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My husband had intermittent amnesia. He could never remember the things I told him.
On our wedding anniversary, I carried the last dish to the table,
and said quietly, "My stomach's been bothering me. I want to get a scope done tomorrow. Could you take me?"
He looked at me, puzzled. "Hmm? What did you just say?"
His childhood sweetheart, Tamara Cobb, was sitting right there, and the way she smiled looked almost like a dare.
She let out a little cough. "Oh no, I think I'm catching a cold."
Elijah Sawyer turned to her at once, all worry. "How did you catch a cold? Did you kick your blanket off again last night?"
Then something seemed to dawn on him, and he looked back at me, apologetic.
"Sorry, Paula Swanson. I can never seem to hold on to what you say."
I said nothing. I just quietly left the table.
The next day, I went to the hospital alone, and was diagnosed with a threatened miscarriage.
I called my husband. "We might be losing the baby."
Same as always: "Huh? What did you just say?"
The call hadn't dropped, and through it came Tamara's laugh.
"I'm dying, she's not seriously making something up to get your attention, is she?"
"I bet she'll never figure out in her whole life that this is a game."
...
Then came Elijah's voice, laughing. "This game really works. Last time, when her mom was sick, I took you to Disneyland, and when I got home I told her I didn't remember any of it. She didn't even blame me."
Tamara couldn't stop laughing. "Next time, when she's on her period, give her ice water and say you forgot. I'd love to see the look on her face. Hahahaha."
I gripped the phone, and a cold ran all through me.
A game?
Not long after we married, Elijah told me he had intermittent amnesia.
He would forget the things I said, forget my birthday, forget that I was allergic to seafood.
We went to all the major hospitals. None of them could find a cause.
The department head at the hospital where he worked told me gravely that it might be a rare condition.
Frightened, I gave up my graduate studies and stayed home full-time to take care of him. Three meals a day, every one of them made with care.
And it turned out they were telling me this was a game?
I didn't make a sound. I just calmly hung up the phone.
The tears fell without a word, landing on the back of my hand.
The doctor quickly pulled out a tissue and handed it to me. "Miss, don't cry just yet."
"A threatened miscarriage doesn't mean the baby can't be saved. If you rest properly and follow the treatment, there's still a good chance."
I looked at the doctor and forced out a smile.
"There's no need, doctor."
"Just schedule the procedure for me. I don't want this baby."
Walking out of the exam room, I leaned against the wall, and my stomach began to cramp again.
To carry this baby, I had suffered for two years.
Ovulation shots until my whole belly was covered in marks,
herbal medicine until my sense of taste went numb, and after every dose I hunched over the toilet, dry-heaving.
The hormone drugs sent my immune system into free fall.
Frequent stomach pain, migraines that lasted all night.
Countless deep nights, I curled up in bed, hurting too much to move.
I shook Elijah awake. "My head hurts so much... could you get me a glass of hot water?"
But he just rolled over, his back to me, his voice thick with sleep. "What did you just say?"
His amnesia had flared up again.
Every time it flared, he didn't just forget what I said. He turned mean, too.
I grabbed his arm and begged him, crying. "I feel awful... I said, please get me a glass of hot water..."
He shook my hand off and pulled the blanket over his head.
The pain wiped out every last bit of my reason, and I broke down sobbing.
Only then did he sit up and snap at me, irritated.
"Can't you show some sense? The doctor said you have to keep your emotions stable while trying to conceive. You're hysterical every single day. If it affects the baby, whose fault is that?"
"You don't know I'm sick? You won't let me sleep, and if my condition gets worse, who do you think ends up carrying that burden? You."
I fought the pain with everything I had.
For the baby. For him.
And from beginning to end, it had only been a game.
Since he'd chosen to forget, then there was nothing left for me to say.
I sent my advisor a message. 【Professor, that tropical field research project you mentioned before, can I still join it?】
