Unforgettable by Meryl Sawyer

true. She glanced at Greg and saw her knuckles were ridges of bone. She had a death grip on his hand. She let go and clutched the sheet instead.
    “Am I going to remember my name?”
    Dr. Jorgen smiled encouragingly. “You’ll remember your name as soon as the shock of the accident wears off because you’ve undoubtedly said it and written it thousands of times. It’s stored in the part of your brain with the rest of the information you’ve learned by rote.”
    She felt as if a noose were circling her throat, choking her. This could not be happening. Surely, this was a dream and she would wake up. She gasped for air and realized she’d been holding her breath. Greg reached for her, hesitating a moment before his hand settled on her shoulder, steadying her trembling body.
    “I’m not going to remember anything about my life?”
    “I’m afraid not.” Dr. Klingman smiled that indulgent smile again, and she battled the urge to scream. This was her life, not some textbook curiosity. “You see, there are three types of memory systems. Semantic, or learned memory, is what we’ve consciously studied and mastered like mathematical equations or a foreign language. The second type of memory is procedural. If you do something often enough, you learn what to expect. A baby learns that fire is hot and won’t stick his hand into the flames.”
    “ What about my past? Things that happened to me?” She heard the threat of panic in her voice and knew Greg heard it, too. He comforted her with the pressure of his hand.
    “That’s episodic memory. It’s the collection of events, feelings, and thoughts we accumulate over time.” He shook his head sadly. “That’s the memory system you’ve lost.”
    Her heartbeat jarred her chest as the full impact of the doctor’s words hit her. “Lost?”
    “It could be worse,” Dr. Klingman said. “You still have your sense of smell.”
    “What’s that got to do with it?” The irritation in Greg’s voice was unmistakable. Evidently, he found this as perplexing as she did.
    Dr. Hamalae spoke up. “For some reason memory and the sense of smell are centered in the same area in the brain. When smell is wiped out, the memory systems collapse. All you have then is short term memory. You can’t remember anything for longer than—say—ten or fifteen minutes.”
    “Oh, my God!” She was truly lost and having them tell her that it could have been much worse didn’t make her feel “lucky.” It terrified her. She imagined being tossed overboard into a fathomless sea with no hope of reaching shore.
    “Don’t worry,” Dr. Jorgen assured her with a warm smile. “Your family will tell you all about your past. They’ll have photographs maybe even home movies. The mind is a funny thing. Give it enough information and it’ll fill in the blanks.”
    She understood that Dr. Jorgen was trying to make her feel better. But she wasn’t buying it. He didn’t know what it was like to encounter a black void when you asked yourself what you looked like. “You’re telling me the past is gone,” she heard the anger in her voice and paused to temper it. “All I’ll have is what other people tell me. I won’t know how I used to feel.”
    None of the doctors denied it. She didn’t know whether to cry or to scream. If she did either, she probably wouldn’t be able to stop. Greg gently squeezed her shoulder, but even his reassurance didn’t help.
    “Let me get this straight,” Greg said. “She’s going to remember how to drive a car, yet she won’t remember the plot of a book she read once.”
    “Right,” Dr. Klingman agreed. Now he looked positively bored.
    “What does Gone With the Wind mean to you?” Dr. Jorgen asked.
    She realized it was a loaded question; she should know what the term meant. “Something blew away in the wind. That’s all.”
    “It’s a famous book that was m ade into a movie. Undoubt edly you read it or saw the movie. Probably both. ” Dr. Jorgen’s eyes