Struck by Lightning

31. Don't Think I Can Take The Pain

The next morning Amanda remembered she had to see Rachel, so she pulled on a pair of jogging bottoms and a Pink Floyd t-shirt and headed across the building at five to ten. She had a slight hangover but otherwise she felt something close to happiness.

"Thanks for coming," Rachel said, offering Amanda a seat.

It was a pointless formality. Amanda had been there so many times she'd lost count. She was required to be there. She sat and waited, absentmindedly fingering the knots in her hair as her mood slowly changed.

"I've been doing a lot of investigating since our last conversation. You remember what we discussed?"

Amanda switched from pulling at her hair to picking at a thread on the sofa. "Sure. About my surgery."

"Exactly. I'll get straight to the point. I got in touch with the hospital where they did the operation and I spoke to the surgeon."

"OK," Amanda said, sitting forward in her seat, her interest piqued.

"Yes, he said that you woke up during the procedure."

"I what?" It was a reflex reaction; she didn't fully take in what had been said.

"You have no memory of that?" Rachel clarified.

"None at all," she said, her mind catching up. "Fuck. I mean, oh my god."

"He said that when you became conscious, you realised what was happening. You tried to get up. A number of people had to hold you down while they put you back to sleep."

"Shit," Amanda breathed, a shudder went through her. "I don't remember any of that. That's terrifying."

"Exactly. And I think that's what might have been wrong all these years. The dizziness is your body trying to tell you it doesn't feel safe. If you're in a situation where you feel trapped or out of control or can't get away, it kicks in as a defence mechanism, trying to tell you something's wrong. Perhaps your body remembers what happened during the surgery - you being held down, cut open - but your brain doesn't."

Amanda felt her eyes stinging as tears threatened. "Is that even a real thing that happens? I just assumed it was bullshit."

"The memory thing? Yes, of course. It's like any trauma, the brain tries to protect you by blocking it out," Rachel explained.

"That's sort of what my friend said." Amanda dropped her eyes to her stomach picturing the offending scar beneath her t-shirt.

"I know it's hard to get your head around. Your mind has clearly tried to save you from what happened, but it's presented itself in other, unhelpful ways."

"Why did the surgeon never tell me?" she wanted to know, a painful lump forming in her throat.

"I think when you didn't remember, he thought best not to. He most certainly wouldn't have considered the fact that part of you would remember."

Amanda thought back to the time she was locked in the massage room, the very clinical massage table in the middle, and how it had triggered her symptoms all over again. She shivered as an image of herself with blood pouring out of her abdomen, being held down by Louisa popped into her head.

"I have just two questions," Amanda finally said, sitting up straighter, her voice firmer.

"Go on."

"First, how do I cure it?"

"Well, it's not quite as simple as that, but we can restructure your therapy to focus more on the potential trauma and help you come to terms with it, but also craniosacral therapy is great for releasing underlying tension from the body. I'll set you up with a therapist. None of this is a miracle cure, but it's a start," the psychiatrist explained.