When the room began to quiet, Emily stood. Slowly, silence prevailed. Clearing her throat, she utilized the voice she’d reserved years ago for addressing students. “Dr. Fairfield, if brain injury wasn’t the cause of my sister’s condition, please enlighten us on what was the cause?”
Everyone turned toward the good doctor, watching as he shifted his footing. “Mrs. Vandersol, psychotic breaks can occur for a number of reasons. Let me emphasize that I’m not insinuating that your sister isn’t truly in the throes of such a break.”
Defensively, Emily stood taller. Pressing her lips together, she refrained from speaking as she waited for the doctor to continue.
“The most common causes of psychotic breaks include brain injury and drug use; however, it’s also well documented that a significant life event can precipitate such a break.” For all of his large words and doctor attitude, Emily saw a sudden shift in countenance as he asked, “Your sister had a significant life experience, wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Vandersol?”
“Yes, Doctor, I do; however, the length of my sister’s break has—in the past—been reason to believe that there was more than a significant life experience to blame.”
It was as if they were the only two in the room. No one else dared breathe, much less speak. Dr. Fairfield continued, “As I stated earlier, the human brain is a truly amazing organ—one that’s essential for each of us to continue living. Without it, we would be incapable of simple involuntary behaviors such as breathing or the beating of our heart. That same amazing brain can also protect us”—he paused and waited; silence prevailed—“It’s my opinion that this patient’s break may have been initially associated with previous injury. It’s also possible that the swelling of blood vessels during pregnancy, her difficult child birth, and even the hormones associated with breast feeding could have contributed.” Dr. Fairfield cleared his throat and pushed on, “After observing more than one of your sister’s hallucinatory episodes, I believe your sister is where she wants to be.”
Momentarily, Emily was at a loss for words. She stuttered as she looked to both Dr. Brown and John. “Ex—excuse me, do—”
John’s voice prevailed. “So, am I correct to understand—you believe Claire is willfully keeping herself in this state? Are you saying she’s faking?”
“N—no, Mr. Vandersol, I believe she’s in a true psychotic state. She’s obviously delusional, blissfully unaware of her surroundings or the burden her behavior has had on others. I also believe she doesn’t know she’s a mother nor of the fate of her husband.” When Emily shifted, Dr. Fairfield added, “I didn’t ask her those questions specifically. Mrs. Vandersol, your directives were maintained; however, in an effort to assess Mrs. Rawlin—Ms. Nichols, I breached some subjects that had no effect on her. Which I may add, I feel is a shame—”
John interrupted, “Dr. Fairfield, could my wife and I continue this conversation with you in private?”
“Yes, I under—”
Emily stopped his response. “No! I want answers, and I’m sure the others here will need to know. First, is Claire uncomfortable or in pain?”
“Mrs. Vandersol, the patient has been maintained in a static state of comfort—which I believe is the problem.”
Everyone in the room turned toward Emily. To the observers, it was like watching a tennis match: all heads turned one way and then they turned the other.
July 26, 2016
Today, Ms. Bali called and asked me to come in early. Since Claire has been doing well with me bringing her meals—she asked if I’d take her on a walk. Apparently, there was some big meeting regarding her diagnosis, prognosis, and treatment. Everyone associated with her care had to attend. I wish I’d been at the meeting, but Emily was probably there, so it was better I wasn’t.
I know I should write about the walk. That’s the whole point, right? Record my thoughts and comments so that I can later come back and see if any progress was made—have a basis for writing the follow-up to my book. Well, here’s the thing; I don’t want to. Oh, I want to stay with Claire. I want to help her—but for a journalist who’s supposed to be indifferent—I picked the wrong project.
Just in case I don’t remember when I come back to read—on the way home from Everwood, I stopped at the store and bought a bottle of wine. No—it isn’t the normal size—it’s the big one!
I hated it today! I went to her room—and surprise—Claire was sitting in the chair by the window. When she saw me and heard my voice, she went to the table to eat. Keep in mind, she’d just eaten! I explained that I was taking her on her walk. At first, she didn’t budge. I just kept talking about the outside. Finally, she stood. I stepped closer, like I’d seen the other woman do and Emily do. Claire didn’t move. I had to reach for her hand and place it on my arm.