Indelible Pancakes
The thing I remember most clearly about that day is the pancakes. My brother-in-law is known for his pancakes, and on a sunny San Francisco morning, he made a chocolate blueberry recipe that I enjoyed so much that no amount of amnesia could erase it.
It was the summer of 1997, and I was visiting my sister and her husband before starting my senior year in college. There were many firsts on this trip. It was the first time I had flown. It was the first time I had been to the West Coast. It may have been the first time I had my brother-in-law’s pancakes. Everything was new and exciting. We spent time catching up, listening to music, sharing stories, and getting to know each other as adults. I wanted to soak up and remember every moment. Little did I know….
One morning, my sister suggested we take a trail ride. My brother-in-law made us breakfast and offered me his bike and helmet for the outing. My experience on bikes was pretty limited growing up. I was a roller skating girl through and through. But I learned the basics from the guy I was seeing, a lifelong mountain biker and racer at our college. This was a trip of “yes,” so I followed my sister out into the city.
After touring through Golden Gate Park and visiting the beach, we came to the top of a steep hill that descended into a network of trails. I vaguely remember assessing the situation and determining I could handle it. The problem was I hadn’t backed up to get appropriate momentum over a rutted section at the top, and I was told it resulted in a rolling fall down the hill ending in a cloud of dirt. I say “I was told” because I have no memory of this.
I woke up groggy in a hospital bed with my hair full of dirt and my right arm torn up, clad only in a sports bra and a catheter. There was an elderly woman in an adjacent bed pleading with Jesus. I think her fervor is what brought me to consciousness. I was attempting to get my bearings when the phone on my bedside table rang. I figured it for me and answered.
It was my parents. I don’t exactly recall the conversation, but I think I told them I was all right. I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on. It felt like living in a dream. Everything had a foggy quality. Over time, things started to become clearer. My sister arrived and explained to me the events of the prior day.
After falling down the hill, she rushed to meet me. I told her I was ok, but something was wrong. I said, “I think I lost my short term memory.” I was calm and matter of fact. I guessed that I was in San Francisco because I was with her, but I couldn’t remember how or why I was there. She asked me several questions about where I lived, my roommates, and school, which I could not answer. I questioned her over and over because I could not remember what she told me minutes later.
Help was needed. It was the pre-cellphone era. The closest folks were a couple trying to have a romantic picnic. My sister asked for support, and the woman gave me her sweater to wear while the man went to get the closest medical professionals. They happened to have a cat with them, and with my goldfish memory, I could not fathom why we were spending time with a cat in a park no matter how many times they explained it to me. And where did I get this sweater? After some false starts to find us, an ambulance arrived.
At the hospital, all types of scans and tests were run. I had a serious concussion and amnesia. The doctors thought my memory would return with time, yet I continued to forget what happened, and my sister had to remind me. Eventually I was able to remember (sort of) and was released.
The rest of the vacation was low key. I rested and prepared for my trip back across the country. I am still in awe of my sister’s and brother-and-law’s composure in an incredibly stressful situation. I imagine witnessing my recovery was far more distressing than living my recovery. While I only have fragments of those days, they remember all of the details.
Once home, I started to put the pieces back together by developing a roll of film from a camera I took on the ride. The curiosity to see what was in those pictures was overwhelming. Looking through the images helped to bring back some of the day. Small glimpses returned, but I had to accept that most of it was permanently beyond my reach.
I feel gratitude for many things that came out of this experience. I am grateful that I was not permanently injured. I am grateful that I finished college without issue. I am grateful that I eventually remembered my mountain biking boyfriend whom I later married. I am grateful to have a resilient and loving family. I am grateful that I wasn’t scared off biking. And I am grateful that the thing I can recall most clearly from that day is not the pain or fear. It’s the delicious, homemade pancakes.
