Henry’s soul flickered. Like a collection of tired fluorescent lights teetering between reluctantly flashing on and giving up altogether. The flickering continued for what felt like minutes until finally, Henry felt himself stir. He blinked three times, then opened his eyes to see an old white-tiled ceiling overhead. He held his hands in front of his face and then back to his side. Something was different. He closed his eyes again and tried to remember where he had fallen asleep. He thought of home, his office, a couch at his wife’s parents place flashed into his mind. Nothing. Then a motorcycle. A motorcycle! Was it a dream? He closed his eyes even tighter as he strained to remember. Had he finally purchased the bike from the online listing? The fields and wind blowing past him, it felt so real. Then he saw the rock. He remembered hitting it. He remembered his frantic struggle for control of the handlebars. And then? He remembered nothing.
Suddenly he heard some muffled voices, and the rhythmic beeping of medical equipment. He sat up and shot his eyes open to find himself standing in the middle of an operating room.
Did I hit someone? Henry worried, Why am I allowed in here? Where is Lisa?
Four individuals were surrounding a person lying supine, cloaked in sterile sheets. Henry could tell some type of surgery was being performed. There was an urgency in the room. While Henry wanted to speak up and ask about the person on the table, he was apprehensive about interrupting the medical team and wondered if they would ask him to leave.
He looked around the room to find a woman in scrubs seated next to a large piece of equipment, staring at the monitors. He looked to the other side of the room to find a man, about Henry’s age, sitting at a computer with a phone to his ear as a younger woman with her hair pulled back tightly stood behind him, looking stressed and listening carefully to the man on the phone. All in the room were matching navy scrubs—those working on the person on the table also wore yellow surgical coverings.
No one in the room paid any attention to Henry, who found himself dressed in the same clothes he was wearing prior to the accident, leather jacket included.
I must have passed out. I can’t believe I’m alright.
Then he noticed someone he hadn’t before. A tall man with a confident air and perfect posture stood in the corner of the room, writing something on a black clipboard. He wore a gray suit with a charcoal tie. He looked more at ease than anyone else in the room and Henry found himself unable to look away. Suddenly, the man looked up from his notes and directly at Henry. It was so abrupt, and the man’s stare so penetrating, it startled Henry and he stumbled backward. He looked away sheepishly and then back at the man, who now held the clipboard to his chest watching the operation taking place. Henry felt intimidated and drawn to the man all at once. He ultimately gathered the courage to walk over and see what was going on.
As Henry approached, the man’s focus remained on the operating table and surgery team. The clipboard remained pressed against his chest. Henry stood just behind the man and quietly cleared his throat. No response. He cleared it more deliberately.
“Excuse me sir, I uh… I’m just not sure what…. I’m not sure what’s going on and I’m… Well I think I was in an accident, but I’m obviously fine… and uh… I believe I may have hit this person and I… I just wanna make sure they are ok and… I guess, well…maybe I didn’t hit them, I don’t…” surprised by his stammering, he collected himself, “Can you just tell me where I might find my wife?”
The man turned calmly and looked at Henry with the same penetrating gaze he had earlier. The suit he wore was impeccably clean and straight—his slender frame fitting it just so. He had perfectly combed hair and grayish blue eyes that studied Henry knowingly. The man’s look carried an earnestness that gave Henry a surprising feeling of comfort.
“Hello, Henry.” The man said warmly, turning his stare back to the operating room table.
“Hello, I’m sorry, yes, I’m Henr… Well, I don’t believe we met,” Henry said, realizing the fact as he spoke.
The man continued watching the operation.
“You know, Henry, even with this procedure, this is a guarded prognosis at best.”
Henry felt his heart sink for the patient.
“Wow, I’m uh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’ve seen this thousands of times, really. If it works, they’ll be quite pleased,” the man said, nodding to the surgical team.
“And if doesn’t?” Henry asked, trailing off as he said it.
“If it doesn’t, I’ll have even more work to do.”
Henry was surprised at the words—both because he wasn’t sure what the man meant, and because of the certainty with which he had spoken. He wondered if this was a hospital administrator or a coroner. Or perhaps law enforcement.
“I’m sorry, you’re…” Henry struggled to find the words, rubbing his temples in an attempt to squeeze the words out, “Who are they working… I’m just not sure how I’m…’ Henry took a deep breath, “Look, I’m pretty hazy from the crash. I must have really blacked out…”
“You could certainly say that,” The man responded coolly, turning to look at Henry again.
“Listen, I just need to call my wife, and I don’t know what exactly I’m doing here. I guess we met before, but I don’t know who you are or what is happening…”
Henry’s words trailed off as he looked back to the surgery, then to each person in the room and finally back to the gentleman with the clipboard. Feeling cloudy again, he looked for a place to sit or lie down and realized there wasn’t one.
“There was a terrible accident, Henry,” The man finally said.
Henry felt a sudden guilt swell up inside him, almost certain he had caused this.
“I can’t believe… I, I lost control and I honestly don’t remember hitting anyone.”
“You didn’t hit anyone, Henry,” the man said calmly.
“Then why am I…” Henry felt his throat tighten and his anxiety mount, “Just tell me what I’m doing here!”
It was the first time he raised his voice, surprising himself. No one in the room seemed affected by his outburst, including the man with the clipboard. He studied Henry carefully and appeared to be considering his next words judiciously.
“Henry, this may be difficult to understand,” he paused, “That patient on the table is you.”
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