Anamnesis

I don’t remember what happened yesterday, nor will I remember what happens tomorrow. Today will be just the same. As I sit in the almost too small chair, a chair meant for a child, hard green plastic sticks to my skin thanks to the perspiration, I wrack my brain for any memory, a recollection of the tiniest event that happened just twenty-four hours ago. There is nothing; just a wall of black.

I had a name once. Delilah was what they called me. Or was it Delaney? Here I am just called patient 83067. My childhood is nothing but a whirlwind of images like waves crashing to the beach and receding back leaving nothing more than wet sand as an idea of what once was. I cannot remember simple things like my birthday or my first day of school. They tell me that none of the knowledge I yearn for is important. I am important; they tell me, me, my body and what it can do. They tell me what I am destined for but I do not remember that either. I just know that I am a woman.

A bright light is turned on and my pupils dilate as they try to take in less light. I am blinded but only temporarily. Fuzzy shapes approach. Their hands are replaced with claws and their eyes are twice as big as mine. But that is only for a moment. Two men stand before me. Their claws are nothing more than the instruments they will be using to make me better. Wide eyes are transformed into thick rimmed glasses. Both wear stark white lab coats.

“Hello, Dee,” a soft voice says. That is not my name but I look up knowing he is speaking to me. I know this voice but I cannot place it. I know I have heard it before but it is foreign to my ears.

I am naked. Something stirs within me, a thought that it is inappropriate for them to see me like this. My hands move to cover my chest but a warm smile stops me just as my fingers brush the swell of my breasts. “What are we doing today, doctor?” I asked quietly. Though I cannot remember, I have an inkling that I have been through this before.

A frown creases the lips of the doctor who had not spoken. His grey hair is smoothed down flat over what is obviously years of stress. Shiny skin can be seen through the patches that his hair does not cover. His steely blue eyes look me over as if I am nothing more than a piece of dirt. Though I do not know anything I know that I am human, just like him. His hand tightly grips a clipboard as he furiously writes down notes that I presume are about me. He is also short, much shorter than the doctor who is standing beside him. He may even be shorter than I am.

“We are extracting today,” he tells me. It sounds as if he is trying to make it sound pleasant. Extracting sounds painful but the warm brown eyes of the taller doctor settle my notions of unpleasantness.

His hands are warm when he puts them on my stomach. Fingers knead into my flesh just below my naval searching for something. His eyes never leave mine in his quest to recover whatever it is that he is looking for. I stare right back at him though I cannot keep eye contact. His jaw is strong and a shadow of stubble prickles through his skin. Dark hair falls in waves against his forehead and around his ears. He would be attractive; if I remembered what attractive was.

“Have you done anything interesting today, Dee?” he asked. This is the second time he has called me Dee. I can only imagine as to why he calls me something so warm and welcoming when just an hour ago I was called by my number by dozens of different men in the same white coats.

The doctor with the clip board looks up with a glare and a voice just as harsh, “We do not use such formalities with patients. Do you not remember that, Dr. Spelling?” Dr. Spelling I wonder if I would remember that tomorrow. It is very unlikely as I am already beginning to forget if it is Doctor or Mister.

“Sorry, Dr. Cane,” the pretty doctor mumbles before turning his attention back onto me. “Patient 83067, has your day been satisfactory?” he asks sounding much more formal than before.

Though I do not know if it is appropriate to speak now, I nod. He looks at me with wide searching eyes. It is then that I know he expects me to talk. “Yes,” I start off trying to remember the events of this morning. I wrack my brain for anything I could say. Things are hazy. “I ate breakfast and had a walk around the courtyard.”

“Was it pleasant?” he asks. There is a tug just above my hip like something is being pulled from within my body. I can feel my skin being stretched and pulled as the tugging ensues. I dare not look down in fear that I would see blood. The warm sticky fluid made me uncomfortable. At least, it did yesterday.

Yesterday? My eyebrows furrow and I glance up to the doctor with the grey hair. I know him. Yes. I do. His hands were on me yesterday for reasons that I cannot yet remember. Things are beginning to come into focus. It is the man, I think, that has stirred these memories. It is bizarre as I can never bring up such a thing as what I had for breakfast.

I am beginning to get odd looks from both men for what I assume is because I have not answered the dark haired man’s question. But now I am trying to recollect the memory of the grey haired man but it is like sand cupped in my hands, grains quickly slipping through my fingers.

“Eric,” I whisper making the men snap to attention. The dark haired man’s head snaps back to look at the other who is glaring. I know this look. I witnessed it yesterday as he loomed over me. In fact he was so close to me that I could read his name tag. It is not pinned to his chest today but I can remember the glinting gold. If only I could remember what he was doing. “Eric J. Cane,” I speak his full name.

“Braydon,” he hisses to the dark haired man who is still staring into my eyes while his fingers prod. The tugging has stopped and has been replaced with an icy cold feeling. “Hurry with the extraction, you daft man. It should not be taking so long.”

I never cared what this man… Brandon? I do not care what he was doing. I am focused on Eric and how his face is reddening with each passing moment. There is something that I am now remembering. Pale skin pocked with scars pressed against mine. It is Eric. I can remember his cold blue eyes looking greedily over my body. His hands were on me in places that should not be touched in such manner. I do not know why but I know that it is illegal.

“Your hands were cold,” I speak just loud enough for the two to hear me. I am not sure if this is punishable. Pain is something I do remember though I do not feel it now as the man extracts what he needs from my body. I remember it’s white hot, sharp, and unpleasant. It brings tears to one’s eyes and I do not want that feeling.

“Finished,” the dark haired man practically screams as he holds up a tiny vial of liquid. It looks like clear jelly but I know it is not what it is. This is the substance that women like myself are here for. I remember hearing the men talk about it. Extracting is what they call it though I do not know what they are taking. Only females contain it.

Eric steps forward. A syringe is in his hand. I watch as if in slow motion, he pushing the dark haired man aside and positions the needle at my bare thigh. A pinch and there is nothing but black.

Two men stand before me. I cannot remember how I got here. Hard green plastic sticks to my skin. I am naked. There is a spark of light somewhere in the depths of my brain. It is extinguished almost immediately. I remember nothing.