‘I think Craig Walker is here, Molly. I will ask him to do a cognitive review as soon as he can, okay? But because Leo is so confused, it’s best that you wait out here until he does.’
Craig Walker is an ex-pat American ICU specialist and he has been a godsend since my arrival – checking on Leo often. He sometimes even stops by at the end of his shift to explain procedures to me. I pace the hall while I wait, and when he approaches I greet him as if he’s a long-lost relative.
‘Did Edmondo tell you?’
‘Of course,’ he says. He has a clipboard under his arm and he pulls it out to show me a questionnaire. ‘I’m going to do a cognitive assessment on Leo now, and you are going to take yourself for a walk to get something to eat and some fresh air. I’ll be a while.’
It’s over an hour before Craig leaves Leo’s room. I don’t go for fresh air or food – I sit on the bench in the corridor and I worry instead. When Craig closes the door quietly behind him, his expression is grim. He takes a seat beside me and asks gently, ‘How are you holding up, Molly?’
‘Good. I’m good, of course. He’s okay? Is he going to be okay?’
‘Well, as expected, I suppose. There are a few things not quite working as they should yet. Firstly, there’s some motor issues with his lower body. He was a little freaked out by that, but I’m not too concerned – it’s very early days.’
‘He can’t walk?’
‘He’s a long way from walking, I’m afraid,’ Craig explains. ‘I’ve just done some preliminary testing – it will take some time to figure out exactly what is going on there. He has sensation in his lower limbs but impairment in his control of the muscles – basically his movement is limited. I don’t want to worry you too much until we know some more. There are plenty of good signs, and all of his other physical abilities are intact. With a bit of rehab, there’s a good chance we can resolve this.’
‘Does this mean he will be in a wheelchair?’
‘For the time being, yes.’
I think this through, then shake my head as if it’s a request I can decline on Leo’s behalf. Like – no thanks, Leo doesn’t like scrambled eggs or no thanks, he won’t read the tabloid paper, can we have the broadsheet? Instead, it’s just no thanks, Leo won’t cope with life in a wheelchair, could you just fix him instead? Leo is a foreign affairs reporter who specialises in work in volatile war zones; he cannot do that work from a wheelchair. He is a fitness fanatic and a karate instructor in his spare time, and he lives in a three-storey terrace – his beloved office is on the top floor, his bedroom on the second. How can he even live in his home if he’s in a wheelchair? Nothing works. There’s no workaround that I could offer that would make this news anything other than devastating – not for Leo.
‘He will adjust, Molly,’ Craig says quietly. ‘So will you. And like I said there’s a very good chance that with the right therapy and some hard work, he can get past this. Please don’t panic yet.’
‘If it were me, I could live a very full life. But Leo won’t cope with this.’
‘You will both figure it out. And there’ll be plenty of support along the way.’
I rub my eyes with my fists and sigh, but then I remember that this isn’t even all of it. I grimace at the doctor.
‘And the rest? Why does he think it’s 2011?’
‘It seems to be a case of what we call partial retrograde amnesia. Was Leo shot during the Libyan civil war?’
‘Yes, in the shoulder.’
‘That’s actually the last thing he remembers. He feels like that happened earlier today and he’s just woken up,’ Craig says. ‘Obviously you didn’t know Leo in 2011?’
I’d known him as a kid, but I don’t have the energy to explain any of that now, so I only nod.
‘We met shortly after that, actually.’ I try to figure out what Leo’s last memory of me would be and realise that it would be of Declan’s funeral. No wonder he was bewildered when he saw me. ‘Did you tell him?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did he say?’
Craig smiles ruefully. ‘He didn’t believe me. I had to do a Google image search to show him some paparazzi photos of you two together. He said he needs to think about it. I am pretty sure he thinks we’re playing a practical joke on him.’
‘God!’ I groan and rub my forehead. ‘Doesn’t this just complicate everything? So I’m a stranger to him?’
‘Try not to panic,’ Craig says quietly, and I suddenly wish I’d kept count of how many times he’s said those words since I first met him. I suspect the tally would be into the hundreds by now. ‘He’s on the list for a full neurological assessment from the specialist in the next day or so anyway, but I’ll try to speed things up. In any case, this kind of amnesia really is unlikely to be permanent. Hopefully, his memory will return quickly and in the meantime we’ll just make sure he’s calm and focused on getting better, okay?’