Born Yesterday

Born Yesterday

By Heather Ann Martinez

If you are reading this, it is because the doctor at St. Edna’s medical center asked me to write about my experiences. Some would tell you they were not born yesterday. I am here to tell you, I was born yesterday. Actually, three days ago. I woke up in a hospital bed at St. Edna’s with no memory of who I was or how I got there. The doctors gathered that I must be in my mid-thirties based on some blood work. They asked me if I could recall any smells, sights, or anything I heard before that day. I told them that nothing was familiar to me. I didn’t remember anything. It was all blank. The truth is, I do not want to remember. I do not want to go looking for someone I may be a shadow of now. The nurses said that I didn’t have any clothes, bags or anything identifying who I was when I was brought in. A homeless woman found me behind a pizza joint underneath three trash bags. The homeless woman was looking for food scraps and discovered my broken body underneath half-eaten meatballs and hardening pizza dough. I was malnourished and dehydrated. No one knew exactly how long I had been out with the trash. I know I am not eager to meet the person or the people who left me out with the trash. I do not trust anyone. It is a new day. It is the fourth day of my life as I know it.

The medical center, as you can imagine, is loud and I have not mastered how to rest in a place like this. I don’t know if I was introverted or extroverted or what I used to be like before, but I know I want to do something with my life now. Whoever thought I wasn’t valuable before does not know I am here. The doctors have said that I am able to make new memories. They would like to connect me to a family, a home, a nationality, or something that would help them identify who I am. They where their names and pictures on tags with such honor. They keep asking me what I want to be called. I keep asking them if it really matters. I don’t want a name with a picture of my face for the world to see. I do not need to know that John and Lucy were my parents or that I spent summers on Long Island and went fishing with my grandfather as the doctor in charge of my care tells me about his life.

Since I have a clean slate, I intend to use it. I do not have all of the pieces yet, but I want to be helpful to someone else. The man in the room across from mine was a firefighter. He was injured while rescuing a baby from a house fire. His friends say he is very brave. He went into the house and did not think of himself. He heard the baby crying. I want to be that selfless. I want to help even when I am not thinking about how it will affect me. The nurses said the firefighter might not make a full recovery, and the baby will. The nurses have told me that although the firefighter was brave, his actions were also reckless. He could have gotten killed or injured the baby. All I kept thinking was he saved a baby and the rest did not matter. They keep asking me what they should call me and I keep shaking my head. I would rather be nameless and be independent of anything that holds me to a past that doesn’t feel friendly.

The doctors are certain I came from an educated background regardless of how I ended up underneath the trash. The doctors have said my ability to recognize letters and words and write as well as I do is surprising considering I do not remember anything about how or where I was educated. I hear the doctors talk with each other about me. They find it strange that I do not have any anxiety or depression from not knowing who I am or was or where I belonged. I keep telling them that I am fine with going on with the rest of my life without trying to find out. Maybe I didn’t want myself to be found. The doctors said it did not look like I was clinging on to anything like a bag or identification card when I came in. I didn’t have any scars or tattoos. I was wearing a white t-shirt and blue jeans. I was barefoot and cold. I could have been anyone and yet I prefer that I am no one. I am easily lost in a crowd. There is no word, no symbol, no sign that could bind me. I was warned that there might be a family member looking for me. I told the doctors that I do not need to be found. They talk about being loved and having once loved others. I am not stirred by the emotions this brings to them. Perhaps those emotions were also lost.

Their psychiatrist said I was bankrupt without having and exploring these feelings. He said it was not right that I should go on without entertaining the possibility that I had a good life last week. I told him the person who experienced that life last week didn’t experience life yesterday. Whomever she was died three days ago and I was born. I didn’t need to find her and kept thinking she didn’t want to be found. She would have bruises if she fought her attackers. She would have done something to herself to be found again. She didn’t, and I respect her decision. It is not easy for anyone I have met so far that introduces themselves by their name and what they do to support themselves to understand that I don’t want to go down that path. I am the only person in the room who has a clean slate. I don’t know if I ever did anything wrong. I don’t have blood on my hands. I don’t know if I ever laughed or cried or fell in love. I don’t know if I ever held someone’s hand when they died or watched a child come into this world. I know I will go out into the world and start over. I will be anonymous in a sea of faces. I am unattached and I am free. If I meet you on the streets of the city and you ask me where I was born and when I was born, I will tell you I was born at St. Edna’s and I was born yesterday.