Serendiptiy's Sting

By A.C. Ping

Imagine if you woke up from a coma with no memory of the last 20 years? Imagine your mind is reset to when you were 18. Would you be able to reconcile where you are now?

Serendipity's Sting is a tale of discovery. A man's quest to find himself and to uncover what happened to his dreams. Beginning in London this book takes us on a journey of self discovery and enlightenment.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.C. Ping
• Release date: Mar 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458158123

A.C. Ping

A.C. Ping has traveled the World and lived in Australia, the UK, USA and Africa. He is the author of 8 books including the trilogy of personal development books BE, DO and FAITH that have been published internationally and translated into 11 different languages. Now available in E book form is the second 'experiential' trilogy of books 'A Place Where You May Find Peace', 'Release Your Fear' and 'The Self Mastery Toolbox'. "I've read all three of A. C. Ping's books in this "series": BE, DO, and FAITH. Now, I am going to re-read them all and try to put what I've learned into daily practice. Not that Ping is trying to give you 5 easy steps to enlightenment or anything like that... rather, he provides clarity and insight on many of the things that hold you back and drag you down, and points the way toward a healing, all-encompassing kind of faith--not limited to a particular religion or religion in particular. What makes Ping's voice so unique: He walks a tightrope above New-Age, Pseudo-Science, and Religion... but walks the tightrope exceedingly well. He never falls into the safety net of what has already been said a million times in a million self-help books. His voice is fresh without being trendy or commercial. He spices things up with the occasional curse word or two. He's down-to-earth, witty, and doesn't try to be your guru. He's more like a great friend who offers wonderful perspective and insight without coming across as a flawless, know-it-all. So rare!! I recommend these books highly! Start with BE, follow up with DO, and then feel the refreshing healing in FAITH. You won't regret it!" Review on Amazon.com For more information about A.C. Ping and the work he does with individuals and organizations, visit the website www.acping.net

Book preview

Serendipity’s Sting

by

A.C. Ping

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

A.C. Ping on Smashwords

Serendipty’s Sting

Copyright © 2010 by A.C. Ping

Version 2 released 2017

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1 – Awake

Chapter 2 – Mirror Mirror

Chapter 3 – The Unseen

Chapter 4- Still Dreaming

Chapter 5- Paranoia Posits

Chapter 6 – Into Africa

Chapter 7 – Clean Slate

Chapter 8 – The Paradox of Being

Chapter 9 – Pawns or Kings

Chapter 10 – A Glimmer of Light

Chapter 11 – No Sense No Feeling

Chapter 12 – The Party

Chapter 13 – Hidden Secrets

Chapter 14 – Getting in Deeper

Chapter 15 – Impossible Truth

Chapter 16 – Serendipity’s Sting

Chapter 1 - Awake

I can’t remember actually waking up. It was more like a bad radio signal fading in and fading back out just as quickly. Little snippets of people in white uniforms saying things like, ‘Counting your lucky stars are you?’ ‘Bet you’ll be rushing straight out to buy a lotto ticket eh? Someone up there is smiling on you’.

I was just trying to come to grips with what the hell was going on. For the first few days there was no sense to it at all. Was it a dream? Was it reality? Light then darkness, white walls, crisp thick bed sheets that had too much starch, a murmur of a television, soft shoes on a linoleum floor, machines that beeped. Then just as I’d start to get a grip they’d present me with some pills and a paper cup of water and off I’d go again, plunged into darkness and a world filled with bizarre and haunting dreams.

One morning, it must have been a couple of days after I first woke up, a doctor came to see me. He looked at me like I was a lab rat, flashed a torch in my eyes then stuck me with a needle and kept asking if I could feel it – in my fingers, legs, feet, and toes. He seemed happy that I was in pain. Not satisfied he moved onto a little rubber hammer and started hitting me with that instead. He grunted with approval every time my leg flinched. Then he left. I thought he’d at least say something to me, anything really, just to reassure me that I was there.

Then they missed the lunchtime drug run and soon after that not one doctor but three came to see me. They were very officious, two young men in white coats, one older one with swept back silver hair. The older man wore half glasses that he perched on the end of his nose, a beautiful grey suit, polished black shoes, a crisp white shirt and some sort of club tie. The two young doctors stood obediently at the end of the bed watching me whilst the older doctor sat on the edge of the bed and delicately clasped his finely manicured hands one in the other as if to protect them.

I’m doctor Marshall, he said, Do you know where you are?

Well finally, I thought, someone was going to tell me what was going on. But I wasn’t sure if I liked the answer. It seems that I had been in a car accident. I’d suffered a sub cranial trauma to the brain. Apparently the car rolled three times, one more time and I’d be dead they reckoned. A miracle that I was there, they said.

So, how do you feel? they asked.

Confused, lethargic, weak, giddy, not sure really, how should I feel? I muttered.

Lucky they said in unison.

Oh, was about all I could manage.

Then the real questions began. The older doctor, who I found out later was the Neuro surgeon that had operated on me left me in the care of Dr Swanson, the Neuro psychologist and Dr Corcoran, the silent one of needle and hammer fame.

Did I know my name? Yes

Did I know where I was? No

Did I know what year it was? Who was the Prime Minister of England? What was my mother’s name? Who won the world cup? Did I remember the accident? What was the last thing I remembered?

On and on it went with furious note scribbling and the occasional exchange of glances between the two doctors. It was hard to tell if they were pleased or not. When they finished I couldn’t resist.

Did I pass? I asked.

They just chuckled and said they’d be back tomorrow.

A bit unfair I thought, but soon after the nurse came in with some more tablets and I was plunged yet again into a deep abyss.

******************

Have you ever been sick with something nasty and delusional like Malaria or Tick Bite Fever? When you wake up, or at least you think you’re awake, and everything around you seems so implausible, so unreal that you decide you’re still dreaming and struggle hard to reject what you’re hearing and try to go back to sleep. But then you realise you really are awake and with reluctance you try instead to assimilate this new reality with what you thought was reality. That was how I felt.

The next day the doctors came around for another question and answer session and at the end of it they gave me the option of taking a pill and slipping away or not.

I couldn’t decide. I tried to understand what they had said but it didn’t make any sense. It must be a dream, it must be a dream, I repeated over and over to myself. I couldn’t believe what they had said. I’d been there for three months!!! In a coma.

You have suffered some damage to your brain they said, oh so casually, as if they were telling me that my car had blown a gasket and needed some work. Then they stood there looking at me, waiting for a reaction.

Well, how was I supposed to react to that?

You will most likely experience some transitory memory loss, they added, as if it was an afterthought.

Uh huh, which bits? I asked, curious to know whether I would still be able to tie my shoe laces and keen to brush aside the prospect of dribbling my way through life.

That’s what we’re trying to work out, they said. Before leaving me to ‘take it all in’.

So, there I was. Was I brain damaged? Was I an idiot? I wondered. It didn’t seem that way to me. But if I was brain damaged would I know? Wouldn’t I just sit there smiling nicely, blissful in the comfortable cradle of ignorance? How does one tell if one has lost the plot? Isn’t that one of the clues – that the really crazy people are the ones who truly think that they are sane. Was I in that category now? How would I know? Who could I ask that I trust? The doctors never let me know if I passed the question and answer test. Maybe the discreet nods to each other were really saying, Oh boy have we got a nutcase here.

I did an inventory. I knew my name, I knew where I lived, I knew what year it was – or at least I thought I did and the doctors never disagreed. I could move my arms and legs although they felt pretty weak but I knew this was from lying there for three months. I still had tubes coming out of my arms and there was another tube that lead out from under the covers into a bottle. I suddenly panicked and hoped the accident didn’t damage that part of my brain. I lifted the sheets to check and saw a tube coming out from where I couldn’t remember having a tube. I didn’t want to know so I put the sheets back down and took the pill.

***********

The next day my brain was starting to clear up a little. They told me they’d lowered my dose. Ease me back into things. Let me get used to things gradually they said.

Dr Corcoran and Dr Swanson came to see me again after lunch, as seemed to be their routine. I decided not to be passive because I really wanted some answers. If I was going to be brain damaged then I wanted them to let me know what the damage was so at least I could decide what to do next.

They started asking me their usual questions. How did I feel? Any tingling or numbness in hands or feet? Headaches? Aches and pains?

Fine. No. No. No. I replied and as I did a rage overtook me. I guess it was from the drugs, or at least I hoped it was because if not then I knew I’d developed a nasty temper in my convalescence.

For Christ’s sake just tell me what is going on will you? I’ve been putting up with your bloody questions for days and now I want some answers! What’s the story? Am I okay? When can I get out of here? Just tell me straight!

My temples pulsated, I can feel how the blood flowed into my face now. I remember clutching the side of the bed in frustration. Did they think of calling the nurse to sedate me? I remembered a scene from ‘One flew Over a Cuckoos Nest’ when someone goes crazy and two big black dudes dressed in white come and restrain the fellow whilst someone jabs a big fat needle into any bit of flesh they can find. Seconds later they’re out cold. Would that be my fate? ‘Behave or we will sedate you’.

But no. They casually put their folders down, then Dr Swanson glanced at Dr Corcoran who nodded slowly then looked back at me in anticipation. So began the diagnosis, delivered in a dry monotone that might have been used to describe a malfunctioning electrical appliance rather than a human being.

There seems to be no impairment of physical function although a degree of muscle wastage has occurred during the dormant period

The word ‘dormant’ played on my mind. What did that mean? Had I been like a bear in hibernation?

Initial tests also indicate that mental function seems to be normal, although we will need to carry out further tests as you gain strength.

‘Normal’? I started to panic again, ‘Normal’ for whom? Had I become an average idiot?

Reflexes also seem to be working properly, although again further tests are needed and there will be an improvement as the sedatives go out of your system.

On and on he droned, hiding behind a whole dictionary of technical terms that neatly shielded him from having to relate to me in a shared space. The more he droned on, the more angry I got, but being wary of having a fat needle stuck in my backside, I managed to control my anger long enough to wait until he took a breath.

So what’s the problem then? I blurted out, before he could start up again.

Dr Swanson paused and looked at Dr Corcoran again. Why did I feel like I’d been left out of the joke?

Do you remember being a kid, getting obsessed with something, and then pestering your parents to tell you only to find that it wasn’t something so great after all and all of the effort was for nought? That was how I felt.

Dr Swanson looked at me. Almost in the eye, or at least as close as he was ever going to get. For a second I even thought he cared.

The problem is the impacts of transient memory loss he replied finally.

Uh huh I nodded, wanting more.

The accident has damaged parts of the left side of your brain and you are suffering from, what I can best describe to you as Amnesia.

Oh relief, relief, relief, I thought. No dribbling, body functions still work. Let’s boogie! I smiled or more like grinned in response.

Great, so what have I forgotten?

Dr Swanson exchanged glances again with Dr Corcoran. A move which caused me to pause but I still felt elated.

Well, that’s the problem with brain trauma. Memory loss usually occurs in a fragmented way. A bit here, a bit there and that’s what we’ve been trying to work out. But there’s also the impact of stimulus. Now that you are conscious a degree of rewiring, so to speak, is likely to take place. We won’t know definitively for some time. It’s… he paused searching for the word, unpredictable.

It occurred to me at that point that it is amazing how some people can speak volumes but say nothing. Was I missing something? The little kid in me pressed on.

So what have you worked out so far?

More glances and furtive looks before Dr Corcoran, the needle man, took over.

Brain trauma is a field which is still a mystery… he began.

For Christ sake just give me the bottom line will you! I demanded. But then soon wished I hadn’t.

The needle man didn’t like being spoken to like that. I guess he was pretty used to playing God with all of his disciple patients hanging on his every word. My outburst seemed to sting him into action and prompt him to the truth. He grunted.

Our initial tests seem to indicate that you are unable to retrieve memories for a considerable period.

At that point I was about to interrupt him with another outburst but I think he saw it coming because his tongue sharpened its cut.

Specifically, you seem to have no recollection of the past twenty years.

Some degree of satisfaction seemed to sweep across his features as he saw that his words had finally stung me into silence. And as a silence it was deep. Every time I thought to say something another thought collided with it on its path to speech hence nullifying both. But… was about as good as I could get to.

Then before the screaming questions could get so loud and the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me took hold, the nurse arrived with what I now called the ‘check out pills’ and bingo, off I went again into the abyss.

*************

I woke the next morning slowly, as one does after a drug induced sleep, with a nagging feeling that I had lost something. A set of car keys or something like that. As the pervasive smell of disinfectant brought me around I remembered where I was and almost as quickly the conversation that had pre-empted my slip back into the abyss.

Twenty years is a long time. But how could I feel a sense of loss if I didn’t even know what I’d lost? ‘Last thing I remember I was running for the door’ goes the song Hotel California ‘had to find the passage back to the place I was before.’

I felt like I was in a maze but no one had told me I was in the maze and I was looking for a way out but I couldn’t even see a door let alone a passage way.

I knew I wasn’t 18, I knew there was a bit missing in between but I didn’t know what it was. My mind rifled through the possibilities. If I didn’t know what it was then had it really existed? What are memories anyway? If two old friends don’t see each other for a couple of years then does the couple of years actually exist in the context of their relationship or not? They haven’t shared it together, they don’t have any shared memories from that period so surely that time doesn’t exist and they can just pick up where they left off? Had I changed much in twenty years? Could I trust that I was the same person or would I have to start all over again? Was there an essence of me that had stayed the same no matter what?

Should I feel a sense of loss for what I didn’t even know that I’d lost? Should I be sad, happy, indifferent? Who was I anyway? Maybe it was just a weird dream and at some point I’d wake up from it with a huge sigh of relief. Maybe it was some sort of trick? Maybe any moment some idiot was going to jump out from behind a door and say, Smile, you’re on Candid Camera?

But deep down I had the sense that time had shifted and I had missed out on something. There was a nagging feeling that they might just be telling me the truth. Panic and uncertainty gripped me hard and twisted my stomach into tight knots. Where were those pills when I needed them? I wondered.

After breakfast they pulled the tubes out of me. It was painful experience but I was relieved by the thought that they believed that I could still pee on my own. Then another shock! As I tried to stand, my legs collapsed from under me. The two nurses picked me up and gently explained that it would take some time before I would be able to walk again. It was unbelievable, my legs were like jelly! Even with a nurse on either side of me I could barely put one foot in front of the other.

Slowly they almost dragged me to the bathroom and gently put me down on the toilet seat. I needed to hold onto the bars on either side so that I didn’t fall off and it was lucky I didn’t have any pants to pull down, as that would have been impossible in my state! I sat there for what seemed an eternity and tried to remember how to pee. Nothing happened for a long time but just as I wondered if it ever would, a slow trickle began and with it a wave of relief washed over me.

I wonder now if they knew there was a mirror in there, if it was a deliberate plot to get me to see myself, one of their ways of ‘easing me back