by June Ahern
The warm room became clammier. She’ll appear to be helpful, but she’ll be a force to be reckoned with, an inner voice whispered to Cathy.
Dr. Schmidt dropped heavily onto her burgundy leather chair, causing the air to wheeze out from it. She bent over to her briefcase, snapped it open, took out a folder and began silently reading the top sheet of paper. Her thin lips moved rapidly as she read to herself.
The MacDonalds waited patiently for word of June’s prognosis. At last Dr. Schmidt sat back and touched her fingertips together as though in prayer. Her large eyes stared at them. Like a tiger watching her prey, Cathy thought, recoiling.
Jimmy moved around uncomfortably in his chair. “We’ve had a lot of problems with our daughter,” he said.
“So I understand, Mr. MacDonald. What do you think the problem is?” Dr. Schmidt inquired, her lips pursed.
“I’m afraid, Doctor…I…I just can’t control June anymore,” he gushed.
Cathy thought he’d start bawling right there if the doctor hadn’t asked him how he felt about having no control. Same as you would, Cathy thought.
“Feel? I, well, I think the girl’s not all there, in some ways, I mean,” he answered.
“Let’s get down to the brass tacks here, Mr. and Mrs. MacDonald. We must face the truth. After evaluating June, I have diagnosed her condition. She is a very sick girl.”
The parents gasped. Dr. Schmidt relaxed back in her chair. “I assure you that we have the right drugs to counteract her problems with her hallucinations.”
“It’s her imagination. Her age. She’s almost fourteen. Girls her age, well, I remember how I was,” Cathy interjected hoping to change the doctor’s mind. She wanted only to bring June home where she could make everything better.
A minuscule smile appeared on the doctor’s lips, but her eyes stayed intensely wide. “It’s true girls her age are sometimes irrational. But no, Mrs. MacDonald, this is not simply an overactive teen imagination. Clearly, she is withdrawing. Hearing voices and seeing things no one else does. Thinking she has certain powers. These are delusions of the mind. June is out of touch with reality. According to you, Mr. MacDonald, she blames you and a nun for persecuting her.”
“You said those things about June?” Cathy said accusingly as she turned to face her husband.
Jimmy slouched lower and mumbled, “She always fights me like I’m the bad guy.”
“Mrs. MacDonald, I am an expert in the field of mental illness. Your daughter has the classic symptoms of schizophrenia.” The doctor looked squarely at Cathy.
Furious with her husband’s betrayal and baited to anger by the doctor’s arrogance, Cathy said testily, “Have you ever been wrong with a diagnosis, Doctor?”
Dr. Schmidt’s eyes flickered and her mouth tightened before widening into a controlled smile. “Mrs. MacDonald, I know how hard this must be to accept. But judging from her behavior, no, I am not wrong in my diagnosis.”
“Accept it, Cathy. The doctor knows better than you. June’s no all there. My God woman, she set herself on fire,” said Jimmy, his voice rising.
“She didn’t set herself on fire! It was an accident,” Cathy yelled back.
“You sound very angry, Mrs. MacDonald,” Dr. Schmidt said calmly.
Cathy’s anger grew as fast as Dr. Schmidt’s condescending smile. She looked squarely at her and said, “June is very different. She really does see things, things that others can’t. Not just crazy things. She can tell when someone is not well before others know it. When one of my daughters was very ill, June…”
“She told me she’s a witch, did you know about that?” the doctor said leaning back in her chair and bringing her fingertips together again, tapping them.
“So? There are those who practice witchcraft in our country.” Cathy sat back on her stiff chair and folded her arms across her chest.
“Cathy, that’s bloody stupid,” Jimmy said.
“I happen to know witches in Scotland,” Cathy said ignoring him, as she kept her eyes on the doctor.
“What are you talking about?” Jimmy was looking at his wife as though she was nuts, too.
“Mrs. MacDonald,” the doctor interrupted, “let’s just wait and see how well she does under my supervision. That would be best for all.” She looked at her watch. “I think that’s all we need to talk about at this time. Please see my receptionist for the information on visitation and to schedule another appointment in, shall we say, a week?” She rose, taking some folders from the desk and tucking them under her arm.
“Thank you, Doctor.” Jimmy said, jumping out of his seat and standing aside to let the doctor pass.
You’d think his arse was on fire, Cathy mused to herself. She did not rise from her seat.
Dr. Schmidt passed by so close that her broad hip bumped against Cathy. She paid no attention to the departing doctor and instead focused on bringing June home before the week ended.
* * * * *
Chapter 32
SWIMMING WITH THE MYSTICS
FLAMES LICKED HOTTER at June’s back as she was forced closer to the pyre of wood by a snarling wolf. Baring its fangs, the yellowed-eyed wolf leapt closer, snapping at her hands. She twisted sharply to one side, stepping on a burning log and screaming in pain. The heavy smoke and the rank odor of the wolf’s matted, black fur sickened and frightened her. The sleeves of her dress burst into flames. She beat at them, screaming out for help. An image of a woman manifested behind the wolf. It was her mother, stretching out her hands in a futile attempt to connect with her. The figure of a man appeared. June gasped, seeing it was her father brandishing a burning tree branch at her mother. Terrified, June shrieked, “No, Daddy. Mommy, help!” Her mother retreated, evaporating into shadows.
June became aware of a presence to her right. Quickly, she braved a glance and saw a young woman with waist-length red hair dressed in a dark green and yellow tartan cloak. On her shoulder perched a raven. June’s father dropped the burning branch and disappeared from sight. The wolf cowered low and slunk away when the woman waved a hand high in the air. She lowered her hand and extended it to June, who grasped it. The woman led her to a path hidden between thick fir trees.
The pathway narrowed and descended gradually as June and the woman walked deeper into the woods and moved through the thick foliage. Neither spoke. June felt her energy revitalized as she soaked in the earthly smells and cool air of the forest. The woman’s hands brushed over various plants as though searching for a special one. She stopped at a plant with waxy leaves. In the center of each three-leafed stem was a milky blossom. She chose one with a flower that had begun to bloom. Carefully, she plucked it, inhaled its aroma and tucked it into the tan leather pouch hanging from her waist. June watched quietly.
After a short time, they emerged out of the woods and into an expansive field with golden-yellow daisies scattered amongst the emerald green grass. The woman’s cloak dragged across the daises as she carefully moved across the meadow and down the sloping hill toward a cove. Upon reaching the inlet, they walked to the edge of the deep gray ocean waters. Small waves rolled and curled, unraveling frothy foam at their feet.
A light dewy fog swirled around them. June sank to her knees onto the cool sand and rested in the tranquility of the cove. The woman tossed the robe from her shoulders and lifted her dress, anchoring it in a sash at her waist. Stepping into the water, she bent down and swished her hands back and forth. June watched her. The woman treaded back to the beach, carrying a handful of dripping seaweed. Slowly, she wrapped it around the burns on June’s arm, humming as she worked. The tune was familiar to June. Her mind was too jumbled to recall the title, but she knew her mother used to sing it.
A part of the seaweed fell around the woman’s wrist, linking her together with June. The woman looked at her with gray-blue eyes. The blackness of her pupils was like a mirror in which June saw her own image reflected back. Sleepiness overcame her. Her eyes closed slowly and she fell into a light sleep. Soon she awakened and
heard the woman softly say, “The old way of healing is what you need. It’s best for our kind.” Another voice spoke, “I’ll take care of her, Calleach.”
The Scottish goddess, June thought, in awe.
* * *
June thrashed her body from side to side, trying to get away from the tight gripping around her wrists. She recognized the nasal voice of Dr. Schmidt demanding, “Give me that!”
“Stop! Evil thing!” June spat out. The image of the snapping wolf strong in her mind.
“That’s quite enough, Miss MacDonald.” The doctor ordered.
June felt a sharp burning jab in her arm, followed by a sickening sensation of liquid flowing through her veins.
“I told you, Nurse Morales. When she won’t cooperate and take her medicine, you must give it intravenously,” the doctor said. “Good, now she’s quieting down.”
“No more. Please.” June’s protest was pitifully weak.
Nurse Carla Morales took June’s wrist to feel her pulse. Shaking her head with worry, she felt the young patient’s forehead. Burning heat radiated from it.
“You know she keeps getting fevers with this new medication, Doctor,” the nurse said gravely.
“It can’t be helped. My goal is to stop her hallucinations. If you’re worried about a fever, ice her down,” Dr. Schmidt answered.
The nurse caught June watching her through half-open, watery blue eyes. She tenderly patted the mess of tangled red curls.
“She’s so frightened,” she said, more to herself than the doctor.
Scribbling furiously on June’s chart, Dr. Schmidt said, “I’ve readjusted the dosage again. And this time the voices should stop entirely. That’s what’s scaring this girl. It’s those voices. To her they seem real; the angel, her dead sister, the nun, and God only knows what other annoying characters.”
June babbled a garbled retort in her drug-fogged state. The drugs, flowing through her body made her sick and intensified her visions and dreams. They had become frightening scenarios, ones that she had never seen until she had been in the hospital. Although some visions, like the one she had just experienced, gave her hope she’d be rescued and in the safety of her mother and sisters. She longed for the company of her sisters, but in the four months she had been hospitalized, they rarely came to visit.
The doctor checked her gold watch. “Oh shi…Oops…no potty words,” she said snorting a laugh. Regrouping, she said, “Let’s hurry up here. I’ve got a whole ward to finish and I have a meeting to get to. Chop, chop, Morales. Let’s move it.”
“Water,” croaked June. Her mouth was as dry as though it was stuffed full of cotton balls. A terrible thirst was one of the unfortunate side effects of the medication meant to control her hallucinations.
Nurse Morales poured a glass of water and raised June’s head, clucking, “Here you go, sweetie. We must brush your hair. Your mother’s bringing a special visitor today.”
Gently, she caressed June’s puffy cheeks that came with her weight gain, another side effect of the drugs.
“I don’t recall seeing Mrs. MacDonald’s name on the visitor’s list for today. I certainly did not give permission for a new visitor,” Dr. Schmidt said.
“Well, she’s coming in, whether you saw it or not,” the nurse answered her. “I talked with her an hour ago. And she’s bringing June’s favorite teacher.”
Schmidt’s eyebrows rose as she exclaimed, “Aha! Sister Noel! Another one who encouraged the girl’s hallucinations.”
“We won’t have to worry about hallucinations, not with the new dosage. Shall I say you don’t want the Sister to visit the patient?” Morales asked testily.
“Tell Mrs. MacDonald to schedule something for later. Oh yes. Her hair is a mess. It irritates me. Cut it, Nurse,” the doctor commanded before she whipped out of the room.
“Don’t worry, my little friend, I’ll get them in here.” Nurse Morales began to loosen the straps around the girl’s swollen wrists. “Let’s use your blue barrette. It’ll look nice with your eyes,” she told June merrily.
A hint of a smile crossed June’s dry cracked lips. She knew Dr. Schmidt’s authority did not intimidate Nurse Carla Morales.
On a morning after a strong dose of medicine, June vomited her breakfast. Nurse Morales and an orderly bathed her. They chatted over her as they worked. June delighted in listening to the hospital gossip. It reminded her of the fun times talking with her sisters.
Feisty Morales spouted her distaste for Dr. Schmidt. “In my twenty-odd years in this ward, I’ve never met such a pompous psychiatrist, and I’ve met some doosies. It’s disgusting how she’s drugging this kid.”
“She don’t take kindly to opposition. I’d keep my opinions to myself, if I were you,” the orderly warned.
After that conversation, June trusted Nurse Morales and began to share her visions about the woman in the green cloak. The nurse listened good-naturedly, but didn’t comment.
One day June grabbed Morales’ wrist. “You shouldn’t worry so much about your daughter’s baby. It can’t be stopped. He’s coming soon. He’ll be okay though, even when the doctors say he won’t be. My angel is telling me this. Please believe me. I’m not crazy,” she said before lapsing into a light sleep.
A month later, Nurse Morales confided in June her youngest daughter had gone into early labor. Thankfully, all turned out well. Although puny, the baby boy was a real fighter.
“He’s being watched over by a tiny old witch-like lady who’s like an angel to you. You’ve never met her, but you know her,” June said.
Immediately, Carla Morales knew whom June was referring to. It was surely her great-grandmother. The childhood memories of her family’s life on the farm were painful to recall. She had lost her most precious gift of healing.
Since the age of three, Carla Morales knew she had a healing touch. She readily shared her gift with the ill or injured animals living on the family’s farm. After laying her hands on a sick beast, she would tell her father what to do to help get it better. The animal usually was cured.
Her first human patient was her father who suffered from searing headaches that caused him to lie in bed for hours. He couldn’t work the family’s small farm and the chores mounted up as fast as the bills. With seven children under the age of eight, her mother could only ring her hands in despair. One morning when her father writhed in pain in a darkened bedroom, Carla had a miraculous encounter.
While playing in the barn with a litter of newborn kittens, a brilliant light appeared in front of her. Being an adventurous, strong-willed child, she was not afraid. She put her tiny brown hands into the ray’s warmth. A voice of a woman spoke and told Carla to lay her hands on her father’s head. She did as she was told. When she laid her warm hands on either side of his head he fell into a deep sleep for a full day. The next day after he awoke the headache was gone and never returned. Everyone was glad Papi, as they called him, laughed and joked once again. His wife was happy for his renewed vigor for work. He said it was Carla’s touch that had cured him.
The praise Carla received for curing her father ended when she recounted it was a woman’s voice that had guided her. Her mother reprimanded Carla, telling her to beware, for the voice might be the Devil trying to steal her soul. Frightened by the thought of evil working through her, she pushed the voice away when it came again.
Years later when she was studying to be a nurse, her mother revealed Carla’s gift of healing was connected to her Mexican heritage. Her mother’s grandmother had been a well-respected healer, known as a curandera in Mexico. She had a wide knowledge of herbs and other natural remedies to cure illnesses. She also was a mystic healer who could cast out evil spirits invading the bodies of the sick to restore good health to a person’s mind and heart. That was her true healing force, her mother had said.
Carla had always sensed the voice who spoke to her had been her great-grandmother. When she questioned her mother to why she was warned off accepting the voice her mother said
Papi decided when they arrived in the States for a new life it would best for the family to forget the old ways.
Relieved her healing powers were not evil, Carla prayed to the curandera for guidance. Soon her enthusiasm for the study of the human psyche was ignited. She gravitated toward nursing in the psychiatric ward where she too could help heal the spirits of those with mental pain.
Over the years she had experienced a few uncanny incidents with schizophrenic patients. One patient vividly related a dream Carla had the previous night, while another described Carla’s home in exact detail, room by room. And then there was June’s prediction that Carla would travel to another country where she would meet a woman who would teach her about the healing power of plants and herbs. She listened to June’s prediction, but she was too emotional to speak. She didn’t confirm or deny her young patient’s psychic information. What Carla didn’t reveal was she had often dreamt that she would travel to Mexico to search for a curandera. But she always woke up before finding her.
Carla’s interest in psychiatry led her to continue her education in the field. Her doubts about Dr. Schmidt’s diagnosis of June’s problem were supported by Joseph Campbell’s book, “Hero with a Thousand Faces.” It toppled out of a bookshelf right into her hands as she researched information on mental patients in her library of medical books. Since she was a person who respected the magic of life’s unplanned events, Carla thought it was not a coincidence this book had come to her.
Many years ago when studying psychiatry, she had a favorite passage in Campbell’s book: “The schizophrenic is drowning in the same waters in which the mystic swims with delight.” Carla meditated on the passage. She now had a clearer understanding of what Campbell had written and she trusted her intuition; June was not mentally ill.