“Oh, Dad,” she said, fighting back the tears. “You’re verypoorly. But it’s OK, don’t worry, I’m here for you, I won’t leave you.”
“Am I going to die?” I asked.
She didn’t reply, but just squeezed my hand. The pain in mychest was becoming unbearable, so it was just as well that Carmen returned withthe doctor, a slim, young man with curly black hair wearing the white coat thatinstantly identified his profession.
The three of them consulted between them. I felt my eyelidsgrowing heavy once again.
“Mr Scott, I’m going to increase your medication again,”said the doctor. “It’s important that we manage your pain as best we can atthis stage.”
I nodded weakly in agreement, and he adjusted a dial on theside of one of the clear plastic pouches that was suspended from one of themany pieces of equipment wired into me.
Relief gradually came to me, but with it I becameincreasingly drowsy. I could hear my daughter whispering words of comfort tome, but she sounded very far away. Before long I drifted away into amorphine-induced slumber.
The next time I awoke, I felt a little better. The painstill lingered in my chest and I remained tired, but I didn’t feel at all woozyfrom the additional medication that the doctor had given me. I also becameaware that I was no longer attached to the machines, and managed to sit upproperly this time.
There was no one in the room, and in my upright position Icould get a proper look around the room for the first time.
It was daylight outside and a steady drizzle was fallingagainst leaden grey skies. I turned to the bedside cabinet upon which sat thedigital clock I had seen before. It was showing not just the time, but variousother bits of information, too.
From this I was able to ascertain that it was 9.12am on the 30thof December 2024, and that the temperature in the room was 21.7 degreesCelsius.
The figures looked blurry, but next to the clock was a blueglasses case which I opened to find a pair of expensive, designer-lookingglasses, presumably mine. They must have been, because when I put them on, myvision improved considerably.
The clock must be wrong. How could it be December 30th whenit had been New Year’s Eve yesterday?
Leaving aside the confusion over the date for the moment, Isat up and opened the top of two drawers in the cabinet. Inside I found awallet and a mobile phone. The glasses had been mine, so it was fair to assumethese were, too, even though I couldn’t recall ever seeing either before.
This was distinctly weird. I felt as if I was rootingthrough a stranger’s possessions, but clearly they could only be my own. Istill couldn’t remember anything else about my life. Whatever was causing thisamnesia, it wasn’t getting any better.
I picked up the wallet. It was a light tan colour ofleather, held together by a button which I popped open to look inside. Therewere cards stuffed into both sides of the wallet. The left-hand side had aclear plastic panel displaying a small pink card that I instinctively knew wasmy driving licence.
As I looked at the face of the stranger on the front, Irealised with a shock that I didn’t even know what I looked like. Looking backat me was the picture of a middle-aged, slightly overweight man with glassesand a mop of untidy, thinning, dark hair on top.
I pulled the licence out of the sleeve and looked for moredetails. From this I learnt that my name was Thomas Scott and I had been bornon 21st of October 1970. So that made me 54 years old, presuming the date onthe clock was correct.
It didn’t seem like much of an age to be in hospital atdeath’s door. What had I done to myself to get into this state?
The licence also held my address, which informed me that Ilived in Oxford. I had some general concept of Oxford in my mind. I couldpicture it on a map and envisage the town centre, but the address meant nothingto me.
It was odd that I could remember fairly generic things, butnothing personal to myself.
I flicked through the rest of the wallet, but I didn’t learna lot more about myself other than that I banked with Barclays, had a Nectarcard, an Oyster card, two credit cards and about £80 in cash.
I also found an intriguing picture of a woman who remindedme of my daughter, but she looked older, perhaps late-thirties. Whoever shewas, I had no recollection of her.
Next I picked up the smartphone. It was a highlytechnological piece of kit no more than about four inches long and as slim as acredit card. It looked incredibly flimsy but was made of some incredible strongand light material.
Unfortunately my attempts to find out more information gotno further than the front screen which demanded a four-number PIN. I had noidea what it was. I tried 2110 and 1970, going by the date of birth on mydriving licence, but neither of those was right, so I gave up and put it backin the drawer.
I felt desperate for a wee, so I decided to get out of bedand walk across to the bathroom. I felt extremely unsteady and weak on my feet,like a frail old man.
When I got to the bathroom, I managed to urinate with somediscomfort, and then hobbled across to the sink above which there was a large,rectangular mirror. For the second time that morning I was shocked by my appearance.I looked nothing like the man in the photograph on my driving licence.
My hair was all but gone, other than a few grey wisps. Mygaunt and drawn appearance looked back at me from a pair of bloodshot eyes,heavy with dark circles beneath them. To say I looked at death’s door wouldhave been an understatement.
I needed some answers and, almost on cue, a nurse came intothe room. It wasn’t Carmen this time, but a younger woman, blonde and to myeye, weak with illness though I was, quite attractive.
“Good morning, Thomas,” she said, “it’s good to see you upand about.” She spoke in a gorgeous,
