My eyes blinked open, but then quickly closed as the lights in the room burned into them. My body ached as though my blood was being forced through my veins.
“Welcome back.” Dr. Hemmings spoke casually, as he stood at the foot of my bed.
“What happened?” My head was still groggy and my voice still slightly slurred.
“You hallucinated. Don’t panic,” he soothed. “It is not uncommon in people with head injuries. To be perfectly honest, I am astounded at the level of brain function you have after the injuries you sustained. So on the whole, having a few hallucinations is not a bad outcome.” He pulled a forced smile and lifted his eyebrows.
“No, no—it wasn’t a hallucination. I know what I saw. I know it sounds crazy, but it can’t
be ...”
He cleared his throat and pushed his glasses further up his nose. “I am positive. The brain is clever; for example, if you experience extreme emotional trauma it will block out the event until it believes you are capable of processing it. Sometimes it alters our perception; for example, I am sure you’ve seen people with conditions such as anorexia? They see themselves as grotesquely overweight, whereas, of course, it is the complete reverse. And sometimes we see or feel things that aren’t really there. Hallucinations can be brought on by many contributing factors. One of the most common is right before you fall to sleep. You may hear music, or your name being called. This happens because your brain is beginning to relax. In your case, however, it is due to brain trauma. Quite often, hallucinations don’t present for many years after the trauma, but in your case, they have begun. So, what happens now you are wondering? We will monitor you. Hopefully, they go away on their own accord. If they don’t, I will administer something to keep them at bay.”
I rubbed my forehead with my fingertips. “I know what you’re saying, and I know I sound ridiculous, but it just felt so real. I could feel the eyes searching through me.” I couldn’t understand how something that felt so real could be just imaginary.
“Do you know what the third floor of this hospital is designated for?”
“No.”
“It is a psychiatric ward. Every person there believes what is happening to him, or her, and what he or she is experiencing is, without question, ‘real.’ There is one man who will only walk in the direction of the Earth’s orbit and spends most of his days trying to convince others that to do otherwise will ultimately mean the Earth’s destruction. Another chap will never look you directly in the eye because he is certain a spirit is hunting him. He believes this spirit jumps from host to host and is waiting for the opportune moment to ‘suck his soul from him’, and he believes this is achieved by eye contact.”
“I understand that’s insane. That’s impossible. No one could throw the orbit out, and souls aren’t palpable, much less a spirit who sucks it from your eyes.” I was starting to feel frustrated. I didn’t care about other patients or what some study found; I wanted him to stop talking and listen to me.
“To you, their delusions are absurd. What these men experience on a daily basis would feel no different to your experience of the eyes you say are trying to penetrate your mind.”
“You’re saying I’m crazy?”
“No, not at all, Alexandra. I am saying that you need to let me do my job. And you need to trust me. We are going to monitor you for a while. The hallucinations may go away on their own accord. If they don’t, I will be prescribing you medication.”
“If they don’t go away, will I have to be on the medication forever?”
He nodded. “Usually? Yes.”
I dropped my head back onto my pillow. If the loss of my family wasn’t enough, I was now facing a lifetime of medication dependency.
“If the medication is required, it will be as simple as taking one tablet before breakfast each morning. Before long, it will become second nature, just as brushing your teeth is a normal part of your routine. As I said, we will monitor you and see how ... if ... the hallucinations progress.” He looked at his watch. “I have to see a few other patients this morning, but I’ll be back to check on you in two days. As for now, do you have any further questions for me?” he asked as he scribbled in the manila folder.
“No,” I lied. I was filled with questions, none of which he could or would begin to answer.
He nodded absentmindedly, as he finished scribbling in his folder.
“Right, well, I’ll see you in a couple of days. Oh, I got the scans back—all good!” He smiled and left the room.
I didn’t care about the scans. My focus was only on those eyes. The concept of eyes digging through my memories was just as absurd as what the men on level three believed, but it was different for me. It was real. I knew it.
Next to my bed was a white side table. On it sat a corded phone and a small black tablet. I reached across and took the tablet. It was old and well used. The screen was no longer smooth to touch and had several scratches down one side.
I unlocked the screen and pressed on the browser. I spent the next several hours searching the internet for anything that may have explained what I had experienced, other than a hallucination. My hopes were quickly dashed as each article, whether written by a ‘home help doctor’ or a highly regarded psychologist, clearly stated the same thing Dr. Hemmings had explained.
I closed the tablet cover and slid it back across the side table. I was kidding myself. There was no other explanation than what Dr. Hemmings had given me—well, apart from sites that delved into witches, spirits and psychic phenomenon; all superstitious nonsense as far as I was concerned. I wanted real answers.
I laid my head back on the soft pillow and stared at the white ceiling. As the minutes ticked by with only my thoughts to stimulate me, I slowly come to realise how absurd I was being. I had been involved in an explosion and sustained serious head injuries. Slowly my rational mind began to take over my imaginative fears. Dr. Hemmings was right.