Abruption

by Riley Mackenzie

  I just wished Guy was rubbing his back the right way. Finn liked big circles, not up and down. I always did big circles. And bouncing.

  Bouncing soothed him.

  Why wasn’t he bouncing?

  I bounced my arms a few times in hopes of reminding Guy how Finn liked it.

  Strangely, he handed off Finn to Cara with a quick peck on his head. Again with Cara. Finn didn’t really know her. She was just a nurse on her shift who couldn’t even remember a stupid sign. Didn’t Guy realize Finn was much sicker than before?

  “Here, I can take him, Guy.” I held my arms open.

  “Over my dead body will you touch him ever,” Jules hissed in my direction.

  I didn’t recognize this woman. All eyes in the room were on her.

  “Cara,” Guy forced her attention back. “Can you please take Finn to play with Max?”

  I couldn’t remain quiet any longer. Jules’ episode was distracting everyone from the bigger picture. I felt bad for her, I did, but someone had to think of Finn. “Finn really shouldn’t be exposed to any unnecessary germs from the playroom. He’s in a fragile state. He’s even beginning to look jaundiced.”

  Guy ignored me and lifted his chin toward Cara. She left the room with Finn in her arms. I didn’t get it. He wasn’t making good decisions.

  Finn needs me.

  “If he is jaundice, Maya, it is because you poisoned his liver!” Her outlandish accusation had all eyes on me now. “Or have you been accidentally spoon-feeding Guy’s little boy Vicks VapoRub for months? Try and deny it. Go ahead, Maya. You will never get away with this,” she wailed.

  “What the fuck is Jules talking about, Maya? What the fuck have you done to my son?” Guy roared.

  In the four years I’d known him, he had never, not even once, spoken to me like this. I was so taken aback I wasn’t sure how to respond.

  Dr. Guillroy wrapped his hand on Guy’s bicep to try and calm him, and I felt my own tense body relax a bit. Thank God, a voice of reason. “Guy, trust me on this.” He had such a calming voice—I always liked that about him. In a time like this when emotions were high, it was so important to remember to stay calm. I needed to remember to thank Dr. Guillroy later for stepping in. “I’ve been taking care of your son since he was born. I’m as committed to finding out the truth as you are, Guy. But losing it helps no one. Especially not Finn. If we are dealing with camphor poisoning, we need more information and now.”

  Deep breath, Maya.

  “Not if, Brian, we are!” Jules screeched.

  Enough already.

  “This seems insane, Dr. Guillroy,” I said, needing to stop this crazy-talk. “Shouldn’t we be focused on Finn’s labs? If he needs a biopsy, he should be on the schedule for tonight, right? Why would we want to wait and potentially risk more damage to his liver?” If Guy was too distraught over Jules, which he obviously was, then I needed to get us back on track.

  “Potential risk? You poisoned him!”

  Okay, now I’d really had enough. If everyone was going to tiptoe around Jules’ gibberish and false accusations, I needed to clear my name. “Why would I do that, Jules? He’s my cousin, for goodness sake, my family. You sound crazy.” Someone had to say it.

  “Why would Jules lie, Maya? Tell me something that makes sense. Cause right now I’m looking at you, and I have no fucking idea who you are.” I cringed at Guy’s use of the f-word. He looked to be in so much pain, I hated what Jules was doing to him. Hadn’t he suffered enough?

  “Does yummy minty medicine sound familiar, Maya?” Jules asked. “When I showed Max a jar of Vicks VapoRub those were her exact words, followed by Maya gives that to Finny so he won’t get sick anymore.”

  “Jules, Max is four. She could have easily misunderstood. Sure, I am liberal with the Vicks as a topical—the menthol is soothing. Guy even rubs it on the kids’ chests when they’re congested. It is a very common product that has been around for years.”

  “You fed it to him, Maya. As in, Finn ingested it!”

  “Jules, I can’t imagine the pain you must be in from losing Gemma.” It was the elephant in the room that no one else dared address, but her craziness left me no choice. “And I realize that Finn’s grave health is terribly upsetting. To all of us. So much so that you probably feel like you are losing control—”

  “Don’t you ever speak of my daughter. Ever!” Jules hissed with so much venom in her voice, it made me uncomfortable. I never meant to open her wound, but I wasn’t going to stand here defenseless either. Nor was I going to let Jules think that Max and Finn were going to be her redemption. Jesus, Finn had special needs that only I could tend to.

  “Maya, listen to me. Finn’s a little boy. And right now we need to focus on his health,” Dr. Guillroy said. Finally, he was coming around. That was exactly the point I had been trying to make. “His well-being is at stake. And I can see how deeply you care for him. I need you to tell me if there is any possibility whatsoever that Finn could have ingested some of the Vicks?”

  “Tell him the goddamn truth, Maya! My boy’s liver is failing! How long has this been going on? Tell him!” Guy’s eyes looked like hers. Wild and frantic.

  Why was she doing this to him?

  This was all her fault.

  Yet he was still comforting her. She was snugly wrapped in his arms, crying and mumbling, “I’m so sorry, Guy. How did we not see this? How could we be so blind? What if there was more? God, the fevers, the vomiting, the seizures … camphor causes seizures. Every pinch, every procedure, it was all for nothing! It was all a lie!”

  “You can’t possibly believe her, Guy,” I said, unable to comprehend how the conversation had spiraled so far out of control or that he had allowed it to happen. What kind of father does that?

  Deep breath, Maya.

  You are what Finn needs.

  “He doesn’t have to believe me. He can watch for himself.” She picked up her purse and pulled out Finn’s iPad.

  When did it get so hot in here? Weren’t hospitals supposed to maintain a cool temperature to prevent the growth of bacteria? Maybe I was just worked up. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail. Yes, that felt better.

  My ears began to ring as soon as Max’s melodic rendition of Aladdin’s magic carpet ride started radiating from the small black tablet. The pulsations were so loud and painful I had to lift my hands and cover my auricles.

  I couldn’t hear Finn’s initial plea, No likey, Maya. But I knew a snuggle on my lap and a gentle reminder that this was his yummy minty medicine that kept the doctor away would convince him.

  I tried to stare at the screen, at the image of Max dancing in the pigtails I braided for her that morning, but my eyes began to burn and sting. She sashayed to her left and held her arms wide, hoping to capture her ultimate selfie. Not realizing the backdrop of her grand finale.

  Suddenly, everything was blurry. I couldn’t see my silhouette spooning two teaspoons of ointment from the blue jar like I had done every day for the last several months. Nor could I see Finn’s innocent face when he swallowed each spoonful like a good little boy without further hesitation. It was so important he trusted me.

  I closed my eyes, blocking the evil lies from existence, and allowed the serenity of nothingness to wash over me.

  Hush, little baby, don’t say a word, Maya’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.

  Let them think what they must, all that mattered was my truth.

  Finn needed me.

  He would always need me.

  No matter what, I’ll always take care of you. Always.

  4 months later...

  “How does that make you feel, Jules?”

  I fought back the urge to chuckle, because laughing at my therapist in the middle of a session seemed, well, inappropriate. Especially when he was asking how I felt about Guy’s decision to discontinue his solo sessions. I wasn’t laughing because I thought Guy discontinuing was the best idea. I was laughing because Guy couldn’t stand that quintessential line, how
does that make you feel? It drove him crazy (no pun intended).

  He did agreed to continue with our family sessions though, and not only because it was more us time, which we couldn’t seem to get enough of after everything that had happened, but also because it was in the best interest of Max and Finn. He’d literally walk through fire to lessen their misfortune.

  Misfortune.

  The word didn’t even come close to describing the damage Maya inflicted. It was torture. But Dr. Fitzsimond discouraged us from using vocabulary with strong negative connotations. He felt the emotional associations might keep us focused on the past, stuck in resentments, and could hinder our family’s healing. Obviously I wasn’t exactly there yet, but I was trying. For Finn and Max, there was nothing I wouldn’t do either.

  Even though Finn suffered the brunt of Maya’s psychosis, Maxie was still witness to it all, and Guy and I feared what that could mean for them in the long term. However, multiple specialists assured us that with time and appropriate guidance, they were young enough that they would most likely not remember what Maya did to Finn.

  Thank God for small miracles.

  The focus of Finn’s therapy was two-fold. It was normal for sickly children to associate being ill with gaining attention, so most importantly, he needed to re-identify himself. He needed to understand that he was a healthy little boy, despite being told otherwise for essentially a third of his young life. And was he ever thriving.

  A specialized drug screen did, in fact, confirm what I suspected. Finn had toxic levels of camphor in his system. And given that the only natural source of the aromatic chemical was found in the bark of Asian trees, while the synthetic turpentine derivative was the main ingredient in Vicks, there was no question how Finn was exposed. When his liver functions returned to normal and the doctors were confident that all traces of the poison were gone from his system, they tapered him off anti-epileptic medication and sent him home with a sparkly bill of health. But we didn’t need lab results to confirm how healthy Finn was—his boundless energy and newfound spunk were proof enough. So we focused loads of attention on all the things Finn loved to do and reminded him daily that his possibilities were endless. Identity crisis averted.

  The second goal of therapy was to help him adjust to yet another major transition. Since Maya’s abrupt disappearance coincided shortly after I moved in, Dr. Fitzsimond worried Finn’s little mind might subconsciously blame me and cause him to act out or regress. Luckily, we were four months out with no signs of either. If there was a grading system for therapy, Finn was acing it.

  Maxie, on the other hand, was a year older and definitely a year wiser. She understood more than we hoped and her whys were endless. Deservingly so. But how did you explain mental illness to a four-year-old when you could barely come to terms with it yourself? She wholeheartedly loved Maya and trusted her to take care of her and her baby brother. Maya destroyed her trust, but thank God, from what we could tell, Maxie was not physically abused. So most of Maxie’s therapy concentrated on what it meant to feel safe. With Dr. Fitzsimond’s help, we continually assured her that Daddy and Mommy JuJu would always be here to protect both of them. To make healthy decisions for them. Why didn’t Maya do that? She loves us. Every time she asked, it felt like a knife twisting in my gut. We were cautious with our choice of words when we tried to explain the unexplainable. We told her something in Maya’s brain was hurt, and because of it, she was not able to tell the difference between wrong and right. We never said sick. Maxie had heard her brother being called sick more times than her little brain could count.

  When Finn returned home from the hospital, Maxie became even more protective and vigilant. She rarely left her brother’s side, and more mornings than not, we found her asleep on the floor in his room. But luckily, with each passing day that Finn woke up healthy and happy, you could see her worry slip away.

  More evidence to support the plural ‘s’ in miracles.

  We thanked God every day for their resilience.

  Our family sessions were based around fun and laughter. We wanted Max and Finn to be in an environment where they felt safe and comfortable. Dr. Fitzsimond would often meet us at a park or for ice cream or come to our home. He always encouraged us to pick an activity that we could do as a family. Us time. He’d mostly observe our interactions and watch for any signs that Finn and Max might be struggling because of something Maya may have done.

  In the beginning, both kids were clingy and very hesitant to try anything new, and we were concerned that we may have been pushing them too hard or too soon. Dr. Fitzsimond reminded us how perceptive children are, implying that their changes in behavior might have more to do with Guy and me, and less to do with Maya. We were both distraught with unfathomable guilt. It was suffocating at times. And obviously hard to keep hidden. We started our individual sessions soon after.

  Over the last six weeks though, we had all made significant strides. Guy and I were working hard to let the resentment go, and we could see the kids rediscovering their individuality and confidence. Maxie decided (since Finn no longer needed them) she wanted her fairy heart sheets back, and well, Finn, he decided Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were way cooler than Power Rangers. Each day was a little easier than the last.

  “I’m not upset with Guy, if that’s what you’re asking,” I started to answer Dr. Fitzsimond’s favorite question. “I’m just concerned that we’ve all come so far, and it feels like we’re all finally bouncing back. I guess I’m afraid of anything jeopardizing that. I know we both still have that gnawing guilt and residual anger that I think will never completely go away.”

  “You know what I’m going to say next, Jules. What I’ve been saying for the last four months and will continue to say to you for as long as you sit in that chair.”

  “I know. I know.” I knew. But I was inherently stubborn. And that was a hard trait to change.

  “Then you need to believe it. Say it for me.”

  “None of Maya’s actions were our fault. She has a personality disorder, and what she did to Finn was insidious and nearly imperceptible. Virtually impossible to diagnose without hard physical evidence. Which by the grace of God stumbled into my lap.” I recited in rote like he insisted I do almost every visit. “I get it, Dr. Fitzsimond, I do. It’s just so difficult to accept we missed it.”

  “You caught it, Jules. And Finn is thriving and beautiful and healthy. Be thankful for that.” God, I was so thankful for that. “Munchausen by proxy is a psychiatric illness that flourishes on its secrecy; it’s never meant to be unveiled, and sadly, that’s why the victims’ mortality is so high.”

  I cringed at his words and could only think about how many other children were defenseless to the hands of a person they loved and trusted unconditionally. It made me physically sick.

  Dr. Fitzsimond continued, “I know you’ve struggled with the added guilt of Maya’s actions escalating when you came into the kids’ lives, but it’s important to keep in mind most things related to MBP remain an inconclusive mystery. Like which illnesses she fabricated versus which ones she induced. It’s fair to assume the majority of Finn’s fevers were fabricated since she was the only one who witnessed them, but we’ll never know for sure. And Maxie’s description of her holding hand warmers to Finn’s face is just another strange piece to a puzzle we will never solve. The camphor is more clear-cut. Tangible proof always is. Whether Maya stepped up her game because she felt threatened by you or because she got some deranged satisfaction when her fabrication unexpectedly resulted in an invasive procedure … again, we’ll never know. It’s a personality disorder fueled by attention-seeking.”

  I knew all of that too, but how could I not feel responsible or not seek out answers? In the past month and a half I’d read hundreds of articles and case studies written on Munchausen by proxy (Guy had read twice that). And they all said the same thing. MBP perpetrators craved the compassion and recognition that was brought forth by medical staff, family, and friends when deali
ng with a sick child. It was as sadistic as it sounded.

  When falsifying history was no longer enough, deliberate harm often followed.

  Guy and I had lain awake a dozen nights trying to piece together some semblance of a chronology that fit with Finn’s symptoms. We were pretty confident that his spinal tap marked a critical changing point. From there, it was all assumptions.

  Assumptions and frustrating questions were all Maya’s deceptions left us with.

  I looked to Dr. Fitzsimond who was quietly watching me. One question plagued me more than any other. I never wanted the answer and I wasn’t even sure there was one, but I needed to ask. “Was that her goal? Did she want him to die?”

  “We don’t know. It may have been her end goal, but most likely she had no idea herself. Much like a drug addict, the high is the only thing that matters. And they will do anything to get it back.”

  That was a blade that was impossible to swallow.

  Much like the unanswered questions of why I lost my baby girl.

  The thought that her end goal could’ve been death brought me to a place that would always be too much.

  That would never change.

  To this day, Maya had never admitted to one of her crimes. Munchausen by proxy was not only a severe form of child abuse, but also a criminal offense, and Maya was currently undergoing extensive psychotherapy mandated by the court. With a very long road ahead of her and many years of therapy.

  Dr. Fitzsimond pointed out that the primary task for the therapist working with a MBP sufferer was to uncover the patient’s fantasies and help them interpret their behaviors. However, this was often impossible because even though the perpetrator was aware of their actions, they were reluctant to ever acknowledge them.

  Therefore, the real world for Maya would most likely never be.

  For now, that brought us some peace of mind. She was locked up in a maximum-security psychiatric ward and could never harm another child.