Daniel, the nurse who seemed to always be here, gave a stern nod. “Not excitable. We’re not sure yet if the sedatives haven’t fully worn off or if she’s back on the immobility end.”
I swallowed hard as we entered the large, bright space, gilded with damaged dreams, disappointment, and fear. The sign out front scribbled something about hope, but I’d only ever been in here when hope failed.
Daniel started discussing some of the protocols they’d put in place over the last twenty-four hours, but as soon as I saw her slender figure in the wheelchair by the window, all other attention fled my body as I walked toward her. She was facing me, and I mumbled a small prayer under my breath that she’d recognize me.
“Mama,” I whispered, kneeling in front of her, trying to find the focus of her eyes.
Her head didn’t move, but her eyes did. The empty brown holes fluttered over my face before settling on my eyes. They opened a little wider, just as her lips parted.
Please, please let her say something.
She tilted her head to the side, her greying brown hair laying over one shoulder, and with a slight smile she quietly spoke. “Baby.”
Tears clouded my view of the faraway woman I still called Mama. Taking her hand, I smiled and nodded.
“I’m here.”
Catatonic Schizophrenia.
The name doesn’t look pretty, doesn’t sound pretty, and the effects on the person and their family are a self-contained Antichrist to pretty. At that point there were several other diagnoses on the brink of landing on her chart, but the original catalyst was catatonic schizophrenia.
“Georgia?” A delicate male voice called from above.
At the sound of my actual name, my mother’s eyebrows drew in, and she mouthed Georgia, looking between me and the floor for a few moments before turning her wheelchair to face the polka-dot caps of the ocean.
I cleared my throat, sniffing once as I stood. “Hello, Dr. Carver.”
Dr. Carver was well seasoned. Easily in his early sixties, with a head of thick salt and pepper hair. The only wrinkles he had were around his eyes and mouth, and only appeared when he smiled. I admired that despite the work he’d chosen to dedicate his life to, he spent most of it smiling.
“Take a little walk with me?” He held what I presumed to be my mother’s chart as he tilted his head to the hallway that hosted his tiny office.
I looked back at my mother with a sinkhole slowly caving in my stomach. Moving slowly, I put my hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be right back, Mom, okay?”
A thin, cool hand reaching up and resting on mine for a second was the only response I got. It was good enough for now, and far better than Saturday’s responses.
I walked to Dr. Carver’s office with my head down, feeling somewhat like I was on my way to the principal’s office. He was quiet, too. There were very few good reasons to have to sit in a doctor’s actual office, and I wasn’t betting this was one of them.
“Please sit.”
I did. Then, waited.
“Georgia,” Dr. Carver started with great hesitation, “we’ve known for some time that your mother hasn’t been seeing the progress we’d like. What happened Saturday was a setback—”
“She has catatonic schizophrenia, Doctor. By definition she swings between excessive mobility and immobility.” I cut him off by reciting basic medical information to a man who’d been practicing medicine since long before I existed.
He patiently cleared his throat and clasped his hands on the desk in front of him. “I’m aware of her admitting diagnosis, Georgia. That’s what concerns me. Typically, this type of schizophrenia can respond well to benzodiazepines, which she’s on, and psychotherapy, which she’s involved with.” He took a deep breath. “As you’re aware, the length of time between her hospital visits have been shortening...”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“Is she still living with her sister?”
I shook my head, looking down. “No. My aunt Susan had a baby a few months ago. It wasn’t really ... you know...” Safe. I couldn’t say the word, but it made itself known inside my hesitation.
“So she’s been living on her own?”
I nodded. “She’s refused for six months to move into the vacant apartment in my building. I finally had to rent it out today.” My throat closed around the words. I’d known she’d put up a fight, but I hadn’t counted on it being a forever fight.
She didn’t want to live with me.
He sighed. A long, heavy, preemptively apologetic sigh. “It’s time we actively consider adding ECT to her treatment plan.”
“No.” I stood with such force that my chair slid several feet behind me, tapping the back wall of his small office.
Dr. Carver didn’t flinch. I’m certain he’s dealt with more startling situations than my brewing temper tantrum. “Georgia. ECT, in conjunction with medications, like the ones she’s taking, has time and again proven the most effective for patients with catatonic schizophrenia.”
Electroconvulsive Therapy. Sounds fancy, right? Shock therapy is what it is.
“Dr. Carver, when I became her healthcare proxy she made it very clear to me that ECT was not up for discussion. I intend to honor her wishes.”
I wiped my palms against the soft cotton of my skirt. I knew she wasn’t getting better. She only had to be hospitalized when she slid to either end of her catatonic spectrum. She’d been spending less and less time in the middle, making living on her own a dangerous option.
However, she still had life left in her. I could feel it as sure as I could feel the sun was out even if my eyes were closed.
“Georgia ... the combination of medicine we have her on right now is the best she’s responded to. Why don’t we help that along with a round of—”
“No. I’m not sending her into seizures in the hopes that it rewires her brain so she can function normally again.”
“It’s not just a hope. It has a very high success rate of—”
“I’m aware of the numbers, Dr. Carver. I’m also aware of the potential negative side effects. So is my mother. Again, the answer is no.”
Dr. Carver stood and squared his chin toward me. “Your mother is here on her own accord, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes.” I scrunched my forehead, wondering what this lead-in was all about.
“If her history is any indication, she’ll likely be released within a few days. If she gets worse and has to eventually be involuntarily admitted, we’ll be completely out of proactive options unless you okay the use of ECT.”
Normally Dr. Carver would walk me back down the hallway and into the visiting room. This time, however his statuesque figure remained rooted by his desk, and I took that as my cue to leave. I knew he was her doctor and not my friend, but with one movement of his hands into his white coat pockets, he drew his line in the sand. He wasn’t going to budge on his opinion of the ECT.
Neither was I.
Upon returning to the visiting room, I was thrown off balance by its emptiness. Not just the absence of other patients, but the absence of my mother.
“She got tired,” Daniel said as he waved to me from across the room. “She went to bed. This is her usual time.”
I ran a hand through my hair, tightening it at the back of my neck. “Of course. I’m so used to coming here when she wakes up around three in the morning ... I just lost track of what time of day it was.”
I remained in my lonely spot on the floor until a firm arm wrapped around my shoulders. “It’s okay, Georgia. It’s tiring. Go home and get some sleep. See you at three?”
I looked up at Daniel’s compassionate eyes, wondering how long he’d be able to hold onto that empathy. “Do you ever go home?”
“Sometimes.” He smiled and squeezed my shoulders. “I usually work doubles. No wife. No kids. Why not? I love working here.”
I could have given him about twenty years worth of “why nots”, but I just smiled back and made my way through the maze of secured
doors and hallways until I was back in my car, resting my head on my steering wheel and begging to hit the bottom of this rabbit hole.
Regan
“That’s fuckin’ awesome, dude. You’re going to love living with Georgia. She’s a trip.” CJ rummaged through Bo and Ember’s refrigerator. “Get your act together in the next couple of days and I can help you move in.”
“Thanks. I’m not moving in with her, CJ. It’s across from her. And, I expect your lazy ass to help me.” I shifted on the stool at the center island.
Ember set a plate topped with salad in front of me. “Wait, she stayed here last night? How did I miss that?”
“Because,” CJ spoke into the cheese drawer, “you were busy in siracha.”
I laughed as Ember scrunched her nose. “I was what?”
“You were in your headstand this morning.” I chuckled at CJ’s interpretation of Sanskrit.
“Oh.” She raised her eyebrow at CJ, indicating idiot. “Anyway, are you sure you want to do that? I mean, it seems like you’d have to deal with a lot of ... foot traffic.”
“What do you mean? It’s a residential spot, apart from the bakery that’s downstairs.” I reminded myself to ask Georgia again about that place.
Ember grumbled as CJ cluttered the island with a pound of meat and cheese, and other CJ-sandwich necessities, like mustard, mayo, and ketchup. Don’t ask.
“What I mean is, she seems like she’s pretty ... popular with the patrons at the bar.”
CJ slapped together a sandwich, took a bite, and responded with a mouth full of turkey. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh come on, guys,” Ember looked exasperated as she played with the strings on her hoodie, “each night we were there she left with a different guy, and was all over everyone else. Don’t you think it’s all a bit ... much?”
My stomach twisted as CJ’s eyes shot to Ember defensively. “First of all, princess, she’s an adult. Second of all, she doesn’t do anything different than I, or half the other guys at Finnegan’s do every weekend, so you don’t need to judge her.”
“I judge you,” Ember mumbled between bites of organic lettuce from her parents’ garden.
“And I judge you,” CJ shot back. “Seriously, what do you care what she does with her time?”
Ember dropped her fork onto her plate. “You want to know why? I’ve spent nearly five years working for a domestic violence organization. It doesn’t matter how much we want gender roles not to matter, CJ. They do. The fact is, Georgia is almost infinitely times more likely to get raped than you ever will be by behaving the same exact way you do. And, the fact that you encourage her makes you incredibly irresponsible. You call yourself a friend? I call you clueless.”
“Regan,” Ember turned to me before CJ could respond, “if you do take that apartment, promise me you’ll be careful, and that you’ll keep an eye out. For her.”
I swallowed a forkful of seeds, nodding as my throat constricted around Ember’s implications. I hadn’t, honestly, thought much about Georgia’s safety in her actions. I’d spent too much time thinking Ember was judging her, being a bitch because she perceived her as slutty. Maybe that was an impression I’d had, too.
It frustrated me that she behaved the way she did. She was beautiful, funny, charming, and badass. I didn’t know enough about her, and I wasn’t close enough to her, though, to suggest she lead her life any other way.
Looking up, I found CJ red-faced and holding his sandwich in mid-air, staring at Ember. “What makes you think she’s going to get raped?”
“It’s not what I think, CJ. I was just telling you statistics. When she behaves like that, it’s going to invite the wrong kind of guy one of these times. It doesn’t cross your mind, CJ, because you’re not like that. You’d never do that. But, unfortunately, not all guys are like you. And, when alcohol and/or drugs are involved, even more people get into trouble.”
CJ didn’t respond. There was no attack, no smart-ass comment. He simply sat in silence. We all did.
After cleaning up from lunch, I tracked CJ down outside in the sand. His feet were buried as his forearms were propped up on his bent knees. I sat next to him, mimicking his position and staring out into the water until he was ready to talk.
“It’s not like that with her. Georgia...” He let his head fall, staring between his knees.
“Like what?”
“She’s not ... just she’s not like that.” CJ’s hands bounced, as he seemed to search for words that weren’t coming.
“I’m not worried, CJ. You said you two hung out a lot in high school, and whatever—”
“I’m worried. Her dad died.”
“Yeah, she told me. And her mom...” I sighed. There was so much loss everywhere.
CJ’s back straightened. “She told you about her mom?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, “gone, too.”
“Oh,” CJ looked at his knuckles, “yeah. Now they’re both gone.”
“When did her mom die?”
CJ shook his head. “It was all just really bad...”
I wrapped my arm around his shoulder and he didn’t move. He didn’t pull away. Even though I’m not his brother, I suddenly felt extreme guilt for not being around for him during the time I’d gone away to boarding school and then to college. It seems a lot happened in the two years CJ had left of high school while I was at the conservatory.
“Just keep an eye on her for me, okay? She’s been through a lot, and I didn’t even know about her dad until last night.” CJ’s face broke down a little as he covered his face with his hands.
I hadn’t seen him cry since the last time I kicked his ass when I was twelve and he was ten, so I wasn’t absolutely sure that’s what he was doing. Still, I gave his shoulder another squeeze just in case.
“I don’t really have much stuff.” I broke the stiff silence. “Do you want to swing by the place and check it out with me?”
CJ rubbed the back of his neck. “Sure, is she gonna be there?”
I shrugged. “Not sure. She said she had something to do north of La Jolla today. She didn’t say what.”
“Let’s go, then. I want to have time today to play around in that recording studio where you lucky bastards get to spend the next few months.”
I stood, reaching a hand down to help CJ up. “Let’s go, brother.”
“Now this ... this is a view!” CJ pressed his forehead ... and his palms against my once-clean picture window.
“Yes, and forevermore I’ll gaze at your greasy forehead print at sunset, wishing you were here.” I slapped the back of his head and handed him window cleaner and paper towels I’d picked up at the grocery store on our way over.
It only took us one trip to get all of my things from Bo and Ember’s place over to my new apartment. There was a futon and a dresser left in the apartment, so I moved them to my bedroom, vowing to pick up some other furniture later in the week.
“I’m gonna miss you.” CJ tossed the used paper towels into my still unlined trashcan and walked toward me with his hands in his pockets.
I raised a cautionary eyebrow. “Like miss me, miss me? Or, get ready for one of CJ’s smart-ass jokes, miss me?”
He laughed. A full laugh that stripped away his punk exterior. “No, I mean really miss you. You just came back last summer, then everything with Rae...” He pulled one hand out of his pocket and rubbed it along the back of his neck.
He didn’t bring Rae up often. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was emotionally stunted, or because he was unsure how to handle the conversation. The way his eyes never left my face, though, suggested the latter.
“It’s okay, man. It gets better everyday.” I sighed, resting my back against the expansive living room wall.
CJ shouldered up next to me. “No, it doesn’t.”
I turned to look at him, and found him staring at me with a look on his face as dry as scotch. “I...”
“Just because you find better ways to deal wi
th it, doesn’t mean it gets better.”
As his words worked a perfect circle into my gut, I slid down the wall. “You’re right. Nothing is better. Easier some days? Maybe. But nothing can possibly ever be better.”
CJ followed my lead and sat next to me, knees bent, hands clasped between them.
“I’m sorry, man ... I might not believe in love for myself, but you two definitely loved each other.”
“We did.” Tears infiltrated my eyes as the unsettling tingling returned to my hands.
“Don’t be ashamed to talk to someone. Anyone.”
I whipped my head in his direction and softly chuckled. “What did you just say? Did you just give me mental health advice?”
He started to answer, but I cut him off. “Nah, you’re right, I think. Maybe. No, you’re definitely right. I almost kissed Georgia today, for fuck’s sake.”
“You what?” CJ’s eye’s widened, and if his voice had eyes, they would have widened too.
Burying my face in my hands, I groaned. “Dumbest move ever, right? This girl I barely know offers me this incredible apartment on the cheap and I try to make a move?”
“Eh,” CJ laughed, “maybe your excitement got a little redirected.”
“You’re an asshole. Seriously, though. I didn’t mean to. I don’t even ... she’s not really my type. And even though I couldn’t admit it to myself at the time, when she pulled away I felt a huge sense of relief. Like I’m carrying around guilt, or something. About Rae.”
CJ punched my shoulder. “She backed away? Burn, dude. Burn. Way to put the Kane family name to shame.”
“CJ,” I sighed, “somehow I doubt that our forefathers dreamed that the activities you concern yourself with would be dignifying to our family name.”
He stood and held out his hand. “You’re wrong. I’m definitely a legend.”
“In the healthcare industry, maybe.” I mumbled as I reached for his hand. He pulled his away, sending me back to the floor.
“I’m always safe, dude.” He used his helping hand to give me the finger.
Sweet Forty-Two Page 8
