Focus on the Family Magazine - August/September 2023

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32
Reacquainted
I was 30 years old when I emerged
from a coma in 1990, believing I was
still 17 and had just entered college.
Stunned, I was confused by everything
around me. I’d later learn that during
the delivery of my third child, I’d contracted
an infection that traveled
through my bloodstream to my brain,
causing me to slip into a coma.
After the doctor had left, a young
blond man entered my room wearing
khakis and a button-down polo. I
didn’t recognize him, but he looked
as if he hadn’t slept in days. Planting a
kiss on my forehead, he reached for my
hand, holding it gently. I glimpsed a
gold wedding ring on his finger.
He’s married. Is he . . . ?
Noticing my confusion, the man told
me that I was his wife. He told me about
Callie, our new baby girl. About two
more children at home, sons named
Casen and Conner. I had no memories
of anything the man said, but I could
tell that he cared deeply for me.
The man pulled a few photos from
his pocket and taped them to the
bedrail. I tried to focus my gaze, but
my vision was too blurry to see the
two blond-haired little boys smiling
from ear to ear. He continued to show
photos to me, explaining each of the
smiling faces. Nothing. I had no recollection
but forced a smile.
Could this be my life?
When my parents and sister visited,
looking several years older than
how I’d remembered them, the two
confirmed that all the man’s stories
about my life were true. So although
I had no memory of the previous 13
years—the wedding, the births of our
two sons and daughter, our friends,
our home in a new state—within a
few days the man in the khakis, who
I learned was named Dev, quickly
became my ally and my anchor. And
with Dev’s unwitting help, I largely hid
the void in my memory from family,
friends, neighbors—and even him. I let
Dev continue thinking that it was taking
time for me to remember, not that
there was a black hole in my memory.
Once I was well enough to leave the
ICU and settle into a private room, I
tried again to focus on the pictures at
my bedside, frantically searching my
mind for any small memory that I could
latch on to before my two boys came
to visit. (Callie, still in the nursery, was
being cared for by hospital staff.)
Before long, two little boys, the ones
pictured, cautiously entered the room.
I recognized them from the photos,
and while I had no recollection of
their births or of rocking them to sleep
or reading bedtime stories, I knew in
my heart that these darling boys were
my sons.
Keeping up appearances
My parents also didn’t know the extent
of my memory loss, but I knew I’d
need help once home with baby Callie.
One day, when I gave my daughter a
thick medication from an oral syringe,
little Callie began choking. I screamed
for help, and my mother scooped the
infant into her arms. I ran into my bedroom
to call the paramedics, but I
didn’t know what to dial.
Terrified, I shouted, “Mom, what’s
the number?”
I had my secrets, but it was obvious
that the adjustment to family life was
difficult. I knew I wasn’t doing a good
job as a mom or as a wife.
A marriage
coming into view
I wasn’t the only one struggling during
that time. While I was in the coma,
Dev was terrified and wondered if I
was going to die. We had two kids at
home and a newborn at the hospital.
He feared that he’d be left to raise
them by himself.
After returning to a life I didn’t
remember, I continued to learn life