Now, as you may have gathered about the conversation I had with my sister about ‘drinkable water’, I was speaking shit. Lots of shit. Apparently it’s quite common with PTA: post-traumatic amnesia.

I can’t remember a thing from the accident. I’ve got no memories earlier than when I was in rehab, so strike out September (I got to rehab at the start of October). Hence my liberal use of “apparently” earlier.

The ‘last’ thing I remember is putting some stuff into my car, then walking back to my apartment and thinking, did I lock the door? At which point I would’ve turned around to walk back to my car, which was on the other side of the street. Probably in front of the car that hit me. I put last in quotation marks because I’ll never know if that was the actual last event before I was hit because of the amnesia. It totally makes sense though, because I didn’t have anything in my hands, so wasn’t carrying anything fresh out to my car.

There’s a period of recovery from PTA, where your short term memory is shot and you will spew crap. I got a gold star in this regard.

You’re under attack

The first recorded one come from the coma diary my sister kept. I warned her that she was under attack by an alien pirate radio station.

Quite an elaborate fantasy there, so naturally I’m proud.

Nice rack

My sister copped the next one. Coming into the Alfred to visit me, she walked in at the same time as a nurse.

“Nice tits,” I said.

“Who?” asked my sister. “Me or the nurse?”

“YOU,” was my sleazy reply.

The family continues to cop it

My brother came in to visit me. I must have something to say about his weight, cos when he walked in, I greeted with, “Hey tubby”.

And she won’t elaborate on the context for me, but at one point I got aggressive with my sister because she wouldn’t untie my restraints (I had a habit of pulling out my feeding tubes and catheter). So I called her a “yuppie cunt”.

I’m hungry

At one stage, while my sister was visiting, a nurse asked if I’d like dinner.

“No thanks!” was my chirpy reply. “I’ve ordered Pizza Hut.”

The nurse must’ve left the room after that, because I turned to my sister and her husband and hurriedly whispered, “Bec! Call Pizza Hut!”

They lied. “We tried Joshie, we can’t get through. We don’t know what’s going on.”

And the winner is…

Apparently at some stage, I was on a game show. A dating show, to be specific – according to the story I seemingly spouted at my family when they asked how my day was.

I won, and went on a date with a chick called Sharon. So arguably she won.

Good day

I still had plenty of tall tales for my family. Mum came in and asked me how my day was. I told her I just got back from New York. She asked how it was. I told her it was OK, but lunch was terrible. Bless her heart for humouring me.

The big one

Now, this is the story that still has resonance with me because it took me ages to believe it wasn’t true – and it’s the only one I actually remember. I thought that I had been transported down to the Mornington Peninsula for a day trip to visit my nanna, who was sick and in hospital before my accident. Don’t “remember” doing that specifically, however I “remember” staying in hospital there. I watched ABC2 and ordered Pizza Hut.

The reason it stuck around for so long is that I totally remembered pissing the bed. I had a little debated about whether to get up, but in the end I just went. It was uncomfortable sleeping in wet clothes all night.

I told my friends that story, minus the bedwetting part, when they came in to visit me. They played along, til next time they were there at the same time as a family member, who said that never happened. But! But! I’d wet the bed!

I now figure that it was a cover up memory, because it had all my hallmarks: travelling, Pizza Hut, and something to do with urine (y’know, my catheter). Fascinating though, isn’t it?