More Than Us

by Dawn Barker

  ‘So, how’s school been going?’ Paul asked the kids.

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Tilly. ‘I’m running in the interschool cross-country next week. Only the top ten of the year got in.’

  ‘You were in the top ten?’ he said, grinning. ‘That’s fantastic!’

  ‘She ran so well,’ I added.

  ‘It was raining so hard, Dad, you should have seen it, everyone was like mud monsters by the end of it, but now we have to train three times a week.’

  ‘Well done, I’m sorry I missed it.’

  I heard the regret in his voice.

  ‘How about you, Cam? How’s rugby going?’

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘We’ve won a couple and drawn a couple, but we haven’t lost for a few weeks.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see you play this weekend.’

  Cameron nodded.

  ‘And how’s school?’ Paul prodded. I held my breath; Cameron glanced at me and realised that I hadn’t said anything to his dad. I saw him relax a little.

  ‘You know, just the same. Too much homework.’

  Paul smiled and they continued chatting away. Maybe Cameron was a bit better from the tablets. He seemed more chatty and relaxed than I’d seen for a while, or was that just because Paul was home? I also felt more relaxed than I had in weeks.

  ‘So, have you decided what you’re going to have to eat?’ I asked as the waiter approached with our drinks.

  ‘Ummm… meat lovers,’ Cameron said.

  ‘Tilly?’

  ‘I’m not that hungry.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. You had running this morning and you have hockey tomorrow before school, you need to eat a big dinner.’

  ‘Small margherita, then.’

  ‘Please…’ I said, raising my eyebrows.

  ‘Please,’ she snapped.

  I ignored her and ran my finger down the menu. ‘What to have, what to have… What are you having, Paul?’

  He looked up at the waiter. ‘Do you have gluten-free dough?’

  I turned to look at him. Gluten-free?

  The waiter shook his head. I could only imagine what he was thinking.

  ‘Okay, I’ll just have the Caprese salad, please, with the cheese on the side.’

  I frowned, then smiled a little too broadly at the waiter. ‘Spaghetti vongole for me. And we’ll have a margherita, a meat lovers, both small, and some garlic bread too.’

  When the waiter left, I cocked my head as I looked at Paul.

  ‘I told you I’ve made some changes,’ he said, defensively.

  I smiled. ‘Remember what you used to say about people on gluten-free diets?’

  He didn’t smile back. ‘Things have changed.’

  I hesitated, then nodded. If he wasn’t gambling away every cent we had, what right did I have to complain?

  * * *

  Later, after the kids were asleep, we both lay in bed looking at the ceiling.

  ‘How was it in there?’ I said.

  ‘It was good,’ he said. ‘I learned a lot.’

  I nodded, waiting. He said nothing. The anger that I’d suppressed all through dinner flared up. ‘Is that all you’re going to say?’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Well, what did you do in there? What treatment did you do? What has changed? What have you learned?’

  ‘Not now, Emily. I’m just glad to be home. I’m tired.’

  I clenched my jaw. ‘I’ve been pretty tired too, Paul.’

  He turned his head to look at me. ‘I’m sorry. You’ve done a great job.’

  ‘Don’t condescend me,’ I hissed, propping myself up on one shoulder. ‘You owe me an explanation, Paul. I need to know what on earth was going on in there, and what the hell went on before that. I’m trying to be supportive, you know, I didn’t say a word when you left, when I’ve been managing everything here with the kids and the house and work, worried sick about money and the kids and you.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, blinking hard.

  I sighed, lying back down. ‘I just can’t believe that anyone thinks that it’s okay to lock a husband and father away from their family, like a prison. I can’t believe that you think it’s acceptable…’ My voice broke. ‘Why didn’t you contact us, to let us know how you were? I tried you almost every day. I called your phone, I sent messages, I called the centre, I called Damian.’

  He sighed, sounding exasperated. ‘Don’t blame Damian. He’s the only one who’s helped me.’

  My heart sped up. ‘The only one who has help you? Are you serious?’

  ‘Oh, Emily, I didn’t mean that. You have done so much. It’s just that I don’t want to upset him.’

  ‘But it’s fine to upset me?’

  ‘Emily, you’re putting words in my mouth. I’m exhausted and feeling overwhelmed and so glad to see you and the kids. I’ve missed you so much. I’ll explain more, but not right now. I just want to be here with you now and get used to being home. I’m… I’m scared of what happened and I need to process it and take it slowly. I need you, Emily. Please don’t be angry with me. I’m sorry.’

  He reached over and touched my shoulder. Hot tears spilled from my eyes and I tensed as he pulled me towards him, but let him. As I lay my head on his chest, crying quietly, I wished I could laugh with the joy of having him back but, really, I wanted to scream with the anger I held towards him, and the fear of what would happen now.

  Nineteen

  Emily

  Even at the higher dose, the medication didn’t give Cameron a headache, or nausea, or make him agitated, or suicidal. Nothing happened.

  I took him back to the psychiatrist for a review, and she increased it again, but still, after another month, there was no change. Dr Davidson tried to do some therapy with him, but eventually, she told me that he wasn’t ‘engaging’ with her. He wasn’t trying, but whether it was because he wasn’t able to, or just didn’t want to, I didn’t know.

  ‘I’m starting to think that maybe there’s more to this,’ she said to me one day, while Cameron was in the waiting room playing on my phone.

  ‘Okay…’ I said, stomach clenching.

  ‘The problem is that I can’t get through to him psychologically, with therapy. He’s difficult to connect with…’

  Yes, I wanted to say. That’s what I’ve been saying since he was a baby.

  ‘I note that he doesn’t seem to be able to concentrate very long, and the school psychologist called me during the week to discuss how they’ve noticed at school he’s still very distracted. I’m wondering about revisiting the idea of using some medication for his attention and concentration.’

  I nodded. I would agree to anything at this point. ‘Yes, if you think… I just need something to change. To see him like this… he’s impossible at home, I ask him to get ready and I find him staring out the window with one sock on, and his grades are getting worse, especially this year.’ I pursed my lips and exhaled slowly.

  ‘I do think he’s still anxious, and that’s one thing that’s really blocking him. But I don’t know how much of that anxiety is because he can’t focus and plan and organise and he knows he’s falling behind as the demands of school increase. He’s trying to juggle multiple subjects and homework tasks, classrooms to get to, and because of his long-standing social issues, he’s trying to manage that too. He’s a unique, complex young man but I think if we can target one part of that complexity by addressing his ADHD, then it should have a flow on effect onto his worries and his self-esteem,. Being a fourteen-year-old boy is complicated.’

  ‘Yes. I agree. What medication are you thinking of? I don’t know much about them.’ That wasn’t true, of course. I knew pretty much everything about psychiatric medications in kids. I’d spent enough time on the internet, reading blogs and forums and health websites.

  I thought about Paul, the way he’d react. I didn’t know why I hadn’t told him yet about Cameron’s medication or even the fact he was seeing a psychiatrist. I was struck by a fe
eling of loneliness that I hadn’t felt, or allowed myself to feel, since he’d left. I longed to have someone to talk to about this. Once, on a trip to Singapore for a physiotherapy conference, I remember strolling through the Botanical Gardens on my own, aware of how beautiful they were, but feeling disconnected, like I was looking at a photograph on the wall because I had no one to share it with. Just as I wanted to share that with Paul, I wanted to share this decision, to talk about the pros and the cons and have someone back me up. But Paul had been busy, distant. I couldn’t talk to him about this.

  Dr Davidson smiled, cocking her head to the side sympathetically. ‘I do need to go through the side effects with you – there are a few that are common, but manageable, and others that are rare but potentially serious.’

  She explained that he’d probably lose his appetite and might not gain weight or grow, but that she’d monitor that. He might get more anxious, and that was one of her biggest concerns, given that he already was anxious. And there are rare but serious ‘events’ of psychosis or heart problems.

  I thought of Paul; I knew what he’d say. There would be no discussion, and for as long as I could remember, he had had the final say. And now, well, it was even less likely. I blinked hard. He had proven that when he took charge of the decisions for our family, we almost lost everything. I was the one coming here with Cameron, and if there was nothing wrong with him, then a psychiatrist wouldn’t be telling him to take medication.

  ‘Okay, I’m happy to try them.’

  ‘You don’t have to decide today: it’s something you might want to talk through with your husband? Cameron told me he’s back,’ she said gently.

  I sat up straight. I nodded. ‘He’s been back for a while now.’

  ‘It would be good to meet Paul, answer any questions he has.’

  I shook my head. ‘He finds it hard to get time off work. But I’ll talk to him, of course, and to Cameron. But my feeling is that we must try. We can just try, can’t we? Then if this medication doesn’t work, we could stop it?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. Look, why don’t I give you the prescription today and you can think about it. Call me if you have any other questions, and I’ll give you some information to take home with you to read. I’ll talk about it now with Cameron too, and let’s review it in a few weeks at our next appointment.’

  I sighed, then reached down for my handbag. ‘Sounds great. Thank you, doctor, I really appreciate everything you’re doing to try and help us.’

  ‘That’s why I’m here,’ she smiled.

  Outside, Cameron looked up from the phone in the waiting room, then stood up. ‘My turn?’

  I nodded, then as he walked past me, I put my arm around his shoulders and gave him a hug. ‘Your turn. I’ll be right here.’

  * * *

  A few weeks later, I waved at Ceecee as I swung the car round into a spot parallel to the beach. I took some cash out of my purse and tucked it into the pocket of my yoga pants, then hid my purse in the glove compartment. I grabbed my cap from the passenger seat, hurried out and locked the car behind me.

  ‘Sorry,’ I called as I approached her.

  ‘Don’t apologise,’ Ceecee said. ‘I’ve only just arrived myself. Cameron?’

  I laughed. ‘Not this time. He’s been, better… It was Paul this time.’

  ‘Oh God,’ she laughed. ‘Which way do you want to walk?’

  I pointed south. ‘Less people this way.’

  We set off at a brisk pace. When Paul was away, I had spent every ounce of my energy, if it could be weighed like an ingredient, trying to keep the kids and myself afloat. Now he was back, and even though he spent most of his time at work, or at his nightly meetings and contemplations, I needed to make time for myself again. I’d been swallowing down my protests every time he went out to a ‘meeting’; he wasn’t gambling, and I couldn’t complain about him going to work, or his treatment. We had money coming in steadily, even though it was never enough. He was healthy, he wasn’t drinking, he wasn’t going out all night, he looked amazing. But underneath such a dramatic change, I felt uneasy about how much of himself had been lost in that transition too.

  ‘How are things with you?’ I asked, and listened as Ceecee told me about her patients, and her kids. I smiled and sympathised until she asked me how things were with me.

  ‘Have you heard anything from Will about Cameron at school?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘But maybe that’s a good thing?’

  I looked at her and nodded. ‘He’s doing well,’ I said, then laughed. ‘I should explain that: he’s still difficult, he’s still rigid, but he can focus now, he’s doing better at school, according to the teachers, and that means he’s happier.’

  ‘The medication?’

  ‘Yep, has to be. Look, don’t get me wrong, I still think there’s more to it all, but for now, things have improved.’

  ‘Paul’s back too,’ she said gently.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I know that makes me less stressed and I know that means that we’re all more settled, but he was like this before Paul…’ My voice trailed off as we both jumped at the sound of a bicycle bell behind us. We moved over to the left. ‘I don’t know why they can’t go on the road.’ I shook my head.

  ‘Have you told Paul yet?’

  ‘About the medication?’

  ‘Yes, the medication!’ she laughed.

  I looked at her, then shook my head. I’d been meaning to tell him, but I just never seemed to get the chance, and it seemed easier to avoid that conversation.

  She raised her eyebrows.

  ‘I know, I know. I will. It’s just that he won’t even let the kids have a fizzy drink any more, never mind stimulant drugs!’

  We both laughed, but I was uneasy. I needed to tell him.

  ‘How is he, anyway?’

  ‘Good, good,’ I said brightly. ‘He’s not gambling, he’s working hard, he’s not drinking, he’s not eating meat…’

  ‘Wowsers,’ she laughed. ‘Sounds like he’s given up all the good stuff.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s a bit weird. I mean, I can’t complain, right? How many times did I nag him about drinking too much? But I don’t know, I just wish that maybe he wouldn’t gamble but could still be himself. He’s not letting the kids watch the TV when he’s home, and when we eat together it’s all this healthy stuff.’

  Ceecee laughed. ‘That’s what we’re all meant to be doing, isn’t it?’

  I forced myself to laugh. ‘You’re right.’

  But when I thought back to how the kids had jumped when they heard his car in the driveway, and ran to turn the TV off, and how Cameron had asked me if he could sneak in a burger when I picked him up from school so that his father wouldn’t know, I felt apprehensive.

  ‘Anyway, he’s off caffeine too. Which means I need a double shot when we finish this walk.’

  ‘Let’s make it a triple,’ she said. ‘Let’s walk faster so we get to the coffee and muffin sooner.

  * * *

  The auditorium was full of parents and siblings and grandparents, chattering. Tilly was so excited about the dance show, after hours and hours of rehearsals and costumes and hair and make-up. I had tried to help her this afternoon with her stage make-up, drawing wings on her eyes and using a brush to get the red lipstick on her. Paul and Cameron had stayed out of our way, playing Yahtzee in the front room. I had dropped her off a couple of hours ago to get ready for the show, and now, here we were to watch her. I felt restless, wondering if she was nervous backstage, if she’d eaten the snacks I had given her and gone to the loo. And I was also restless because since my walk this morning with Ceecee, I knew that I had to tell Paul about Cameron seeing a psychiatrist and his medication. He deserved to know.

  ‘Looking forward to this?’ I smiled at Paul as he squeezed past an older couple – grandparents, I assumed – and took his seat next to me. He raised his eyebrows. He waved at some of the other parents he knew a few rows behind us.

  ‘Maybe you
should have stayed home with Cameron.’ Cameron had jumped at the chance to stay home and I knew he’d have whipped out his iPad as soon as the car had driven off.

  He laughed. ‘Yes, I think I’ll probably wish I had as soon as this starts. Modern dance is not my thing…’

  ‘She’s doing jazz and hip-hop too,’ I said with a smile. ‘Not just contemporary.’ I sat down and arranged my jacket over my lap. I settled in the chair, waved at a few other people then spoke, casually. ‘Cameron seems good recently, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah, he does,’ he said, flicking through the programme. ‘They both do.’

  ‘He really struggled when you were away,’ I said. I wanted to tell myself to be quiet, to not go any further, to leave it. Why was I talking about it now? But I had started and I had to keep going.

  ‘It was hard for us all,’ Paul said.

  I put my arm on his. ‘Oh sweetie, I know. I didn’t mean that. It’s just that, when you were gone, he really struggled, and the school called me in again because there was a huge incident when he got violent, and, well, they said I had to take him for some help, to a doctor, a psychiatrist.’

  ‘What?’ he swivelled round to look at me, then glanced around him and spoke quietly, his eyes accusing. ‘And you’re telling me now, here?’

  ‘Ssh, Paul. I’m sorry, you’re right, this isn’t the right place.’ What was I thinking? Telling him here? But I knew exactly what I was thinking: that I could quickly tell him, and he wouldn’t be able to get angry because all these people were around to protect me and soon the curtains would open and the lights would dim and we wouldn’t be able to talk about it at all. ‘It’s not a big deal.’

  ‘It is a big deal!’ he hissed. ‘I have spent months learning about myself, and one thing I’ve learned is that our behaviour is not something that can be fixed by going to see so-called specialists, when all they want to do is hand out pills. Do you know what that shit does to your brain? Tell me you haven’t—’