Liv Unravelled

by Donna Bishop

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m here to see Ross Edwards?”

  The nurse runs her pen down a list on the clipboard attached to the desk.

  “He’s on the secure ward. If you wait in the lounge I’ll get someone to bring him out.”

  She doesn’t recognize him at first. He’s following a male nurse down the hall toward her, moving reluctantly, his head down and face turned to the side as if he doesn’t want to see where he’s going. His arms are slack at his side. The baggy green hospital robe hangs loosely from his narrow shoulders. He’s emaciated — only his face looks fuller, kind of puffy and pasty.

  She rises and goes to him, unsure whether to hug him or not. He hasn’t seen her yet, she doesn’t think. The nurse sees her coming. “Mrs. Edwards?”

  “Yes,” she says.

  Fortunately, the nurse seems to know this is an awkward moment. He reaches for Ross’ arm.

  “Hey Mr. Edwards, it’s your lucky day. Your wife is here to see you.”

  Ross gives her a brief, surprised glance. Then he makes a huffing sound — air escaping quickly through his lips.

  “How about we go to the visiting room,” the nurse suggests. Liv nods gratefully, and he guides them to a small room down the hall with two hard chairs in it and an oil painting of a sailing ship on a stormy sea hanging crooked on the far wall. The nurse withdraws to stand just outside the open door.

  “Welcome to my nightmare,” Ross says, still not making eye contact. “I didn’t know if you would come.”

  “Of course I came,” she says lamely. She’d considered not coming — who would blame her, considering all the things he had done? But the illness is the demon here. She has to keep remembering that and give him a chance.

  “I brought you some cigarettes and some black licorice.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Is there anything else you’d like me to bring?”

  “Well, you could ask Nurse Ratchit if she could spare some Fiorinal for this goddamn headache.”

  “You’re still suffering with them? I was hoping…”

  With an ice-blue glare, Ross interrupts, “That they’d make me better? Not likely. This is really just a holding pen. They dope you up so their job is easier.”

  “Oh, Ross. You know they’re trying to help you.” She has been hoping he’d be contrite and apologetic, willing to go through this step so he can return to his life, and to hers.

  He seems to consider her words and is about to argue. Then he gives her a sheepish sideways look and one of his closed little smiles and, for the first time in months, she sees a trace of the Ross she remembers, just for a flash — the clever, erudite professor with the knowing smile and mischief in his eyes.

  And in that deep, rich, radio DJ voice that used to be able to convince her of anything, he says, “Oh Liv, my beautiful and brilliant wife, I’m not trying to be a hardass. I’m sorry about all of this. Can’t seem to help myself. I know they want to help me. I’m just not sure they can.”

  This is true, she can tell.

  Liv realizes she’s used to talking to Ross when he has a drink in his hand and a smoke to his lips — it seems weird for him to have neither. She asks him if he wants to go for a smoke, and he says yes. Of course, it’s a big production — it’s minus ten degrees and windy outside, so the nurse has to get Ross a jacket and then accompany them to a breezy outdoor corridor. They sit on a frigid cement bench and Ross smokes three cigarettes in succession while they attempt to talk.

  “Everything okay with the kids?”

  “Yeah. They’re loving the snow, of course. And looking forward to Christmas break.” Liv takes off her mitts and fumbles in her handbag, “Leah sent you this card she made. Don’t you love her rendition of us as snow people? She even put a cigarette in your mouth.”

  He asks about Ruby. Liv describes her burrowing in the snow and coming up with a snowball on her nose. He laughs fondly.

  When she leaves, they hug awkwardly. She doesn’t turn back to see if he’s watching her.

  She makes the drive every second day, an hour each way, often arriving in a state of nerves because of the snowy, icy conditions. During these drives she thinks largely about her marriage and how to minimize the damage to her children, but also about her therapy with Celeste.

  After one particularly bad visit, when she tried to start conversations but Ross sat and stared at her for twenty minutes without saying a word, she spent the drive home reviewing the gifts in her recent past life explorations. I know I need to start over like Hannah had to do. In some ways it would’ve been so much easier if Ross had died, then I could just grieve the loss and eventually get over it.

  Even if by some miracle Ross and I stay together, I’m not the same person and our relationship will have to be completely different. Moragh’s courage and wisdom and Veda’s belief in standing up for what’s right are part of me now. Ross may or may not be accepting of the new me — that is, if he ever gets well enough to know or care about who I am or how I’ve changed. Or, maybe I won’t like him as a sober, saner person?

  She brings him treats to brighten his days — homemade oatmeal raisin cookies, shoestring potato chips and the obligatory cigarettes. She tells him anecdotes about the kids, the animals, their neighbours. Sometimes he’s warm to her and speaks of the future, as if trying to keep her invested in him. He tells amusing stories about the other “crazies” on the ward — presenting himself as compassionate and caring and wanting to do what he can to help. At other times, he accuses Liv of colluding to lock him up, implying that it’s somehow her fault he ended up in this “prison,” as he calls it. He refers to the nurses and doctors as “wardens” and “guards” and then he winks and says, “Yes, I know. Just kidding,” when they correct him.

  He either seems exhausted and depressed and on the verge of tears, or angry and agitated. If Liv’s guard is down or she stays too long, she feels at times like she’s bipolar by proxy, with his moods tied directly to hers. One visit is taken up entirely by him trying to convince her to sneak him out.

  There are other days when he’s unable to speak at all and just curls into himself, actually dozing while she’s there, not even interested when she suggests they go outside so he can smoke. On one such occasion, one of the nurses tells her Ross has been belligerent and has been given a sedative to calm him down. The front of his pajama bottoms is wet with urine. He has drool running from his mouth, down one side of his chin. In a snippy voice, the nurse tells her he kicked one of the guards who tried to restrain him.

  Liv feels like throwing up when she sees Ross in this state. He’s not getting well at all…he’s getting worse. She desperately wants him and the medication to do the work and get him well, but she doesn’t blame him for not buying into this kind of treatment. On the drive home that day, Liv turns on the radio and hears Stevie Nicks’s smoky, sage voice singing Landslide. She can relate to the lyrics.

  I took my love and I took it down

  Climbed a mountain then I turned around

  And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills

  Well the landslide brought me down

  I’ve been afraid of changin’

  Cause I built my life around you

  But time makes you bolder

  Children get older

  And I’m getting older too…

  Finally, after a few days of relative calm, the psychiatrist suggests she bring the kids in for a visit. They’re shy and weirded-out, especially Molly who can’t meet her Dad’s eyes and won’t give him a hug. Ross takes them to the games room and shows them how to play pool, which they think is pretty cool. He gets them each a can of pop and a package of Smarties — things they’re rarely allowed — out of the vending machine. Soon, outgoing Micah has made friends with a pool playing young schizophrenic guy named Josh. Leah is telling her dad all about Ruby’s escapades and Molly is munching on shoestring potato chips, smiling in spite of herself.

  They all hug Ross sp
ontaneously when it’s time to say goodbye. Liv finds it kind of heartbreaking to see how easily the children can be won over with treats and a bit of attention. Yet she suspects each of them is holding their real feelings inside, just as she is. They arm-punch each other and argue about ridiculous things most of the way home in the car.

  Liv begins to participate in support classes for families of people with bipolar disorder. She finds it fascinating and also more than a bit embarrassing that it took her so long to figure out that Ross is mentally ill. Now she recognizes he’s shown signs of bipolar disorder since the beginning of their relationship.

  The counsellor tells her that people with the disorder have a good chance of recovery if they get on and stay on the medication, stay off alcohol, have family support and attend counselling. Without that support, the odds go down to pretty much zero for having a happy life, successful relationships or a career. She decides the least she can do is provide support, as it seems to be integral to success. She and the kids are his only family — Ross’ parents died several years before.

  Admittedly, she feels a bit of pressure from the other shiningly optimistic participants in the group, who, unlike her, have not been pondering a break with their mentally ill loved one. She feels guilty and isn’t sure at all about trying to make the marriage work. In fact, she’s pretty sure it’s over. But if he’s willing to do his part, the least she can do is stay in it long enough to help him get well. It seems like the right thing to do.

  Meanwhile, though, Ross has become a bit of a problem on the ward. He’s been cheeking his medications and avoiding therapy sessions, usually citing migraines as the reason. In his charismatic, college professor way, he’s been able to round up audiences and hold court with the other patients and even some of the nurses, many of whom have been his students in past years. They seem to be especially intrigued by him. Liv can’t help but wonder if he’s had sex with any of them, more out of curiosity than jealousy.

  Liv arrives at Celeste’s one frigid but clear day, just before Christmas, after one of her journeys into the city.

  “I don’t have long — the kids will be getting home soon. I just had to talk.”

  “Come on in.” Celeste motions her into the living room and Liv gratefully relaxes into the sofa that has been her vehicle for so many forays into her soul’s past.

  “Ross went on a wild escapade last night. According to the doctor, he incited some of his fellow patients to leave the hospital without permission during the evening shift change. They wound up at a strip bar downtown. Ross somehow produced a credit card and bought booze for everyone.”

  “That won’t do much good for his recovery,” Celeste says, shaking her head sadly. “Or your bank account.”

  “When the ward clerk discovered they were missing she called the police, who had no trouble locating them, of course, since they were wearing pyjamas and hospital ID bracelets. They’d had time to down lots of beer and possibly some cocaine. When the paddy wagon brought them back to the hospital, it was discovered they had one extra passenger — Ross thought it would be hilarious to bring his new friend Tiffany, an exotic dancer clad in a gold-sequined mermaid gown, along for the ride. She was apparently game to perform for ‘the inmates’, but instead the RCMP escorted her home.”

  They can’t help but chuckle, imagining the scene. “Man, I live a sheltered life here in Little Mountain,” Celeste laughed.

  “Anyway, Dr. Vindloo was not impressed — it kind of seems like he’s giving up on trying to help Ross. He’s clearly not trying to help himself and he refuses to engage in any of the programs. He said he’ll let him stay to finish the assessment time required by the law for the sake of community safety and for the kids and me — his loving, supportive wife — which I don’t know if I am anymore.

  “From the classes I’ve been taking, it sounds like I’ve been the worst enabler there ever was. The other spouses in the group can’t believe I’ve never really held Ross accountable for anything. When I think of how I rushed around like a madwoman every day, making everything perfect so he’d be happy and relaxed when he got home. Never questioning his decisions, even when they affected me and the kids. Like a 1950s housewife. I’m not that person anymore!”

  “You did what you knew how to do, Liv. You did what you learned to do as a child survivor of abuse and addicted parents. And besides, you’ve also learned you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”

  Liv’s next few hospital visits are even more difficult. Ross is agitated, pacing with frantic energy one day and weepy and paranoid the next. Sitting with him out in the smoking area one afternoon, she tries, somewhat awkwardly, to reach out to him.

  “It must be so hard for you, being away from your work, your home and us. I was going to ask Dr. Vindaloo if you can have a Christmas pass — come home for a few days?”

  “Is that the best you can do, Liv? Maybe you better take some more of those classes to see how to deal with mental patients!”

  She stares at him in shock, her lips trembling.

  “Well, don’t think you need to feel sorry for this sicko. You put me in here and you want me in here. Fuck off.”

  Liv leaves quickly and phones Dr.Vindloo when she gets home. She asks him why Ross is so angry, and why the medications aren’t working for him. Dr. Vindloo tells her it’s time for a family conference and books one for the following day.

  Ross enters the room looking both sheepish and agitated. His demeanor is that of a schoolboy being hauled into the principals’ office — eyes downcast and shuffling feet — but his fists and mouth are clenched as if he’s preparing to defend himself.

  Ross remains in the doorway of the doctor’s office, hands pushing against the frame in a display of strength and launches into an oration of sorts. He declares that he doesn’t need treatment and will not take the medication any more. His behaviour immediately confirms Dr. Vindloo’s suspicion that he’s been hiding his medication.

  Ross moves in front of Liv’s chair, bends forward and dramatically takes her hands in his.

  “Kahlil Gibran explains it better than I ever could.” And then, drawing on his steel-trap memory, he recites an entire poem, dropping Liv’s hands and pacing the room as he speaks.

  Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.

  And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises

  was oftentimes filled with your tears.

  And how else can it be?

  The deeper that sorrow carves into your being,

  the more joy you can contain.

  Is not the cup that holds your wine

  the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?

  And is not the lute that soothes your spirit

  the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

  When you are joyous, look deep into your heart

  and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow

  that is giving you joy.

  When you are sorrowful look again in your heart,

  and you shall see that in truth you are weeping

  for that which has been your delight.

  Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow,"

  and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."

  But I say unto you, they are inseparable.

  Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board,

  remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

  Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.

  Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.

  When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver,

  needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

  As he finishes, he goes down on one knee before Liv and looks straight into her eyes, his own narrowing to slits.

  In a low and raspy voice, he tells her, “Their pills make me bland. I have no joy and no sorrow — I am an empty, boring shell of a person.”

  Dr. Vind
loo takes issue with this — the poet, Gibran, is from his country, so he knows the poem well. He feels Ross is missing the whole point.

  “By choosing your illness over the treatment of it, you are relinquishing your chance to experience the real ups and downs of life, as well as what you yourself describe to all as your greatest joys — your wife and children.

  “Your highs and lows, as an untreated bipolar person, are based on delusions and distorted thinking,” the doctor explains. “They are not the real joys and sorrows that life can bring. It’s my opinion that you’re making a wrong decision, but I cannot keep you against your will — at least until the next time you break the law.”

  Dr. Vindloo takes Liv aside and genuinely apologizes for the outcome, saying he’s “never met a more brilliant, or less insightful, person,” in all his years of work. With that, he ushers her back into the examining room where Ross is waiting, looking pale, nervous, wired. His hair has come undone from his pony tail and it hangs in his face. He rushes to her.

  “I want you to stay with me, Liv. You know I love you and the kids, but I cannot and will not take the medicine or stay in treatment. I’ll try to lay off the alcohol and drugs, but that’s the best I can do. I can’t be less than who I am, and that’s what the Lithium and anti-psychotics do to me. They make me feel numb and dull. They make me drool, Liv! My hands shake so much I can’t even sign my name. I get piss on the toilet seat and the floor, because I can’t even hold my pecker still!"

  Ross stands facing Liv and gently places his two hands on her cheeks, cradling her face, “I love you so much, Liv. I do, and I don’t blame you if you choose to leave me. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me and I’ve hurt you badly, I know that. I’ll try to control it, though, if you stay. I’ll try so hard to fight it.”

  Both of them crying, they embrace. The psychiatrist discreetly leaves the room.

  Wrapped in his arms, Liv can feel the taught, almost electrical disharmony in his body. And yet, against her will, she stirs to him, still drawn to his energy. For just a moment, she sees past his disheveled appearance and chaotic mind and is transported back in time to the attractive, charismatic man she fell in love with. She snaps to, consciously pushing away her indecision, her empathy, their history and then speaks in a quiet, cracking voice.