin boy. Randy was used to it; it had been like this for as long as he could remember, even before coming to the hospital. People were easy to offend, he knew, and if he could never remember someone’s name, no matter how well he thought he knew them, it would always eventually drive a wedge between them. He’d lost enough meaningful relationships in the past to know it; that’s why he’d come to the hospital in the first place, checked himself in to finally receive some sort of help.

He’d tried most things already. Psychiatry, exposure therapy, memory training, screaming names into the mirror, mental exercises. None had worked. His last resort had always been some kind of intensive care – an extended stay somewhere where he could receive all the treatments he’d tried in his life all at once – and now that’s where he’d been for the last few weeks. Or months. At… this hospital.

After finishing his meal, he walked back to his room. He had a little more free time for rest before he would start his exercises again, and he lay on his bed in his small cube of a room, every surface and piece of furniture as white and sterile as the walls. He closed his eyes and practised reciting all the names he could remember… which were none. Even his parents, his siblings – younger brother and older sister – their faces came to mind, but matching a name to them was impossible. Like trying to remember the name of that movie you once saw, and you can remember all the plot details and the actors involved, but the name itself eludes you. When the name finally comes to you, it’s a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction unlike any other. Randy had missed that feeling in the years since he’d last achieved it.

Eventually, he opened his eyes, vision wet and blurry from trying so hard to remember a single name and failing. He looked at the clock and realised he was late for his meeting, having started ten minutes ago.

He ran through the hallway to the doctor’s office, knocking on the closed door urgently, ready to apologise.

When she opened the door, the doctor – Hargrove, as the nametag said – looked surprised to see him.

‘I’m sorry I’m late doctor… doctor Hargrove, I just fell asleep and didn’t realise the time. I’m ready for the meeting, now, if we can still get started.’

Recognition came to the doctor’s features. ‘Oh, Randy, I must’ve forgotten to tell you. We rescheduled the meeting. You’re not late for anything.’

‘Oh.’ Randy sighed, his chest heaving from the exertion of running over and the anxiety of running late. ‘That’s a relief. I must’ve forgotten. I’m sorry.’

‘There’s no need to apologise, Randy. It’s understandable. Tell you what, when we do have our meeting, for… can you remember what the meeting was for?’

‘Yes, it’s for… to practice remembering names. Exercises for my brain and memory.’

‘Right. Good job.’ She patted him on the shoulder with a warm smile. ‘When we have our next session, I’ll come and find you, rather than the other way around. That way you won’t be late, and you won’t have to remember. How does that sound?’

‘Perfect,’ Randy said. One less thing he’d have to think about.

‘Great. Now, have you organised your medication, yet?’

‘I, uh, I think I might be running low.’

‘Well, now that you have some spare time, I suggest you go to the dispensary and get that sorted. How does that sound?’

‘Okay, yeah. I’ll do that.’

‘Great. I’ll see you around, Randy.’

‘You too, doctor… Hargreeves.’

The doctor narrowed her friendly eyes, an encouraging smile on her lips. ‘Close. Hargrove.’

‘Hargrove, right. Sorry.’

‘It’s absolutely fine,’ the doctor said as she closed her office door. ‘Bye, Randy.’

He walked down the hall to the far end of the corridor and disappeared through the large double doors, the only barrier between the psych ward and the rest of the hospital, the outside world. Having checked in here willingly, he could leave whenever he wanted, and sometimes he was tempted, but he always resolved that he needed to stay, to fix himself before he could return to the world.

Per the doctor’s suggestion, Randy made his way to the dispensary and talked with the nurse there, whose face he recognised but, of course, couldn’t place her name until reading her nametag: Sarah. Sarah gave him a friendly greeting and asked for his name.

‘My name? You know my name, Sarah. Randy. Randy Peters.’

‘Oh, honey, of course I do. I just have to ask every time, as a precaution. You know that.’

Randy nodded, remembering she was right, while Sarah turned to find his allotted prescriptions. She returned with them and handed them over, wishing him a nice day with a beaming grin and singsong voice.

Randy decided to spend the next few hours of his free time in the activities area, finding the library the most peaceful and easiest way to pass the time. He sat with a favourite book of his, one with very few named characters that were important to remember – the stories that had a large number of characters with full names were a little overwhelming – in a beanbag chair and read, flipping through the pages.

Even in the hospital, the small space sectioned off by a few bookshelves was relatively quiet. But, after an indeterminable amount of reading time had passed, Randy’s attention was taken by a sudden voice. He looked up from his book, surprised to see the doctor again. She wasn’t alone, either.

Beside her was a woman, with long, light brown hair tied back in a tight ponytail, her bland, uncomfortable uniform identifying her as a patient, though one Randy had never seen before. He was sure they hadn’t met, as not only did he not remember her name, he couldn’t even place her face. She looked around the room with intrigued, fearless, wide eyes as the doctor talked.

‘Some of our other patients like to come here to read, or just to relax in a nice, quiet space. Some of the staff, too, like to take some time here on their breaks. Feel free to use this area whenever you like,’ the doctor explained. When she noticed Randy sitting in his beanbag chair, she came over with a pleasant expression.

‘Randy; just the person I was thinking of.’ The doctor and the unknown patient came over and stood above him, while he looked up at them from his slumped position, the book open on his belly.

‘Really? Me?’ He looked at the patient curiously, who in turn looked him over with an amused grin. ‘Why?’

‘Well, this is one of our newest patients. Her name is Nora. And, not too dissimilar to you, she has trouble with her memory.’

Randy nodded to the new patient, his interest perking as he sat up a little, the chair rustling beneath him. ‘Is that so? You can’t remember things, either?’

‘Well, she’s a little different from you.’ The doctor bowed her head. ‘She can explain, if she’d like.’

‘Yeah,’ the patient said. ‘I have amnesia, I think. Well, they think,’ she said, gesturing at the doctor. ‘I can’t remember anything about myself; who I am, how old I am, anything at all, up until a couple of days ago. I woke up in a house I didn’t recognise, alone, in clothes that weren’t mine… and so I came here, and now everyone just keeps telling me I’m crazy.’

‘Oh, that’s not true, Nora,’ the doctor said with a joking smile. ‘No one here thinks you’re crazy. Everyone here has their own troubles, and we’re all here to try and figure out all those problems together.’

The patient nodded, though appeared unsatisfied. ‘What did they get you for?’ she asked Randy.

‘Well,’ he said, closing his eyes and working his memory. ‘It’s impossible for me to remember names. That part of my brain is missing, or damaged, or something.’ He looked back up at the woman. ‘I’m sorry in advance if I forget yours. It’s not personal, but I understand that it can be grating to some people.’

The new patient looked at the doctor, as if awaiting confirmation. ‘Well, nice to meet you.’

She held her hand down to him, and Randy reached up to shake it. ‘You too.’

‘I thought it would be useful for you two to meet,’ the doctor said. ‘Perhaps you could share your experiences, or lack of…’ Her eyes widened as she realised what she was about to say. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t make light of your conditions.’

‘It’s fine,’ both patients said simultaneously.

She sighed and shook her head before continuing, ‘just as you are in quite similar situations. I actually already explained to Nora why you’re here, Randy.’

‘Oh?’ He looked at the patient. ‘Then why did you ask?’

She shrugged. ‘Wanted to see for myself. Hear it from you, directly. That okay?’

Randy nodded. ‘Sure.’ He finally stood from the beanbag. ‘Do you have a room yet?’

‘She does,’ the doctor said, doctor Hargrove, nametag. ‘I was on my way to showing her that next. Perhaps you’d like to join us, Randy?’

Randy nodded and put his book away, following the pair through the corridors to the women’s sleeping quarters.

‘So you really can’t remember anything about yourself?’ Randy asked the patient as they walked.

‘Only some things. My name, for instance. Other than that, not really, no.’

‘I can’t imagine what that’s like.’

The patient met his eyes, surprised. ‘Can’t you?’

‘Well,’ the doctor interrupted when Randy didn’t answer. ‘While both your conditions affect the memory, they are still different, in some ways. You can’t remember anything about your past, but Randy here only has trouble remembering names.’

‘Oh, no, I get it, doc,’ the patient said, before scoffing. ‘We’re in completely different boats.’

‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, somehow,’ Randy said, sensing her sarcasm. He walked past the next corner, only realising the doctor and patient had turned a few seconds later. He always forgot where the women’s quarters were. ‘If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been here for, oh, at least a couple of months now, and people still sometimes act like they don’t even know me. I think it’s just their way of dealing with me never being able to remember their names. It’s a little harsh, in my opinion, but you get used to it.’

The patient looked at him again, her eyes narrowed, as if questioning everything that came out of his mouth. ‘Wow. Okay. I’m sure that’s what it is.’

‘Here’s your room,’ the doctor said, stopping outside one of many identical doors lining the corridor walls. ‘You have another hour or so of free time, if you’d like to get settled. After that, we have some things booked for you. I can come and find you when it’s time.’

‘Thanks, doc,’ the patient said. She stepped into the room, her entire body seeming to deflate when she stepped into the space and realised it would be her home for the foreseeable future.

‘It was nice meeting you, Nora,’ Randy said from the doorway.

The patient sighed. ‘You too, Randy.’

She closed her door, and only when the latch clicked shut did Randy notice the doctor staring at him wide eyed, a small smirk on her face. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘Randy... You said her name. You remembered.’

He scratched his head, looking between the doctor and the patient’s door. ‘You’re right. I did. It’s Nora.’

The doctor let out a small, excited yelp before bringing a hand up to cover her nametag. ‘Do you remember my name?’

‘Of course. It’s Doctor… Doctor, uh…’

‘Oh, Randy, that’s okay,’ she said, squeezing his arm. ‘Remembering just one name is a huge accomplishment. You should feel very proud.’

‘I do.’ He smiled, looking at the patient… Nora’s room, wondering what was strange or different enough about the woman to be so memorable. ‘Doctor… Hargrove,’ he said, looking at her nametag again once her hand had dropped, ‘what do you think this means?’

‘I guess it means… the exercises may finally be working. You may be in the beginning stages of recovery, Randy.’ Her beaming grin was infectious. ‘After all this time.’

Randy nodded, unable to get the woman out of his head; her face, her hair, her body as she’d walked in front of him, her mouth as it had spoken to him, her brow as it had creased in annoyance directed at him for some unknown reason, and, most surprisingly, even her name.

Nora.