I checked the clock: nine fifteen. I threw on clothes without showering and was outside my door in five minutes.
When Matt dropped me off at the Toronto Rehabilitation Center, I said, “Matt, I want to talk to Dr. Goodman, and then I’ll get back to you, okay? We can leave today, I think, but I want to make sure. And… thank you. For everything.” I hugged him. “I don’t know what I would do without you here.”
He hugged me back awkwardly. I realized then that I knew almost nothing about his life. I told him I’d call him on his cell when I was ready to leave.
I met Dr. Goodman in the same conference room. She motioned for me to sit at any one of the chairs around the table.
“How are you doing today?” she asked, not unkindly, but professionally. Her lack of humanity grated on me, but it seemed I’d have to learn to live with it.
“I’m as well as you could expect under the circumstances. I’m better than yesterday. I wanted to meet with you to discuss Greg’s treatment and my part in it. There are things you need to know, as his therapist.” I took a deep breath. “We are no longer legally married.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”
“I divorced him. We tried for two years to find him; he had vanished without a trace. It’s not a neat, clean story, and I will tell you, not because I’m justifying myself, but because it may help you with his treatment to know as much about his previous life as possible. I believe he had an affair right before he disappeared. I didn’t even know that he was in Toronto. He had left on a business trip to Rochester. I found out later that there were a number of things he lied about. I used to be angry, but I’m not anymore. I’ve moved on with my life. However, that being said, Greg is the father of my children. It’s important to me that he become well again, as long as that takes. I may not be married to him, but I will be committed to his recovery. I just need to have a plan for how that will work.”
Dr. Goodman appraised me with new eyes. Was there respect there? Or was it reproach? Some of each? I couldn’t tell.
“Well, Claire, thank you for telling me. I appreciate that. We do have to consider when to tell Greg that you are divorced. You have to understand, in his mind, you are not only married, you are happy. You were just pregnant. Telling him now might derail or at least set back his recovery. He’s just beginning to remember his old life. If we give him something that negative to think about, he might subconsciously choose not to remember it. Does that make sense?”
I nodded. “Yes, I think so.”
“As for a recovery plan and your involvement…” She sighed. “Generally, the family is very involved, almost a daily involvement at this stage. But I would have to strongly recommend against moving him closer to you at this point. His doctors and therapists are here. Right now, he’s comfortable here. Stress at this juncture is damning to recovery. I would plan on at least a month before he can be moved to New Jersey. Can you come on weekends? Or at least once a week for a month and we’ll see how he does?”
“Can I bring the kids?”
“Yes, without a doubt. Your visits, and especially with the children, will be instrumental in helping him regain his memory.” She paused. “Do they know?”
“No.” I felt the tears spring to my eyes, an automatic switch when I thought about the girls. I blinked to clear them. I needed solid strength. I stood. “Can I see him now?”
She nodded. “He will be here for about another two hours. Today is his half day. He’s been volunteering at the homeless shelter on Sundays, serving dinners.”
I was taken aback. The Greg I knew had never been particularly charitable.
“I assure you,” Dr. Goodman said, apparently catching my surprise, “your husband is a very different man from the one you knew.”
Greg sat at the table in the same room where we had met the previous day. Cards were laid out in front of him in a solitaire pattern.
He looked up ruefully. “I can’t remember the rules.” He waved his hands at the cards. “One of the nurses tried to teach me, but I can’t remember all the rules. I make up my own, I guess.” He pulled all the cards together before I could stop him, making a pile. Then, he shuffled them, dealer style.
I laughed. “That’s new,” I said, pointing at the cards. He looked confused. “You couldn’t do that. Before. Is that possible? Can you learn to shuffle cards in a coma?”
He shrugged, but grinned. “I don’t know. I wonder what else I can do now?” he shook his head, still shuffling the cards. “What could I do before?” He dealt four stacks of cards and then combined them, piling one on top of the other. Pile, pile, pile, pile, stack, stack, stack, stack. Over and over again.