by Adam Zorzi
The ER doc and a team took over without so much as acknowledging Big and LouLou and pushed Dan behind a curtain. Big put his hand on LouLou's shoulder and guided her out of the ER toward the concourse they'd bypassed in their rush to get help for Dan. He found a bench and sat. People who weren't dressed as patients mingled around an area under a sign that read ‘Information Booth.’ LouLou approached and asked if they had any bottled water. A bored teenager handed her two lukewarm bottles without looking up.
LouLou sat next to Big. “Here.” She handed him a bottle. “What was that all about?”
Big didn't speak for a while. When he spoke, he looked like it pained him to speak.
“We had to get Dan to the ER. I've seen two people die in the day room because there was no response or a slow response to the panic button. One guy didn't get any attention at all for at least thirty minutes before a transporter came to take him to the ER. He was gone by then. The second was a woman who had a heart attack. A doctor was standing just outside the day room door and didn't rush to do CPR. It's called a Slow Code. The crash team runs a code, but so late that it does no good. She died too.”
“That's…I don't know. Awful. Barbaric. Inhumane,” LouLou stuttered. “How do they get away with it? I know the facility is understaffed, but to just let people die? That's monstrous.”
“Ah, Lou,” said Big as he put his arm around her shoulder. “This happens too often. More than we know.”
He stood and held out his hand to LouLou. “That name—Bella—was what the guards found him mumbling the night he became catatonic. Must be important. What do you think?”
“Bella means pretty in Italian. Might be the name of something he likes that is beautiful or a safe place. Maybe it's his safe word.”
Big patted her hand. “Time for us to go back. I wonder if we were missed.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
Damn. I’ve been moved again. There was a window overlooking a meadow. She opened her eyes completely and looked around. The room was spacious. The furniture wasn't metal and bolted to the floor. It was upholstered in a blue floral pattern. She couldn't be in seclusion. Where was she? Had she been kidnapped? Escaped?
“Good morning, Ms. Fleming. You're in Colonial Mental Health Center. I'll be your nurse for the first shift. Let me get your vitals.” The nurse checked her temperature, pulse, and blood pressure. “Dr. Youzny will be right in.”
Colonial was a private psych hospital. Dr. Youzny was her regular psychiatrist. What was going on? She was curious but not anxious. Dr. Youzny would tell her the truth.
He walked in on the heels of the nurse. “LouLou, you're now completely in my care. You've been transferred from Commonwealth Psychiatric. There's no need for you to be there. Charges have been dropped, so there's no reason for a competency ruling. We're going to focus on recovery at your pace under my supervision. Understand?”
Something huge must have happened to get the charges dropped and a transfer to a private hospital. She nodded.
“How do you feel?”
LouLou took time to think. A little sleepy. Under water. Murky. She wasn't hallucinating and didn't feel anxious. “Better. I feel better.”
“Good. Do you feel up to a talk?”
“Not really, but I don't think that's going to stop you.”
She was tired of talking. She wanted to take her meds and do nothing until the meds were in full force and she could go home. She didn't remember where home was or what she would do when she got there, but the idea was to get well and get out.
He smiled. “You're perceptive, LouLou. Take a shower, get dressed, and I'll be back in an hour. Your mother sent clothes. They're in the dresser, and I believe there's a robe in the closet. “
Her mother? Her parents had never visited her during hospitalization for an episode. Even when she was younger, they'd been advised to wait until LouLou remembered them on her own. Maybe they'd sent things, though. She couldn't remember.
“Yes. I'll see you in about an hour.”
At least she'd look stylish. Her mother had probably been on a shopping spree. LouLou hummed while she showered. The tune was uplifting and made her feel safe. She looked through the clothes. Black cotton slacks. Various acceptable tops. Her blue cashmere cardigan that always made her happy. One long-sleeved dress hanging in the closet. Canvas mocs and gym shoes.
After she showered, got dressed, and styled her hair, she reviewed the room. A nice view of a meadow with snow-covered mountains in the distance. Was the hospital near the Blue Ridge? Her sketchbook and colored pens and charcoals were in the drawer of her nightstand. She found an iPod with a single playlist—Beethoven's last three piano sonatas, orchestral works by Debussy and Ravel, and lots of Sinatra. Dad. He'd selected soothing and familiar pieces.
Exactly one hour later, Dr. Youzny returned. “You look good, LouLou. Have a seat and we'll talk for a bit and then you have visitors.”
She sat on the sofa, and Dr. Youzny settled his straight-backed chair in front of her.
“You're here because an employee at Commonwealth Psychiatric recklessly disregarded your health. Several charges could be brought. If there's a trial, you may have to testify, but Dr. Izari and the Lieutenant Governor assure me that won't be the case. There's no reason for you to relive the trauma.”
The Lieutenant Governor?
“Commonwealth Psychiatric is a state-run hospital, so the Lieutenant Governor was asked to oversee the investigation. Normally, it would be the Commonwealth's Attorney General, but I believe there's some conflict of interest. It's not important.
“What's important is that you move forward with your treatment. I've asked your parents to come. Do you mind if they sit in on our meeting?”
“My parents? Won't it upset them?”
“They don't visit early in treatment because you may not recognize them and become distressed. They've visited you in later stages of hospitalizations at Richmond Memorial Hospital. You look normal, if underweight, and your room is attractive and comfortable. They've said they don't mind. They only want what's best for you. Do you want to see them?”
Tears formed. Yes, she wanted to see her parents. More than anything.
“Yes. Yes, I want to see them.”
Dr. Youzny left for a few minutes, and her parents were with him when he returned. She flew into their arms. “I'm so happy to see you.”
They hugged her individually and soon there were tears in both of her parents’ eyes.
“Please, sit on the sofa. I'll sit between you. I can't believe you're here.” She grabbed the hand of each once they were seated.
“LouLou, you look thin. Do the meds make you nauseated?” her mother asked.
“Yes, but I think the worst has passed. Will you be able to stay for dinner?”
“We'd love to,” her dad said. “It's up to Dr. Youzny.”
Dr. Youzny made some sort of doctorly non-committal noise.
After the small talk, Dr. Youzny prompted her mother to speak.
“LouLou,” her mom said, “we withheld information from you. We thought it didn't matter. It still doesn't matter to your dad and me, but you should know.”
Spit it out, Mom. You're scaring me. What do I need to know?
“Before you were born, I had a miscarriage at seven months followed by a hysterectomy. We were devastated. We waited a year and then adopted you. You were two days old and the most beautiful baby in the world. I've never thought of you as anyone other than my daughter.”
What that crazy aide had said was true? She was adopted? Her parents never told her? Dad would make this right.
“Dad? Am I adopted?” She kept her voice steady.
Tears streamed down his face. “Legally, yes you are. To me, you're my child. My only child, who I love dearly.”
“You never planned to tell me?”
“No,” her dad said.
“Did you buy me?” She hoped she wasn't some black-market baby from who knows where.
“Of cou
rse not. We merely paid a document tax imposed by the French government.”
“Does anyone else know? Am I the only one not in on the secret? My grandparents, Uncle Collin? Aunt Deirdre? Any of your friends?”
“No,” her mother said. “We'd never tell anyone and not tell you. Given that all our family was in the United States, keeping the secret from them was easy. Our Paris friends thought I was on bed rest during my hypothetical pregnancy to prevent another miscarriage. I didn't go out after the early months. When you arrived, it was a joyous time for everyone. Family and friends. But for no one more than your dad and me.”
She was trying to catch up without getting side-tracked on details like how her mother had managed to fake her pregnancy. She had more important questions. She had to wait for them to be clear. Age. That was it. Why not?
“Why are you telling me now? I'm thirty-one years old, not five or six.”
“That awful woman in Petersburg somehow found out. She called to blackmail us. We hung up on her and notified the authorities. Getting no money from us, she told you out of spite.” Her mother was indignant.
“What she said was true?” She was incredulous. That horrible woman's story was true. She did come from a family of crazies. “Mental illness runs rampant in my biological family?”
Her dad spoke quietly. “The fact that you're adopted is true, and your biological father was hospitalized in Commonwealth Psychiatric. We didn't know anything about your mother except that she was beautiful, intelligent, and a gifted pianist studying at the Sorbonne.
“Daniel Ramsay, your biological father, didn't know anything about you until you repeated that woman's story in his presence. He'd no idea he'd fathered a child.”
“What's wrong with High Life? Dan, I mean.”
“Depression,” Dr. Youzny explained. “He was suspected of killing his wife, but charges have been dropped. He had an alibi. The police over-reached. He got worse after he was admitted to Petersburg. He became catatonic after the first night. He's not crazy and not a criminal. He's a man who has had depressive episodes throughout his life.”
“And my biological mother? Did you meet her?”
“Yes,” her mother answered. “She was charming as well as beautiful and brilliant. The adoption agency checked everything about her family history. There was nothing suspicious. Certainly not mental illness.”
“And her suicide?” LouLou looked to her dad, who had been crying. She watched him compose himself as she'd seen him do many times in diplomatic service.
“Dan's attorney gave us a file on your mother. She was quite accomplished, but she committed suicide during the week after 9/11. Her husband had died of cancer the previous year, and she knew hundreds of World Trade Tower victims because of her job. She was a securities attorney so she knew investment bankers and lawyers working in the WTC. She died of grief, not mental illness. She was thirty-one.”
Good. Her biological mother wasn't crazy. Young. Grief-stricken. Poor woman, but not crazy. Dan was iffy.
She tried to process what she was being told, but her mind was blank. There were no rumblings in her stomach or headaches or anything that made her think an episode might be starting.
“LouLou,” Dr. Youzny said, “do you have anything to say?”
“I can't think. I'm surprised. Stunned.”
She sat silently and tried to think. Nothing. She didn't feel anything. Maybe she would later, but she was completely unmoved.
“I don't think it matters. Does it?” She needed some guidance. She looked at Dr. Youzny.
“That's a question only you can answer,” he responded with his typically neutral psychiatrist tone of voice.
She looked at her parents on either side of her. They raised her, loved her to bits, and stood by her throughout her episodes. They encouraged her to be independent even though they must have been scared to death about what could happen to her.
Her schizophrenia could have been inherited, but her biological parents didn't sound like they had the illness. She wasn't going to have children. She wasn't passing any genetic atrocities to anyone. What did it matter?
“I don't think it matters at all.” She reached over and hugged each parent. “You're my parents. I love you. Not Dan and his lover.”
She looked at Dr. Youzny, who offered nothing. “You don't have to decide now if you want to discuss this further. It's often beneficial for adopted children to express emotions arising from being transferred from one family to another.”
“Dr. Youzny, I'm thirty-one years old. I think there's a point where family is complete. My family is a threesome. It's always been that to me. The only way it could expand would be by marriage. So, whatever emotions other adopted children have, I don't feel them. Maybe, if I had learned this at three or four, but not now. My family is in this room.” She looked at her parents. “Can they stay for dinner?”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
LouLou listened to Debussy on her iPod before going to bed. The meds were flowing freely at full strength throughout her body. She'd be discharged soon. She lay back, closed her eyes, and let the soft impressionist sounds flood her mind. A lovely flute solo merged into a violin, then it was joined by a viola, a sensuous cello, and a deep, steady contra bass. The bass drew everything together into a solid foundation.
LouLou replayed the piece just to hear that bass line again. The instrument was under-rated. It wasn't just a standing cello that players sawed to keep time. It required a dexterity equivalent to what was required for a violin. Even more so because the fingerboard was so long. A person had to move quickly and efficiently while simultaneously bringing out nuances of the musical line. Gorgeous. Dark. Like the depths of an ocean.
She opened her eyes. Gregg. Gregg played the contra bass. Her sweet musical genius who loved her with his whole heart. He'd been pushed deep under Sick. She hadn't thought of him since…she didn't know. She thought back to her last memory before waking in Commonwealth Psychiatric.
Denmark. She'd had great success in Denmark playing all six of Gregg's pieces. People roared for more. She improvised a bit and then replayed them. The audience still wanted more, which was how she left them. She was onstage for three hours in Copenhagen. That was perhaps the best night of her musical life.
Did Gregg think she'd abandoned him? Would he be waiting when she returned home? She'd never leave without telling him. She'd never willingly leave Gregg. She wanted as much time with him as he was allowed.
Skylar would've explained that she might have been delayed by illness. Everything came back. Roy and Sara. Skylar. Her loft. Her Richmond life. Gregg. Her entire life disappeared during an episode and stayed away until late in her treatment. She was getting well. Every day thereafter, she had mini-mental status assessments. Did she know her name? Occupation? Where she was? Where she lived? Who was president?
The president question always made her laugh until she realized laughing about it made her sound odd, at best. She knew the president, vice president, members of the cabinet, and the senior senator from every state. She'd learned this almost as soon as she could talk.
Until she was fifteen and the family moved to Washington, her father had been the United States Ambassador to France. He entertained constantly, and her mother taught her to be aware of who she might meet that evening during the cocktail hour before the adults adjourned to the dining room.
She'd enjoyed meeting senators because she could ask them what their states looked like. She wanted to hear firsthand tales of New York, Illinois, and Colorado, where the Aspen Music Festival took place every summer. She wanted to hear about University of Southern California and the Tanglewood Music Festival from the senators representing California and Massachusetts.
Once she taught herself not to get stuck on the president question during the mini-mental status test, she could ace the rest. As the meds worked their magic and she became more alert, she could answer questions about the season, date, time, and day of the week.
LouLou didn't know if these questions were supposed to help her remember, but they never had. One day something would change. A switch would turn on in her brain, and she would remember everything at once. Not bits and pieces. Everything. After tonight, she realized it was December. She may have missed Christmas, but the best present was knowing that she'd be going home soon. She desperately hoped Gregg would be there.
***
Dr. Youzny made their final session difficult. They'd talked about all the usual things—taking her meds, eating properly, exercising, and calling him at the first sign of trouble. Then he raised the topic of her adoption.
“Have you had new insights about being adopted?”
“No.” She hadn't thought of it at all.
“My notes indicate you never mentioned it in group sessions,” he stated.
“Dr. Youzny, I never thought about it after that initial conversation.”
“Are you protecting yourself from disturbing thoughts?” he probed.
LouLou shifted in her chair and looked directly at the psychiatrist. “I've no idea. All I can say is my parents told me, it registered, and I'm getting better. Despite all the time to think here, that's not something I've thought about.”
Dr. Youzny folded his hands flat on his desk. “That's a most unusual reaction, LouLou. For many decades, withholding that information was standard practice. Later, studies showed that the information almost never remained secret and when the adopted child learned the truth, there was a strong adverse reaction. Now, couples who plan on adopting go through considerable training before an adoption is finalized. Parents are encouraged to tell children as soon as they are able to understand so it becomes a normal part of their life experience. Your reaction is in direct opposition to the prevailing custom.”
LouLou didn't know what he wanted her to say. “I didn't know there were rules about how I was supposed to react. I never would've found out except for that awful woman.”