Elephant in the Sky

by Heather A. Clark

  I nodded, grateful to hear Dr. Aldridge’s recommendation. I had been anxiously hoping she would say that, and had been prepared to beg her to switch Nate’s meds if she wasn’t instantly willing. The side effects and the hurricane of high-strung emotion and poor judgement that surrounded his refusal to take the drugs was tearing us apart. And it wasn’t just Nate who was having a bad reaction.

  “If Nate is struggling with the Risperidone, I think we should switch him to a drug called Aripiprazole. Like any medication, side effects can occur, but it’s usually well tolerated. And if side effects do occur, in most cases they are minor and either require no treatment or can easily be treated.”

  “What type of side effects?” Pete asked.

  “The side effects that sometimes occur with Aripiprazole are similar to the ones that are associated with Risperidone. Most commonly, it’s headache, drowsiness or insomnia, fatigue, nausea, and restlessness. But Nate’s risk of getting any one of these side effects is less than thirty percent, and metabolically it’s quite good. I think it’s our next best bet.”

  Pete and I nodded. We needed to get Nate away from the Risperidone.

  “Now, how about you two?” Dr. Aldridge asked sympathetically. “How are you doing? Are you hanging in there?”

  I didn’t respond. I clutched the Kleenex I’d been holding since I’d walked into her office. Out of my peripheral vision, I could see that Pete was staring straight ahead with a blank look on his face. He didn’t answer Dr. Aldridge’s question either.

  “Ashley? Pete? What’s going on? It’s important that you talk to me about how you’re feeling and what’s going on with your family. It’s a crucial step in Nate’s recovery.”

  I waited for Pete to answer. I wanted him to tell Dr. Aldridge all that had happened when he tried to physically force our son to take his meds. It was his wrongdoing. It should be his confession.

  “Did something happen?” Dr. Aldridge asked gently. She looked patiently at us over her smooth mahogany desk, which was bare except for a few perfectly organized piles of paper. Behind her sat a framed photo of her beautiful smiling family. She had two children of her own, who looked slightly younger than Nate.

  “You could say that,” I answered, giving in to my need to talk. Pete and I hadn’t spoken since the conflict that morning, and my need to confront the issue was overwhelming.

  “I’d like to hear from both of you about this, but why don’t you start, Ashley?” Dr. Aldridge suggested.

  I told Dr. Aldridge everything. As I recounted the story, I became more heated in my gestures and concern, and knew that I was practically accusing Pete of abusing his son by the time I was finished. It was completely unfair of me, but the floodgates to my pent-up raw emotions had been opened and there was no stopping them.

  I waited for Pete to jump in and defend himself, but he didn’t. Instead, he sat still as stone beside me, and said nothing.

  “Pete? Do you have anything to add? I’d like to hear your thoughts as well,” Dr. Aldridge coaxed gently.

  “No. Ashley pretty much covered it. I did all that,” Pete said quietly, looking down. He looked so sad. “And I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt Nate. I would never, ever hurt him. I was just so scared that he wasn’t taking his medication. I need him to take his meds.”

  Dr. Aldridge nodded compassionately. “I can understand that.”

  “But I don’t know what happened there. Ashley is right. I didn’t handle it well at all. And I hate myself for it. I want my son to trust me, and now he won’t.” Pete wouldn’t look at me while he spoke, but I could see his face had turned white.

  “Dealing with all of this is very complicated for everyone, I’m afraid.” Dr. Aldridge smiled warmly across her desk. “I know that your intentions were good this morning. And I understand that you want your son to take his meds so that he can be better. There’s nothing wrong with that. You are both wonderful parents. I’ve seen that in you since the day I met you. But you’re also human. And dealing with a complicated, emotionally charged situation.”

  “But I … but I forced him to. Literally.”

  “Did he take the medication?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then that part of the story is good. Because Nate does need to keep taking them to get better. Sometimes, as parents, we need to do things our children don’t like. In a tough situation, we need to prioritize what’s best for them. You knew Nate needed to take his meds, and you had run out of options. I’m not saying that what you did is the best way to get Nate to take his meds, but it was what you knew to do in that moment. Moving forward, we can work together on better strategies for getting him to keep taking his medication. Ashley is also right in that Nate will only get better in an environment that’s filled with trust and security.”

  Listening to Dr. Aldridge, Pete looked very small and frail. I could tell that he didn’t want to be let off the hook so easily.

  “Pete,” I began.

  “No, please Ash, let me start.” For the first time since we’d entered Dr. Aldridge’s office, my husband looked at me. “I feel horrible about what I did this morning. And I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what else to do, and my fear took over.”

  I reached for his hand and squeezed. “I know. And it’s okay. I don’t know what to do with all of this either.”

  “Nate’s just started to make so much progress lately. He can’t go back there. We can’t go back there. And all of the research I’ve looked at … all of the information Dr. Aldridge has given us to read, and anything else I can get my hands on … it all supports the fact that this disease is one that won’t impact a person’s ability to function normally in society — as long as they take their meds. It all comes down to that. And if he doesn’t take them, I know it will destroy our family. So he needs to take them. For himself, and for all of us.”

  I nodded, and was somewhat surprised to hear him talk about reading so much information on Nate’s disease. I couldn’t remember the last time Pete had read an article or book to help our children. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but normally I was the big reader, the one constantly shoving articles at him on raising children. Pete’s research showed me in a big way how much he cared about what was going on.

  Dr. Aldridge jumped into the conversation. “You’re right, Pete. Nate does need to take his meds. It will be easier once we’ve found the best ones for him, but you have to realize this could be a lifelong battle, even when he’s taking the right drugs.

  “I’ve seen so many reasons why people don’t take their meds. In Nate’s case, and in so many others, it’s the side effects that make them want to stop. But then there will be other things as well. Like when he feels better, and is convinced he’s ‘normal’ and doesn’t need them. Or when he becomes a teenager and struggles with his independence, and views his medication as a leash from you to him. A leash that he wants to rid himself of.”

  Dr. Aldridge’s words made sense, but they made me feel sick to my stomach. I hadn’t gotten past the side effects to realize the umpteen dozen other reasons that Nate might want to stop taking his meds.

  “We’ll work on all of this together, and take it as it comes. We never stop with the ‘one day at a time’ around here,” Dr. Aldridge said to us, her voice softening. “Nate’s a great kid. And you are wonderful parents. I’ll work with both of you on the different strategies for keeping him on track. So he sticks with his recovery plan. And so he takes his meds. Not only for him, as you said, but also for you and Grace.”

  “What about today? What if he doesn’t take them when we go home?” Pete asked. I could tell how anxious he was about living through another night of Nate refusing to take his pills.

  “Why don’t we all go and see Nate right now? He should be done his art therapy, and I’ll spend some time with him to explain why the new meds will be better. Through all of our time together, I’ve gotten
to know Nate quite well, and I’m confident I can get him to take his new meds before you leave here. Does that sound good?”

  “Yes, definitely,” Pete answered, his voice mirroring the relief I felt.

  As we followed Dr. Aldridge down the hall to the elevator, I took Pete’s hand and gave it three small squeezes. It was something we had done at work earlier when we were newlyweds and wanted to communicate something between just the two of us, and others were in the room.

  Pete turned to look into my eyes. His were warm and compassionate. Mine welled. When our gaze broke and he pulled me in to kiss my forehead, I knew he wasn’t upset with me for what I had told Dr. Aldridge.

  The elevator arrived, shaking us from our moment. We stepped onto it, still hand in hand, to go and start over with our son.

  54

  At five-thirty I turned off my alarm and walked across our bedroom to the shower. It was Tuesday morning, the day after Nate’s first day at Henry Lewis, and my first full day back at work. I was already dreading leaving my son.

  I stepped into the shower and let the hot spray hit my face, thinking of my day ahead. Jack and my other colleagues were still unaware of what had taken me from work for so long, and I was nervous about what questions I’d get when I returned. I’d been in a few times since Nate had gone into the hospital, but had always managed to dodge any questions thrown my way.

  “Why don’t you just tell them?” Pete asked me when I came home from my first meeting with Jack. Jack had grilled me on what was keeping me away from work, practically demanding that I tell him everything. But I’d stuck to my position of it being a private family crisis about which I didn’t want to share details.

  “I don’t know,” I’d responded simply. And I didn’t. It wasn’t that I was embarrassed about Nate or what he was going through, but every instinct in my gut was forcing me to protect my son. To keep him safe from a world of judgement and stigma.

  But I knew more questions would come that day. And at some point, the world would find out about Nate’s illness. Whatever he was ultimately diagnosed with, it wasn’t going to go away.

  “You ready?” Pete asked sleepily when I emerged from our closet dressed for a full day at the office. It had been only about a month since I’d been away from work, yet I suddenly felt like I was wearing someone else’s clothes. And as though I was going to someone else’s job. Because mine wasn’t in advertising anymore — it was taking care of my son.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I responded miserably. My heart felt differently, but my brain was kicking reasonable logic into play. Nate’s drugs were expensive, and without benefits through my work, we wouldn’t be able to afford them.

  “Put your chin up, Ash,” Pete said, pulling me in for a hug. “I know how tough it is for you to leave Nate. But he’s doing great. He had a successful day at Henry Lewis yesterday, and seemed to really love it. And the Aripiprazole seems to be really working. He’s adjusting well with no side effects. And he seems more and more like the Nate we used to know.”

  I nodded, wiping away a tear. Pete was right. I was ecstatic that Nate was doing so well, but I still didn’t want to leave him. Nate might be ready for it, but I certainly wasn’t.

  “Plus you love your job. Don’t you miss it?”

  I snorted. “Miss what? The crazy late nights followed by seven o’clock breakfast meetings? Or perhaps it’s the stress and anxiety that’s so entrenched in every project I take on? Yeah, that’s got to be it. Who wouldn’t miss that?”

  Pete smiled at me, tucking a lose strand of hair behind my ear. “Sweetie, the stress comes part and parcel with the thrill you experience every time you land the next big account. And the anxiety you feel comes directly before the excitement I see in your eyes when you burn the midnight oil only to finally come up with the perfect creative design.”

  I listened as my husband pointed out all of the things I loved about my job. I was surprised he had picked up on them; he wasn’t usually a man for noticing details.

  “Do you know how I can always tell when you’ve thought of the most amazing idea for one of your clients? You come home humming that song by Bob Marley, ‘Three Little Birds.’ You might not realize it, but on your best days at work you come home and hum it all night long.”

  “I do?” I chuckled outwardly.

  “Yes. And I have to tell you, I hear it a lot.” Pete smiled again, bringing me in for a hug. “It might not feel like it right now because of all that we just went through, but you wouldn’t be you without your job. You love it too much. It makes you happy. And we all need you to be happy as much as we need Nate to be happy.”

  I wiped away tears, taking in what he was telling me. “I want to believe that. I really do. But trying to stay on top of my job with all that’s been going on at home hasn’t been fun. Or easy for that matter. And the whole work thing has started to feel, well, forced or something. Like I have to be there instead of want to be there.”

  “Try not to overthink it, Ash. Just take it day by day and we’ll see what happens.”

  “One day at a time?” I asked with a half smile, referencing the advice we’d been given repeatedly.

  “Exactly. Focus only on getting through today. It’s your Day One that matters right now. That’s it. You can worry about Day Two tomorrow.”

  I sighed, thinking that Pete was right. I had to at least try to get through one day.

  “And don’t worry about Nate at all. I’ll be at the school all day again, and he’s honestly doing great. And that school is fantastic! You told me yourself you loved everyone you met there yesterday, and so did I. And we can’t forget about Nate’s new friend there, Adam. I’ve never seen him so happy about meeting someone new.”

  “Yeah,” I responded, smiling warmly. The two boys had both started at the school the day before, and I had talked to his mother, Olivia, for a long time when they were doing their play therapy assessment with the nurse. Olivia told me Adam had been diagnosed with Tourette Syndrome, and had been having a tough time adjusting in a regular classroom after his diagnosis.

  “I’m so glad Nate seems to have found someone so quickly.” I glanced at the clock on my bedside table and took a deep breath. I had to go if I was going to have some breakfast with the kids. “It’s now or never. My first meeting is at nine.”

  When Pete and I got downstairs, Grace and Nate were sitting side by side, eating Cheerios. Nate looked up and grinned through his mouthful of cereal. It was the first truly genuine smile I’d seen since he had gotten home.

  “Good morning,” I said to both of them.

  “Do I get to go to my new school again today?” Nate asked eagerly. “My new friend Adam said he wants to play superheroes again. We did that with one of the nurses. I was Batman. So can I go again? Please?”

  “You bet, champ,” Pete replied, tousling Nate’s hair. “I’m going to drive you there right after I drop Grace off.”

  “Awesome!” Nate fist-pumped the air and returned to his cereal. His appetite had returned alongside his newfound zest for school. The twitching had stopped and he was no longer nauseated or dizzy.

  I made some toast and we sat at the table eating breakfast as a family. Pete handed me the business section of the paper, which I pretended to read while keeping my ears tuned into the conversation between my children. Grace was teasing Nate about how quickly his room had become a mess since returning home, and he was bugging her about spending too much time on the phone. Through their bickering, my heart soared. Life suddenly seemed normal again.

  “Aren’t you going to be late?” Pete said, nudging me. I glanced at the clock.

  “I guess.” I hesitated. I didn’t want to leave my family moment.

  “Sweetie, we’ll be here when you get back. We’ll have a nice steak dinner tonight, okay? Now, go kick some advertising butt.”

  55

  Nate
/>   Dad comes with me to the same room I was in yesterday. I look for Adam but he is not there.

  “Where is Adam, Dad?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure, champ. We’ll keep an eye out for him, though. He should be here soon.”

  “Nate?” A lady wearing a bright green shirt walks over. “I’m Miss Monica, one of the teachers here at Henry Lewis. We’re going to be doing some music this morning. Does that sound like fun to you?”

  I stare at the teacher. I blink at her. I like music, but I feel nervous. I don’t want to be laughed at by mean kids again. What if they want me to do something I can’t do? What if they make fun of me?

  Miss Monica continues talking to me. “We’re going to play on the xylophone today. Do you know what a xylophone is?”

  I nod. I played with one in my music class last year. I learned how to play “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” I can play it really, really fast.

  “I can play some stuff,” I volunteer slowly. I like Miss Monica. She seems nice.

  “That’s wonderful!” Miss Monica replies. She smiles at me. She takes my hand and leads me down the hall, which has lots of colourful paintings. I can tell they were done by kids. Some of them are good. Others are just scribbles. My favourite one is of a thunderstorm. There is a big bolt of yellow lightning. I am going to paint one just like it.

  I want to point out the paintings that I like to my dad. I look around to try to find him, but he is not there.

  “Where did my dad go?” I ask Miss Monica.

  “He is going to wait in the parents’ room. He will be right around the corner if you need him. For our music class, it will be just you and me. But I promise we’re going to have lots of fun. Does that sound okay to you?”

  I shrug. I want Dad to stay with me. I want Mom too, but she told me she had to go to work again. Then I remember my friend. “Do I get to play with Adam?”