Chapter 13
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Despite his evasive tactics, Mr. Sandman was apparently able to find him sometime during the night because the next morning, Martin woke up to find a sixty-year old woman staring at him from the foot of his bed. She wore large round glasses with thick black frames and had long gray hair pulled back into a ponytail.
"Uh, hi." Martin greeted her. He decided that he immensely disliked staying in a hospital where people would just show up whenever they pleased and without his knowledge or consent.
"Hello, did I wake you?" She asked, offering Martin a devilish grin.
"Oh, coma humor, funny." Martin replied sardonically. As if it wasn't bad enough to wake up to find a complete stranger watching you, one who was an amateur comedian was worse. "So, who are you exactly?"
"I'm Dr. Salinger, Chief of Psychiatry." She walked around the bed to shake his hand. "Sorry, I wasn't available yesterday but my grandson had his last T-ball game and I couldn't miss it."
"Did his team win?" Martin asked, hoping to engage her in a sports discussion and not the real reason she was here.
"No, but they still got trophies and pizza so they didn't care." Martin smiled and she moved to sit down. "How are you feeling physically?"
So much for his attempt at a diversion.
"Good, a little sore." Martin replied as he rubbed his arms in an attempt to get the blood flowing; if he was going to go toe-to-toe with a psychologist he'd prefer to be fully awake. He needed to have his wits about him.
She nodded her head and asked, "How about mentally?"
Martin wasn't sure how to reply so he searched his brain for the response that seemed adequate and decided on, "Not bad."
"Not bad? Well, that's better than not good." She smiled at him. "Can you elaborate?"
"I wouldn't know where to begin." Martin replied. He shifted his focus to his hands and began toying with the plastic tabs on his hospital ID bracelet. "I feel like I'm dreaming and any minute I'm going to wake up in my apartment back in New York."
"That sense of surreal is going to linger for awhile but it should fade eventually." She removed her glasses and let them dangle on the beaded chain around her neck. "What do you want? What do you think would help you feel more grounded in the now?"
"Grounded in the now? Is that an official medical phrase?" Martin queried with a hint of sarcasm.
She shrugged before replying, "If it helps you, sure, why not?"
Martin stared at her a long time, carefully considering his response before quietly answering, "Tell me everything I missed during the last two months."
"Agent Fitzgeraldā¦"
"Martin, call me Martin."
She smiled. "Martin, have you talked to your family or friends? Asked them to fill you in?"
"No, I don't know how to ask or what to say."
"Well, this is just me brainstorming here, how about: 'So, what have I missed?'" She chuckled at her lame attempt at humor and Martin could not help but grin at her.
"Just like that?" Martin asked.
"Just like that." She replied. "It doesn't have to be complicated. I think you'll find that once you begin discussing it with those who love you, the easier it will be for both you and them. I know you feel like you are alone in this Martin, but everyone who cares about you had to deal with your coma as well. They lost time, too."
Martin was digesting what she told him when the door opened and his physical therapist walked in, signaling the end of his and Dr. Salinger's session.
"Okay, I guess our time is up. Shall I stop by tomorrow?" She looked at him questioningly.
Martin hesitated a moment before finally replying, "Yes."
"Great. Then let me give you a little assignment: ask at least one person who can fill you in on some of those details you want and we'll discuss it tomorrow."
Martin nodded his head in agreement. She waved goodbye and walked out of the room with Martin's eyes following her as he wondered if it really would be as easy as just asking.
