The first thing I noticed was the ceiling. That weird sterile tile pattern that lets you know you’re not at home, or anywhere comfortable. My throat was dry, my arm had an IV in it, and my hospital gown felt two sizes too big.
But what really freaked me out? The nurse walked in, smiled, and said, “Welcome back, Maisie.”
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I hadn’t even opened my mouth yet.
I blinked, trying to piece things together. Last I remembered, I was on my way to work—headphones in, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. Then nothing. Just… black. Apparently, I collapsed outside the metro. No ID. No phone. Just me, unconscious on the pavement, rushed to the ER by a stranger who didn’t leave a name.
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I asked the nurse how she knew who I was.
She hesitated for a moment, a flash of something crossing her face. I couldn’t quite place it—was it concern? Sympathy? But then she smiled again, like she was trying to reassure me.
“You’re Maisie, right?” she asked gently, as though she expected me to confirm it.
I nodded slowly, still not entirely sure what was going on. “Yes, but… how did you know?”
She paused, studying me for a beat too long, as if weighing how much to say. Then she glanced at the clipboard in her hands and said, “We have your information from when you were brought in. You’ve been here before.”
I blinked. “Before? No… I’ve never been to this hospital before. I’ve never—” I stopped, trying to focus. My head felt heavy, and I had trouble keeping my thoughts straight. I wasn’t sure if the confusion was from the sudden hospital visit or if something else was off.
She tilted her head slightly. “You’ve been here a few times, Maisie. You don’t remember?”
My stomach dropped. “A few times? What do you mean? When?”
The nurse’s smile faded just a bit, and she placed the clipboard down. “I’ll let the doctor explain things in more detail when he comes in,” she said, stepping back toward the door. “But you’ve had some episodes before, and this is the latest one. Just rest for now.”
She left before I could ask anything more, and I was left alone in that sterile room, the beeping of the heart monitor the only sound in the space. My mind was racing. What did she mean by “episodes”? I had no memory of ever being to this hospital before, of any past collapses. It felt like a strange dream, like I was being pulled into a story I didn’t belong to.
I tried to sit up, but the dizziness returned, and I had to steady myself by gripping the side of the bed. What was going on? Why was I having these gaps in my memory? Why had I never remembered being here before? I didn’t like this—none of it made sense.
The door opened again, and a man in a white coat stepped in, holding a tablet. He looked about my age, maybe a little older, with sharp eyes that seemed to notice everything. He had a calm, measured presence. His name tag read “Dr. Reed.”
“Hello, Maisie,” he said, his voice warm but professional. “I’m Dr. Reed. How are you feeling?”
“Confused,” I said bluntly. “I don’t understand. Why have I been here before? What’s happening to me?”
Dr. Reed pulled a chair next to my bed and sat down. “It’s normal to feel disoriented after an episode like yours,” he said, his voice calm. “Let me explain what’s been going on.”
I listened, trying to absorb every word. It turned out, according to Dr. Reed, I had been coming to the hospital for the past year—on and off—for what they called “episodes.” The first time it happened, I had collapsed at work just like I did today. The doctors had chalked it up to stress at first, but after a few more episodes, it became clear that something deeper was going on. They ran tests. They couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was causing my blackouts, but they suspected it was a neurological issue. Some kind of condition that affected my brain’s ability to regulate certain functions.
“What condition?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, though my heart was hammering in my chest.
“We haven’t been able to give it a name yet,” Dr. Reed said, his eyes softening a bit. “But we’re working on it. The episodes are concerning, especially since they’re becoming more frequent.”
I could barely process the words. I had no memory of any of this—no recollection of any medical visits, tests, or diagnoses. I felt like I was in a fog, disconnected from my own life.
“So… I’ve been here… before?” I asked hesitantly.
Dr. Reed nodded. “Yes. We’ve been trying different treatments to help manage your symptoms. The problem is that each time you come in, you have no memory of the previous incidents. It’s like you’re starting over each time.”
This was beyond anything I could wrap my head around. No memory of the episodes, no memory of the visits to the hospital. It was like I was living in a constant loop, like I was trapped in a nightmare with no way to wake up.
“I don’t understand,” I said, my voice cracking. “If I don’t remember anything, then how can I get better? How can I even trust myself?”
Dr. Reed leaned forward slightly. “You have people around you, Maisie. Your family, friends. They’re here to support you. You’re not alone in this.”
I wanted to believe him. I really did. But right now, everything felt like a blur, like I was watching my life unfold from behind a glass wall. I didn’t even know who I was anymore.
That’s when the nurse came back in with a small folder in her hands, handing it to Dr. Reed. He glanced at the contents for a moment, and then his expression changed slightly. He looked up at me, his brow furrowed.
“Maisie, I need to ask you something important,” Dr. Reed said. “This may be difficult to hear, but there’s something in your recent medical history that we didn’t want to worry you with just yet.”
My pulse quickened. “What is it?”
Dr. Reed placed the folder down and took a deep breath. “We’ve been reviewing your scans, your blood work, and the patterns of your episodes. There’s something we’ve missed until now. The truth is… we suspect your condition might be linked to something outside of your control.”
I stared at him, unable to speak.
“Maisie, it seems that someone has been drugging you. The substances we’ve found in your system could be responsible for your blackouts. This isn’t a neurological condition—this is intentional.”
A cold shiver ran down my spine. Drugged? But why? Who would do something like that?
“Who would do that?” I asked, barely able to breathe.
Dr. Reed hesitated. “We have reason to believe it’s someone close to you. Your work environment. People you trust.”
The room spun as I tried to process what he was saying. It was a sickening feeling. I had spent months, maybe even a year, living in a fog because someone had deliberately put me there. My own life—my memories—had been hijacked.
And then it hit me. A face, a name, a person who had always been there, smiling and offering help when I needed it most—someone I had trusted implicitly.
It was Ethan, a colleague I worked with at the office. He’d always been kind, offering to help me out when I was stressed. Offering rides, grabbing coffee with me. I had no idea he was the one responsible for all of it.
I couldn’t believe it. I had been living my life thinking I was just broken, but the truth was much darker.
The karmic twist came when, after filing a report and taking further action, we found out that Ethan had been running a small underground scheme to drug people—specifically women at work—to steal their intellectual property and claim it as his own. It had been going on for months, and I was just one of his victims. But when the truth finally came to light, Ethan was caught, arrested, and fired.
As for me, I was left with a new sense of strength. I wasn’t the person I was before—someone unaware and at the mercy of a deceitful hand. I was someone who had faced the darkness and come out the other side, stronger and wiser. I began taking control of my health and life, focusing on therapy to reclaim my memories and confidence.
Sometimes, life throws obstacles our way—some are beyond our control, but others are put in our path by people who want to take advantage of us. The lesson here? Trust yourself. And when something doesn’t feel right, don’t ignore it. You have the power to change your story.
