Have You Seen Me?(15)

She greets me warmly and beckons me in. From her appearance and the research I’ve done online, I’ve surmised she’s in her mid-to late forties. She’s an attractive woman, with shoulder-length auburn hair and deep brown eyes, though a sharp nose detracts from her being classically beautiful.

I settle myself into the same spot I’ve sat in on my other visits—a wide, nubby gray armchair directly across from hers. Erling waits for me to get comfortable before she takes her seat. She’s wearing a navy pencil skirt today, paired with a satiny ivory-colored blouse, and as she crosses one leg over the other, I notice her classy, pointy-toe navy pumps.

“Ally, I’m eager to hear more about your experience,” she says, “but please tell me first how you’re feeling at the moment.”

“Right this second, things feel fairly normal,” I tell her honestly. “But I’m really anxious—about losing my memory—and beyond that, I’m worried it might happen again.”

“Have you ever experienced anything like this before?”

“Never,” I say without hesitating. “And I can’t make sense of why it’s happened now. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m a pretty together person. I’m comfortable with who I am and can’t imagine why I’d want to detach from this identity. And there weren’t any warning signs, at least that I noticed. My best friend told me I’ve been a little distracted lately, but that’s the only thing I can think of.”

“And do you feel fully present now? In the moment?”

“Right now, yes.”

“Do you have any sense that you’re standing outside your body? Watching yourself from a distance?”

“No, nothing like that.” I make a mental note of what she’s said, though, realizing that such a sensation must be a red flag. “Other than being totally drained, I feel like myself. But I have no clue where I was or what I was doing for two whole days. And I’m freaking out about it.”

“That’s a totally normal reaction, Ally.” She leans forward a little, her expression sympathetic. “Not remembering what happened to you is very unsettling. But we’re going to do a bit of detective work here and see if we can start piecing things together.”

I nod gratefully, as tears well in my eyes.

“Tell me about the last thing you remember from this week,” she says.

I ease into my chair a little and take a deep breath, as if mentally rolling up my sleeves. I tell her about working Monday afternoon and later eating take-out food with Hugh but admit I have no recollection of the fight, even the start of it. I also share what Hugh revealed about my call to him and the charge on my credit card for food, and wrap up with my disastrous morning at Greenbacks.

Though Erling generally doesn’t take many notes during a session, she jots a few down today. During the brief moments her eyes leave mine, I scan the office. It’s attractive, decorated in pleasant shades of blue and gray, but I actually prefer her Larchmont office—with its cinnamon-colored couch and cream-colored walls and curtains. Maybe that space feels more inviting because it’s part of her home, a room that I suspect also serves as her study.

“What type of tests did they perform in the ER?” she asks, glancing up again.

“Blood and urine, which turned up nothing. A few cognitive tests. They didn’t do any kind of head x-ray because they said I had no signs of a concussion. Though it’s weird—this morning I found tissues with dried blood in my coat pocket.”

“But you didn’t have any cuts or bruises?”

“No, so I wonder if I might have had a nosebleed. Maybe from getting hit in the face somehow? I used to get those when I was playing sports in school—when someone whacked me by mistake with a hockey stick or an elbow. And . . . sometimes they used to happen all on their own. When I was upset—or stressed out.”

Erling silently holds my gaze, as if waiting for me to elaborate.

“Part of me wishes I was bumped in the nose,” I tell her. “If my amnesia occurred because of a physical trauma, it would make it so much easier to understand. I can’t believe this is all because of the argument with Hugh.”

“Tell me what it’s been like when you and Hugh fought in the past.”

“We’ve always been civilized, though Hugh claimed I was pretty angry this time.”

“During our last session, you said that Hugh promised to give you some breathing room, that you could put the baby discussion on hold for a while.”

“I know, so the fact that he brought it up again must have made me feel really under the gun. And that’s exactly when the memory loss began.”

Erling cocks her head. “With a dissociative state,” she says, “memory loss doesn’t necessarily begin at the exact moment of a trauma. It can actually encompass a period of time prior to a traumatic event.”

I take a second to digest the information.

“So the fight might not have been the trigger?”

“Maybe not. Or it could have been one of a series of triggers. So we need to consider other possible sources of stress or trauma. I’d like to hear about the place you went to yesterday morning, the company you used to work for. What does it mean to you?”

Sigh. I knew we’d get here sooner or later.

I give her a brief overview of Greenbacks: it’s a website offering a ton of posts on personal finance topics, but there are other services, too, like individual money management handled totally online. I explain I worked there for more than four years, first as an editor, then as chief content officer—and that overall, I really enjoyed it. My coworkers were smart and interesting, and I found the work exciting. But since I’d always had a desire to make a name as a personal finance expert, I started working on my own about five years ago.