The nurse smiled patiently. “Orchards is for anyone. We can make a note that you don’t want any Christian counseling if that’s the case—”
“No!” Maggie’s heart was pounding again. And He shall be called Wonderful Counselor … “I mean, yes. Christian counseling is okay. I just … that’s not what I expected here.”
“Are you a Christian, Mrs. Stovall?”
Somehow Maggie knew in that moment that the nurse was a believer.
“Yes … but not a very good one.” She muttered the last part, and the nurse put a comforting hand over hers.
“That’s okay. None of us is, really.”
Another nurse appeared and smiled down at Maggie. “Ready?”
Run! Get out of here before they lock you up and throw away the key …
My peace I give you, My peace I leave you … do not let your heart be troubled, daughter. Do not be afraid.
Run! Leave now before—
The warring voices echoed loudly in her mind, and Maggie gulped, not sure what to say. Not sure even what the nurse had asked her.
The admitting nurse patted Maggie’s hand again. “My name is Tani, and I can answer any questions you have now or later.” She hesitated. “Do you have any questions, Mrs. Stovall?”
Maggie shook her head and looked from Tani to the new nurse, still waiting expectantly beside her. “What’s going to happen to me?” Her voice sounded different, like a lost child’s, and Maggie felt the now familiar confusion clouding her thinking. The new nurse leaned down and gently took her arm.
Don’t arrest me, please! Maggie flinched at the woman’s touch and then realized it was time to go.
“We’ve got your room ready, Mrs. Stovall. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Everything’s going to be okay, everything’s going to be okay, everything’s going to be …
Maggie repeated the words to herself as she allowed the nurse to lead her down the hallway. In her free hand, Maggie carried her suitcase, which was stuffed with all that she had left of the life she once lived.
The life that was over now.
The nurse escorted Maggie down a series of halls and into a room. “This is where you’ll stay. We’ll be notifying your insurance carrier later today and seeking approval. Generally, we get permission for a two-month inpatient stay if that much time is required.
Panic pulsed through Maggie’s veins. What if I need three months? What if I can never live on my own again? The questions assaulted her like so many hand grenades but she nodded helplessly at the nurse.
“Here … ” She handed Maggie a glass of water and two capsules.
Maggie took tiny steps backwards, shaking her head at the nurse. “No. I don’t want to sleep.” The nightmares will be too much tonight.
“They’re not sleeping pills, Mrs. Stovall. They’re relaxants. To help ease your anxiety.”
What’s wrong with me, God? What happened to the days when Your Word was all I needed to feel peace? She took stock of her trembling legs and clammy hands and the way her heart bounced about in irregular patterns. Then without another word she reached out and took the water and pills. She swallowed them quickly before she could change her mind.
“Very good, you should feel better in no time.” The nurse glanced at Maggie’s belongings on the bed. “Why don’t you open your suitcase? We like to check the belongings when a patient is first admitted. Certain items are not allowed in the private rooms.”
Maggie stepped back and watched in horror as the nurse removed a blow-dryer and a leather belt from her things. “Very well.” The nurse’s tone was cheerful, as if there were nothing out of the ordinary about sifting through someone’s suitcase and taking away various personal items. “Go ahead and put the other things away. After that you can take a nap for an hour or so. Your first session will be an evaluation with Dr. Camas at two o’clock.”
The nurse left, and Maggie felt the darkness close in around her like a shroud. She was dead, wrapped in grave clothes made up of the very blackest doom, and there was no way out. She was no longer the proud Maggie Stovall, author of “Maggie’s Mind,” conservative columnist and local celebrity.
She was just another mental patient.
Maggie stared at what was left of her things and it dawned on her why the nurse had taken the blow-dryer and belt. Both items could be used to kill herself.
Two o’clock came quickly, and a nurse appeared to escort Maggie to her appointment with Dr. Camas. Maggie sat up and stretched. For a moment she wasn’t sure whether she was at a hotel or in the hospital. Then she remembered. It was the middle of the day, the first day of the rest of her life. And she had an appointment with a psychiatrist.
She moved slowly down the hallway to Dr. Camas’s office. The moment she stepped inside Maggie knew she was going to like him. He had a warm glow about his face, short white hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. He smiled with his eyes when she walked in and sat down.
“Mrs. Stovall?” He rose and held his hand out to her. His handshake was firm and something about it made her feel safe. Maggie relished the feeling. How long had it been since she’d felt that way? Not long, really. She’d felt safe in the hospital, with Ben at her side, holding her hand …
“Dr. Camas, I’m … it’s just … I’m sorry to bother you … ” Maggie stumbled over her words, apologetic and relieved at the same time. At least she wasn’t like the typical patient at a hospital like this. Whatever was wrong with her probably didn’t require a lobotomy or a straight jacket, and Maggie didn’t want the doctor to think she was wasting his time. After all, she wasn’t really crazy.
Her mind filled with the image of herself sitting on the sidewalk by the bus stop. Who was she kidding? The doctor had probably never counseled anyone as crazy as she was.
“No apology needed.” He paused, and Maggie relaxed into her chair. The pills must still be working. Dr. Camas looked calm and unhurried. “Now why don’t you tell me what’s been going on?”
She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. When she opened them, she saw the unmistakable look of Christ in Dr. Camas’s eyes. “It’s sort of a long story.”
He leaned back and folded his fingers over his waist. “I’ve got time, Mrs. Stovall. Go ahead.”
Where to begin? Yesterday? The day before? Eight years ago? Her eyes grew wet and her vision blurred with unshed tears. She blinked, and several tumbled onto her cheeks. Maggie studied Dr. Camas and somehow knew she could trust him. “One thing first … ”
“Very well.”
“I don’t want my husband to see me. I … he isn’t welcome here.”
A troubled look crossed Dr. Camas’s face. “Are you in danger, Mrs. Stovall? Has he hurt you or threatened you?”
Maggie shook her head, remembering again the warmth of Ben’s hand the day before. “Nothing like that. It’s just … our marriage is finished and I need to go forward. Seeing him would only make matters worse.”
Dr. Camas jotted something down on a pad of paper. “Very well, I’ll inform the desk of your wishes. We can intercept phone calls and personal visits, but I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do about written correspondence. Perhaps you can tell him yourself if he writes.”
Maggie nodded and imagined Ben’s reaction when he got home from work later that day and found her letter. She winced, and her heart felt gripped by pain for what he would suffer when he found out. The air was beginning to feel stuffy, and Maggie drew a deep breath. Their marriage was over—she had no choice in the matter. If she were going to survive, it was time for both of them to let go and move forward. I still love him, though. I’ll always love him …
“Mrs. Stovall, you were about to tell me what’s been happening in your life … ”
Maggie snapped to attention and suddenly knew there was only one place to start, only one that made any sense at all. She would start where it all began: nine years ago at the Cleveland Community Church Annual Prayer and Picnic.
The first time she ever
laid eyes on Ben Stovall and knew she would never—as long as she lived—love anyone else. It was as true then as it was now. And even though her marriage was over, it would be true until the day she died.
Maggie drew a steadying breath and allowed herself to remember.
Deep in the heart of the city, Ben spent the afternoon meeting with three different judges and a host of attorneys establishing court dates for coming trials. It was the type of work that didn’t require much concentration but made the time pass quickly all the same. Ben was thankful. There was no way he could have done anything more taxing; there hadn’t been a spare moment all day that he wasn’t thinking about Maggie.
He’d considered staying home and talking it out, insisting that she tell him what was wrong. But the doctor had said she might sleep most of the day, and Ben wanted her to get rest.
Of course, that wasn’t all the doctor had said. He’d confided in Ben that he suspected Maggie had suffered a nervous breakdown. There was medicine she could take for a while, pills that would stabilize her anxiety and help her cope. But there would not likely be improvement in her outlook until she got real help.
Psychiatric help.
Just the sound of the word—-psychiatric—sent shivers of fear down Ben’s spine. Psychiatrists were for people who battled emotional problems, weren’t they? Medical doctors helped people fight illness. But psych doctors—everyone knew their role. They worked with people who were crazy, people for whom life held no hope. Non-Christians, basically.
Ben had pondered these thoughts continuously throughout his day and now that it was finally almost time to go home, he could hardly wait to talk to Maggie. He had called her several times but she hadn’t answered. That was understandable, especially if she were tired. But tiredness was not a sign of mental breakdown. Surely the doctors were wrong. His faith-filled wife had not suffered a nervous breakdown and she was not in need of psychiatric help. He had been her covering, after all, the one who prayed for her and took his role as spiritual leader of their home as seriously as he took his need for a Savior.
She had to be okay, didn’t she?
What have I done to her, Lord? Wasn’t I good enough? Didn’t I pray for her as often as I should have?
He left the office half an hour early and a feeling of peace came over him as he pulled into the driveway. He had done all those things; of course she would be okay. As hard as she worked, wasn’t it normal for her to have some kind of letdown now and then? Maybe her column was getting to her; maybe writing about children was making the fact that she didn’t have any of her own more painful than usual.
Of course! That must be the problem. Maggie was desperate for a child. Ben allowed the relief to wash over him as he made his way into the house. He would sit down with her tonight and they would make a plan, figure out a time when they could try the in vitro fertilization again. Or if Maggie wasn’t up for that, they could discuss adoption. If she wanted a baby, then by God’s grace they would find her one. Whatever it took to bring back the smile that had all but disappeared from her face over the last two years.
“Maggie, honey, I’m home.”
He had decided the best way to handle her was to downplay the events of the day before. She was bound to feel terrible now that Cameron and Casey had been taken from her. There was no reason to make her feel worse. He thought about yesterday’s accident and thanked God again that no one had been seriously hurt. Maggie would have been devastated if her carelessness had caused anyone to be injured or …
He couldn’t bring himself to think about it.
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.
The verse from Romans flashed in his mind, and he allowed it to bathe him in peace. Of course they did. All things, even this. The fact that Cameron and Casey were gone was sad, but perhaps that meant it was time to have a baby of their own. He would share that with Maggie and help her believe it was so.
“Maggie?” Ben tossed his coat and briefcase on the stairs and bounded up. Those must have been some drugs. Maggie’s never slept all day long before. He rounded the corner into their bedroom and jerked to a stop. The bed was made, and Maggie was nowhere to be seen. On his pillow lay a white envelope with his name scrawled across the front.
“Maggie, honey?” He moved quickly toward their bathroom, then glanced inside the closet. No one. He made his way to the different rooms of the house, one by one, until he was sure she wasn’t there. Panic began building deep in his gut. Where had she gone? Was it safe for her to be out on the streets if she really was having a breakdown?
He dashed back up to their bedroom and snatched the envelope from his pillow. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he tore it open and pulled out the letter inside. His heart pounded loud and erratically as he unfolded it and began reading:
Dear Ben,
I’m sorry you have to learn the truth this way. But things are what they are and I can’t run from them any longer. I don’t know what’s happening to me, why I’m so confused and tired and forgetting things. Yesterday I couldn’t remember where I was or even who I was half the time. I really think I might be losing my mind.
Because of that I have packed some things and moved out …
Ben felt his insides tighten and he closed his eyes for a moment. No, God! This isn’t happening. Everything has always been perfect between us. Why? Why would she leave me?
As though in response, another Scripture banged about inside his head: In this world you will have trouble, but be of good cheer … I have overcome the—
No. He couldn’t handle this type of trouble, not now. Not with his wife packed and gone to who-knew-where. He opened his eyes and continued reading.
I’m checking myself into Orchards Psychiatric Hospital but I don’t want you to come looking for me. You need to understand that no matter what help I can find for myself, things are over between us. When I am able to think more clearly, I will hire a divorce attorney who will contact you at that time.
Until then, please pray for me. I feel like I’m suffocating in darkness and I know for certain this is my last hope. I love you, Ben. I’m sorry I lied to you about everything. I’m sorry it’s brought us to this. I hope you’ll move on and meet someone else so that one day you can have the life you always dreamed of. And I hope in time you will forgive me.
Love, Maggie
The shock was more than Ben could imagine. A strange tingling sensation made its way down his spine and over the tops of his arms. This can’t be happening; it’s a bad dream, a joke. He felt as though he’d fallen into some sort of strange dream world. There was no way Maggie would leave him and ask him not to follow her! She was a woman of faith, and never in a million nervous breakdowns would she hire an attorney and sue him for divorce. It wasn’t happening.
He moved toward the telephone, working to convince himself the news wasn’t real. Then he called information. “The number for Orchards Psychiatric Hospital, please?” It felt strange hearing himself speak the words. Psychiatric Hospital. When was he going to wake up? Surely Maggie would laugh at him for having such a strange dream.
He dialed the number and waited.
“Orchards, may I help you?”
With his free hand, Ben rubbed his temple and tried to concentrate. “Uh, I’m looking for a patient. Maggie Stovall … was she admitted today?”
There was a pause. “Who’s calling, please? Our patient information is highly confidential.”
Ben felt himself beginning to shake. “This is … I’m her husband. I’m trying to find her.”
The nurse’s tone changed and she seemed almost apologetic when she spoke. “Your wife is a patient here, yes.”
He took two steps backward from the blow, his mind reeling. It was true. His wife was in a psychiatric hospital. Ben paced the bedroom floor, desperately searching for a solution. “What kind of place is Orchards, anyway?” He was buying time, trying to think of a way to ge
t Maggie home where she belonged.
“We’re a private Christian hospital for patients suffering with mental illness.”
Mental illness? Maggie? It wasn’t possible. “All right, when will she be released? This evening? Tomorrow morning?”
The nurse hesitated. “Sir, the inpatient program can last up to two or even three months.”
Ben couldn’t breathe; pain wracked his body as though someone had sucker punched him in the gut. The blow forced him to sit down on the edge of the bed. “Three months?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you put me through to her, please?”
“Your wife is very ill, and I hope you understand what I’m about to say.” She paused again. “I’m afraid she’s requested no contact with you, Mr. Stovall.”
This time the shock of her words sent him to his knees. “What?”
“She has advised us that she will not accept your phone calls, letters, or visits.”
Ben struggled to breathe. God … help me. “She said that?”
“Yes. But understand that her feelings could change once she’s had time to talk with the doctor.”
“Does she … is she in a private room?”
The nurse seemed to consider whether this was information she should share. “Yes, but we have her in a special unit.”
Ben’s head was pounding, and he didn’t know what to say, how to respond. “Special unit? What … what special unit?”
“Suicide watch, Mr. Stovall. I’m sorry.”
Ben hung up the phone and, still on the floor, hunched over his knees.
It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t … but it was. In the last twenty-four hours his wife had caused an accident that could have killed herself and their two foster boys. She’d been hospitalized for a fall that still didn’t make sense. She had lost custody of Casey and Cameron and written him a letter stating in no uncertain terms that she was finished with him and would divorce him soon. She had admitted that somewhere along the course of their life she had lied to him about something, apparently something crucial. And then she’d checked herself into a mental hospital where she was under—of all things—a suicide watch.
A Kingsbury Collection Page 42