The Institution

Chapter 18: My Little Problem

As I thumbed through yet another tome belonging to the UK library's extensive medical archives, I considered for the first time that perhaps my little problem of trauma-induced magical and psychic powers was as of yet undocumented and I was, as such, the first case ever to exist in the history of time.

I tossed A Myriad of Mysteries: Cerebral Contusions over my shoulder and picked up a dusty copy of The American Medical Association's Complete Medical Encyclopedia from my book pyramid. I flipped past the first ten pages until I reached the Table of Contents. I was determined to read anything and everything relating to head trauma, as the car accident had been the origin of my symptoms and was therefore the most likely culprit for my sudden surge of magical prowess.

The thing was, I reflected as I turned to the chapter on head trauma on page 567, my little problem was very rapidly turning into a big problem. After all, how was I to know the next time my newfound abilities decided to explode something? It could very well be somebody's head next, for all I knew, and what a mess that would be to explain....

"You know, Ethan," called Arthur for the first time in half an hour, from where he was crouched over his laptop at the desk in the far corner, "this isn't the Middle Ages. We have this thing called technology at our immediate disposal to help us diagnose your problem."

"Have you ever tried Googling your symptoms before?" I retorted, as I scanned the first page of the chapter on head trauma. There was a shit-ton of gibberish and big words that I couldn't pronounce. "It's the easiest way to convince yourself that you're dying. I think I'll stick to the medical books, thanks."

Arthur made a face and returned to surfing the net. I focused on the subchapter highlighting the differences between Epidural, Subdural, and Intracerebral Hematomas. According to my doctor I'd had an Intracerebral Hematoma, which meant that the bleeding had occurred inside of my skull. There was nothing written there that could explain a possible influx of unprecedented explosive abilities.

"Aha!" Arthur exclaimed suddenly. The curly haired blonde girl who was sharing his table shot an irritated glare in his direction. "Come here, I think I've found something."

I stood unenthusiastically from my spot on the carpet behind my book pyramid and slowly limped over to Arthur's table.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Foreign Language Syndrome," said Arthur proudly, gesturing to the article. The girl made an impatient shushing noise and he lowered his voice to a murmur. "It says here that there have been documented cases of patients waking from a coma to discover the ability to speak in foreign languages they've never studied before."

"But I'm not speaking in a foreign language," I said quietly, just in case Arthur had the wrong idea and partly for my own reassurance that I wasn't going to spontaneously burst into Mandarin mid rant. I didn't think that would happen, as my English sounded just as it always had, but judging by how the rest of my day had gone so far it was entirely possible.

"I realize that," said Arthur, "but this could still be the cause of your...," he trailed off and glanced at the curly haired girl suspiciously, "...little problem. See here? Apparently this dude woke up from a coma thinking that he was Monet and speaking in fluent French, when he'd never had any foreign language training beforehand. Maybe that's what's happening to you, only instead of a foreign language...."

Now I understood the point Arthur was trying to make. I dropped into the chair beside him and read the first few paragraphs of the article. Fragmented sentences leapt out at me.

"...awaken to the face of a Chinese nurse, only to inquire about his location in fluent Japanese...."

".... no background in the French language...."