The doctor jotted this down in his notes. “That’s very helpful. Anything else?”
“Even when I’m in the middle of one of these God-awful episodes, I’m more afraid of the next one that I know is coming right behind it. It’s…it’s friggin’ torture. I’ve begun to avoid most people and places, which just makes me feel depressed. It’s a horror show. I feel like something invisible is always chasing me.” His voice became desperate. “I really can’t take it anymore. I’m so tired and I need it to stop,” he whimpered, “…for me and my kids.”
Faust remained silent, watching him. But Mac couldn’t manage another word. “The shortness of breath, the pounding heart,” the medicine man explained, “those are called anxiety or panic attacks.”
Mac shook his head like he was trying to ward off the man’s words. The term panic had been used often in the past few months, but Mac was still having trouble accepting the label. I’m no coward, he told himself. I’ve never panicked about anything in my life. His grandfather had taught him to be a man, to handle whatever situation he was confronted with. Am I really so much weaker than I thought?
With a gentle, logical voice, Faust explained. “In some strange sense, your problem is physical. Although we need to identify and understand the root cause, what you’re experiencing is a chemical imbalance that takes place in the brain. Sometimes, it’s hereditary. Does anyone in your family have a history of anxiety or depression?”
Mac shrugged, filling his lungs with enough air to speak. “I don’t know. I didn’t really know my parents,” he said, his head spinning. “I was basically orphaned when I was young.” He shook his head, his mind going off on another tangent. “I was young when my mom passed away. My memories of her are more like a set of feelings than actual pictures in my mind. I vaguely remember how our relationship ended.” He stared into space. “A black dress hanging on my parent’s bedroom door, my dad’s awful sobs, a table covered in casserole dishes and then finally, my grandparents showing up to take me away. I was too young back then to realize the permanence of my mom’s premature death and that it was the perfect opportunity for my father to disappear.” He shrugged. “I suppose that’s why being a good, dependable dad has always been so important to me.” My father was never there, he thought, horrified to have his children endure the same painful fate.
Faust smiled. “I’m sure we’ll get into it.”
Mac nodded, trying to return completely to the present. It wasn’t easy.
Faust stood. “I’ll order your meds. Nurse Costa will be in shortly to administer them.” He peered into Mac’s eyes. “Make sure you take them, okay?”
“Okay,” Mac answered, no longer feeling in control of his own life.
“Very good,” the doctor said, patting Mac’s shoulder and leaving the room.
Mac sat alone and afraid, again. If he understood anything now, he knew there was a very long road ahead. A panic attack is what happens to other people, he told himself again…until it began happening to me.
⧝
An older woman with graying, wavy hair entered the room. Mac could tell right away, This lady’s all business.
Marching straight toward him, she extended a small plastic cup, containing two pills. “Here, take these,” she ordered before handing him a paper cup of water.
“Thank you, Nurse Costa,” he said, reading her faded name tag.
“Call me Mal,” she said. “I don’t go for all that formal bullshit.” She studied him for a moment. “You good for now?” she asked.
No-nonsense with a hint of compassion, he thought, adjusting his profile of her. “As good as can be expected, I guess,” he said.
She peered into his eyes once more. “You’re good,” she said, as if reporting her initial assessment, and then marched out of the room the same way she’d barged in.
That’s what you think, Mac told her somewhere within his skull-splitting migraine.
⧝
The house phone rang. Jen stretched past her mother on the couch to pick it up. “Hello?”
“Hi Jen, it’s Roland Dube. How are you?”
At the man’s first word, her heart began to race. “What’s wrong, Roland?” she asked, expecting to hear the worst about her husband.
Sue leaned in toward her for an update. Jen raised her index finger for the woman to wait.
“I shouldn’t even be talking to you, Jen. But given the awful circumstances and me being a family friend and all…”
“What is it, Roland?”
“I thought you should know that Mac has signed himself into inpatient treatment,” Roland said. “It’s an intense program that will take months to…”
“Months?” she repeated.
Sue tapped Jen’s leg. Again, the index finger went up.
“I thought you should know,” Roland said before lowering his tone. “At this point, the restraining order is probably in the best interest of everyone. From what I’m told, it’s best that Mac has no interaction with outside influences while he’s undergoing treatment and working through things.”
“Oh…okay,” she said, not knowing how else to respond. She looked at her mother and shook her head.
Sue looked ready to burst from curiosity.
“Listen Jen,” Roland said, “I could get into some hot water if…”
“I get it, Roland,” she said. “Mums the word. I promise.”
“Okay,” he said, “thanks.”
“Thank you for calling. I really appreciate it.”
“Sure. I’ll keep you in the loop as much as I can,” he said before hanging up.
Jen placed the telephone into its cradle.
“Well?” Sue asked, sitting on the edge of her seat.
“It was Roland Dube. He said that Mac’s finally signed himself into treatment.”
“Thank God,” Sue said.
“Yeah, it’s a good thing,” Jen said, nodding. “Roland said it’s an intense program that could take him months to complete.”
Sue sighed heavily. “Whatever it takes for him to get well again, right?”
Jen was riddled with confusion. Although she felt a tremendous amount of pain—as she’d loved this man deeply—she also felt there was no choice but to move forward without him in their lives.
“What is it?” Sue asked, studying her daughter’s face.
“There’s a very real chance that Mac’s not coming back from this and…” She stopped, feeling the shock of this sudden realization.
“And?”
“And I may need to build a life for me and the kids that doesn’t include him.” The tears began to fall. “I’ve loved him from the moment I met him, Mom, but…”
Sue wrapped her in a tight hug. “I know,” she whispered. “I know.”
“I have to think of the kids,” she whimpered.
“And yourself,” her mom added.
⧝
Bella knelt by her bed, her hands clasped together. Tears peppered her beautiful, little face. “Dear God,” she prayed aloud, “I know I probably don’t talk to you as much as I should, but I really need to talk to you right now. God, I’m so sorry for being bad sometimes. My mom has to yell at me and my brother and sister because we don’t listen, or we don’t finish our chores. But God, I promise, if you let my daddy come back home—my good daddy, not my angry daddy—I’ll never be bad again. And I’ll make sure that Jillian and Brady will be good too.” Tears filled her eyes. “We’ll eat everything on our plates. We’ll go to bed on time. And we won’t ever talk back again.” She shrugged. “And I won’t even hide Brady’s sneakers before school anymore, so Mom can yell at him. Please God, all we want is our old daddy back.” She nodded. “That’s all we want. If you do that for us, then we’ll be the best kids you ever saw—honest.”
She blessed herself, stood and walked to the window to watch for
her dad’s return. As she peered out the dark window, she whispered, “God, please let my daddy come home. We miss him so much.”
Just then, Brady’s scream traveled across the hall. When Bella entered his bedroom, she found her mom hovered over her little brother. Brady was hugging their mom and crying. Jillian was also there, her face cherry red.
“Tell Mamma, baby,” their mom told Brady, “what is it?”
Brady hyperventilated. “It’s Daddy. I…I keep dreaming about him.” The boy’s heavy sniffles forced him to stop.
“I know, Brady,” his mom said, “I know it hurts. Go ahead, get it out. There’s nothing wrong with crying.”
“I keep dreaming that Dad’s not coming back. I keep seeing him running far away from us. It’s dark and he keeps running and running…”
“No, Brady. Dad didn’t run away from us. He’d never do that. It’s just that he’s sick and he needs time to get better.” She paused, clearly at a loss for more words. “Everything will be okay,” Jen finally said, “I promise.” Her last two words sounded less than convincing.
“But Daddy promised, too,” Bella said, starting to cry. “Daddy promised that he wouldn’t leave—that he’d never leave!” The little girl cried harder.
“Maybe you should watch what you wish for,” Jillian mumbled, appearing in the doorway.
Everyone looked up at her.
“Have you guys already forgotten how scary it was when Dad was here?” she asked.
“He wasn’t always like that,” Bella screamed, defensively.
“Yeah,” Brady said, “he was only like that at the end.”
Jillian shook her head. “We’re better off without him,” she mumbled under her breath.
“Jill, don’t say…” Jen stopped.
Jillian disappeared from the doorway.
While Brady clung to his mom, Bella shook her head over-and-over.
“It’s going to be okay,” Jen repeated at a whisper.
To help console her little brother, Bella lay down beside him, trying to provide any comfort she could. As Brady’s eyes grew heavy, their mom tip-toed out of the room. Bella, however, never budged. Lying beside her baby brother, she whispered, “I’ll never leave you, buddy.”
⧝
Jen collapsed onto the living room couch, where she grieved her uncertain future so deeply that it shot pains across her constricted chest. Rolling herself into the fetal position, she tried giving herself the hug that she desperately missed. Where do I go from here? she wondered, feeling as though the weeks of overwhelming emotion had suddenly caught up to her. What do I… She dozed off.
⧝
Jen was sitting at her friend Lauren’s winter wonderland-themed wedding—alone. It’s now or never, she thought, and I need some alone time. The time seemed right, so she slipped away from the wedding reception and headed straight past the coat check to the ladies room.
Jen checked her look in the mirror. Even though she was all dolled up, her nose cringed at the sight of herself. She shook her head and started for one of the empty stalls. She locked the door behind her and, without any intentions of relieving herself, took a seat. She opened her clutch, retrieved a single razor blade from her sunglass case and pulled up her left sleeve. Surveying the twisted map of old scar tissue and recent cuts, she located a fresh patch of skin. Positioning her arm between her legs, she made the first incision. It was a deep cut that stung and throbbed at the same time, making her feel alive. At least I can feel this, she thought, knowing it was the only pain in her world she could control. While blood dripped into the toilet from the first cut, she made the second incision. Stop! a small voice screamed in her head, but the voice was too small. She made a third cut, but with all the blood covering her forearm she’d crossed over some deep scar tissue. The blood flowed heavily now. Shit, she thought. I went too deep. She placed the sharp blade back into the glass case. Just then, the bathroom door opened and two women entered. Instinctively, Jen lifted her legs to conceal her presence. While the two women lingered at the mirror, touching up their make-up and gossiping about “how ugly those bridesmaids’ dresses are,” Jen quietly grabbed a roll of toilet paper and spun it in her right hand until she held a thick wad. She placed it over her left forearm and watched as the white paper became saturated in crimson red. The pain was mind-numbing, alternating between a harsh burn and aching throb. It made her smile. She dumped the paper between her legs into the toilet and rolled up another wad. This one she held to her forearm to help with the clotting. In the meantime, women came and went; some used the toilets, but most freshened up their faces while verbally bashing other wedding guests. Three wads and two flushes later, Jenn applied sterile gauze over the new wounds and quickly taped them up like a veteran field medic. She rolled down her sleeve, flushed the toilet one last time and unlocked the stall door. Her forearm felt like it was on fire. Oh, sweet release…
As she stood in front of the mirror this time, she was even more repulsed. Beast, she thought, throwing her small fist into the mirror. It barely rattled. Shaking her head, she checked her dress sleeve to ensure the thick gauze was keeping her secret at bay. Good.
Lauren was finishing her table-to-table rounds when she caught up to Jen. “Where have you been?” she asked.
Jen shrugged, her face turning pink from embarrassment. “The ladies room,” she whispered. “I’ve been having some issues.”
“Oh no,” Lauren said, giving her a hug. “You’re not feeling well and you still came to share this day with us?” She looked into Jen’s eyes. “Thank you so much, Jen.”
Jen put on her best fake smile. “Are you kidding me, Lau? I wouldn’t have missed your wedding for the world.” As the lovely bride walked away, Jen looked down at her arm; her sleeve was still dry but her knuckles were red and swollen. Beast, she repeated in her head.
⧝
Jen awakened from her dream and lay still. Her body felt weak from convulsing and her throat was sore from all the wailing. She reached up to wipe her eyes, surprised that she’d run out of tears. The dream was so vivid, so real. Self-mutilation, she thought. Is this what I’ve done? She looked down at her forearms, expecting to find ladders of pain that climbed up each of her arms. There wasn’t a scratch. No physical scars anyway, she thought.
“Mom?” Bella asked.
Startled, Jen discreetly wiped her face before looking up. “Yeah babe.” She patted the seat cushion beside her.
Bella took a seat. “I love Daddy and I miss him, but I’m also afraid…”
“Afraid of what?” Jen asked, enveloping the little girl in her arms.
“That Daddy will come back and be angry at us again.”
She looked into the child’s puffy eyes. “Sweetheart, Mommy would never let him come back like that.” She squeezed Bella tight. “Daddy’s sick, babe, and he needs to get better.” She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Daddy needs to get back to who he was before he got sick, or he’ll never step foot back into this house. I promise.”
Although Bella nodded, her eyes were filled with confusion.
“There’ll no more yelling in this house, babe. Mommy won’t allow it.”
Bella nodded again and stood. “Is it okay if Sarah sleeps over this weekend?”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Jen said, never hesitating with the answer. We could use some laughter in this house again, she thought.
Bella kissed Jen’s cheek. “Goodnight, Mommy.”
“Goodnight baby.” She patted her daughter’s backside. “Sweet dreams.”
⧝
While the world continued to spin, without Mac taking any active part in it, he wrote a short letter to his children.
Dear Jillian, Bella and Brady, I hope this letter finds you all well. I’ve been working really hard to get back to you. According to my doctor, his name’s Faust, I’m already making some progr
ess. The three of you are the only thing I think about. I love you with all my heart. Every day, I imagine how wonderful it will be on the day we’re all reunited. Please take good care of yourselves. And Jillian, please look after the two little ones for me while I’m away. Know that I’m thinking of all of you. You Live in My heart—Always, Dad.
Peering through the fog of sedation, Mac folded it up and placed it into the unsealed envelope. He then knelt beside his bed and prayed, “Dear Lord, please give me the strength and courage to get well and return to my children as soon as possible. Bless Jillian, Bella and Brady. Shroud them in your angels and keep them safe. In Jesus’ name, Amen.” He blessed himself, grabbed the framed photo of his children from his metal nightstand and kissed it.
There was a knock just before Faust peeked his head into the room. “Are you ready for our session, Mac?”
Mac nodded. “Come in, Faust, please.” He sat on his bed, while Dr. Fiore took a seat on the chair and reviewed his notepad. “It’s been more than a week and my kids haven’t responded to one of my letters, Faust,” Mac said. “I’m afraid to call, but…”
“And you shouldn’t,” Faust said. “That would definitely be a bad idea. Even as far as the letters, Mac, they’re not the best idea.” He raised an eyebrow. “You do realize that any contact is a direct violation of the court’s…”
“I know…I know…” Mac interrupted.
Faust opened the folder that contained his notes. “So tell me when the symptoms started. Even a ballpark timeframe.”
“Oh, I can do better than that,” Mac said. “If I lived a thousand years, I’d never forget the day it started.”
Faust waited.
“It was late August at my son’s birthday party. I was blowing up a balloon when all of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe.”
“From inflating a balloon?”
Mac shook his head. “I don’t think that was the actual cause. I mean, I’m not in the best physical shape I’ve ever been in, but…”
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