Always Watching

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Over the following week, Heather continued to improve, and we moved her to the floor below, where she would have more freedom. Noticing she had no visitors other than Daniel, I asked about her parents, and she said they still hadn’t gotten hold of them. I got the feeling they weren’t trying too hard and that she probably didn’t want them to know what had happened. I’d walked by her room one day when Daniel was visiting and heard them laughing. It made me hopeful that we would be able to stabilize her enough that she could go home and continue to improve on an outpatient basis. Daniel also seemed optimistic, and I told him if she continued to do well, she might be home in a couple of weeks.

On the weekend, I forced myself to take a break from everything and made plans with a friend. I hadn’t had more memories surface that week while working with Heather, but I was still struggling with the suspicion that something could’ve happened to Willow. I needed a distraction. I met up with a friend, a retired psychiatrist, to celebrate my birthday, though I wasn’t much in the mood. We decided to catch a romantic comedy at the movie theatre. Elizabeth’s also widowed, and we joked that it was the closest either of us had come to romance in years. But as I watched the characters fall in love, I had a little ache of loneliness, a remembrance of what it felt like. Then I flashed to Kevin and wondered if he was seeing anyone. That surprised me—was I interested in Kevin? I thought he was intelligent and always enjoyed our conversations. I’d also noticed that I’d started to scan the parking lot for his vehicle in the morning. So maybe I did find him attractive, but I quickly reminded myself, there was too much of an age difference.

My thoughts drifted to Paul, how secure I’d always felt with him. Our relationship hadn’t had the intensity of the ones in my youth—men molded after my father, distant or dominating, usually drinkers—but the sweet comfort of being so connected to another human being you could coexist in harmony, supporting each other while still being your own person. Then I realized that as much as I missed Paul, I also missed being married and wondered if I ever would be again. I shook off the idea. That time was over, and though it was difficult to find pleasure in any aspect of my life when my daughter was on the streets, I tried to remind myself that it was okay to enjoy the good things in my life. I loved my house, my job, and I was blessed with wonderful friends who I could travel with, and—I glanced over at Elizabeth—laugh with at the movies. But it was still hard.

That was another reason I’d decided to work at the hospital—I’d wanted to be part of a team. Private practice can be lonely at times. There’s also a bigger risk of connecting with your patients because you might relate to their issues. There’s less chance of that in a hospital, where you work with people who are more acutely ill. At least that was the plan until I met Heather. But watching her get better reminded me of why I’d gone into psychiatry in the first place. I was profoundly pleased that I was able to have some impact on Heather’s life and believed she had a strong chance of making it.

Then we got news that her parents had been killed.

It was Michelle who phoned me at home that Sunday evening. Daniel had called the unit, saying he had some bad news to tell Heather, and he needed help. I called him back right away.

“They were asleep in their RV when it happened,” he said. “Apparently, fumes from their propane stove had leaked in. A hunter found them—they’d been dead for several days, and he noticed the smell.”

It was a terrible image, their bodies rotting alone in the woods, but without the smell it might have taken days longer.

“The police want me to tell Heather.” Daniel sounded frantic. “Do we have to?”

“She’s in the best place to find out. Would you like me to tell her?”

“I think I should do it—she’d want to hear it from me.” A long pause. “But what if she tries to hurt herself again?”

It was a very real concern and something that had worried me the instant he told me the news. “We’ll put her under close observation and move her back up to PIC, where we can keep an eye on her until she’s over the worst of it. But we shouldn’t tell her tonight. Let’s wait until tomorrow. Try to get some rest.”

“Okay, thanks.” He sighed into the phone. “I just wish I could take away the pain for her.”

“I know.” I felt the same way. I wished I could take away Heather’s pain, and Daniel’s.

In the morning, we met in the visiting area. He was pale and obviously nervous, constantly rubbing his unshaven jaw or running his hands through his hair, his whole body keyed up. He met my eyes and said, “This is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Would you like me to be with you when you tell her?”

“Thanks, but I think I should do it alone.”

“I’ll be close by in case you need help.” I held his gaze. “I know you’re scared, but she’ll get through this, okay?”

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Okay.”

The nurses had already placed Heather in one of the interview rooms, and she thought she was waiting for our morning session. When we walked in, she was reading a book, sitting cross-legged on the chair, her feet tucked under her jeans-clad legs. The book was a course guide for the university. She was making plans for her future—a future we were about to turn upside down.

She looked up with a smile. “Daniel! I didn’t know you were coming in.”

Daniel sat in the chair beside her and held her hands. He tried to smile back at her, but his lips were tight, his eyes sad. She searched my face, then Daniel’s. She said, “What’s wrong?”

I said, “Daniel would like to speak with you. I’ll leave you two alone.”

Just as I sat nearby at the nurses’ station, where I could observe on one of the monitors, Daniel leaned close to Heather. I couldn’t hear anything, but his face was gentle, and I could tell that he was explaining what had happened.

Heather’s body rocked backward, her hands across her mouth, which was opened in a silent scream.

Daniel was still talking, his hand on her shoulder. He was obviously trying to comfort her, but right now Heather wasn’t able to absorb anything. She was just shaking her head back and forth, trying to block him out. Daniel pulled her in for a hug. She pushed him away, then pressed her hands against her ears.

Daniel looked up at the camera in the corner, his face helpless.

I knocked on the door and walked in. Heather turned to me, her expression beseeching. “They’re dead?”

“I’m very sorry, Heather.”

“Maybe it wasn’t them. Maybe it’s a mistake.”

“The police are positive, or they wouldn’t have notified Daniel,” I said.

She stared at me for a moment as my words sank in, then she started to sob, in loud, choking gasps. She doubled over, clutching her stomach. Daniel rubbed her back while I handed her the Kleenex.

When her sobs had finally eased, and she was sitting back up, I said, “I know you’re hurting right now, and this must be very overwhelming, but we’re going to support you through this. You’re not alone.” I explained that her parents would want her to focus on her treatment and reassured her again that she would have help through this difficult time. Then I left them alone for a while and got the nurse to give Heather some Ativan. When I came back, Heather was still sitting beside Daniel and holding his hand, the occasional shiver vibrating her body. She looked like a storm had swept through her: tear tracks down her face, hair half pulled out of its ponytail, the expression in her eyes dark and empty.

I said, “How can I help you, Heather?”

She looked up at me. “It’s too late. They were right. If you leave the commune, everything falls apart.” Her voice was so sure and calm, almost prophetic. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. This wasn’t good. She sounded like she was giving up. Something I didn’t want to see happen.

Echoing my thoughts, Daniel said, “It’s not too late. You’re going to keep getting better, and we’re going to have a wonderful life together.” He bit out the last words, not angry, but desperate to convince her, to cement her in this world.

I said, “I understand that it feels like things are stacked against you right now, but you can get through this. It will just take some time—”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Her voice was flat, resigned. “The baby, my parents. They all died after I left.” She rubbed at her arms.

Did she think she was being punished? I said, “You haven’t done anything wrong, Heather. What happened to your parents isn’t your fault.”

She just kept shaking her head and repeating, “They were right.”

I waited for a moment. Beside her, Daniel was also silent, his body rigid and his face concerned, but she didn’t say anything else. I was still worried, but it was obvious she wasn’t going to share anything further, so I moved on. “Your parents’ death was a terrible tragedy, but you will get through this. We’re going to put you in another room, okay? It’s closer to the nurses’ station.” I’d wanted to put her back up in PIC, but all the beds were taken. Each floor had a seclusion room, though, so she’d still be on camera and closely monitored. “If you have any thoughts about hurting yourself, I want you to tell somebody.”

She nodded, but her expression was bleak, her chest heaving with the occasional sob. Daniel sat with her until the Ativan started to work, and I finished my rounds. By the time Daniel left, and the nurses moved her into the seclusion room, she was calmer, though still shell-shocked, her face pale and her eyes vacant. While I made my notes on the charts, the nurses kept a close eye on her, and I peeked in again before I left for Mental Health. She was curled into a tight ball, sleeping. The next day, the nurses told me she’d slept fitfully for most of the day, waking up crying and wanting to talk, which meant she was at least processing her emotions. But she’d become upset and agitated when Daniel arrived later, sobbing that he was going to die next, so the nurses had given her another dose of Ativan.

When I met Heather in the interview room the next morning, I said, “You had a bad blow yesterday. How can I help you? Is there anything you need?”

Her voice hollow, she said, “I still can’t believe they’re dead. I hadn’t talked to them for months. The last time…” She caught her breath, started to cry. “The last time I spoke to my dad, he was mad at me for getting married when they were away. I hung up on him. I didn’t even say good-bye.”

She began to sob again, big, painful gasps that shook her whole body. It was hard to watch without crying myself, especially when I remembered Lisa and Paul. Toward the end of his life, Paul had shrunk to a shadow of himself. It had been awful seeing him like that, and Lisa and I usually left the hospital in tears. The day Paul died, Lisa hadn’t wanted to come up to the hospital. I’d let her go to a friend’s, thinking it would be good for her to have a break. Paul took a turn for the worse and died in my arms. When I told Lisa, she screamed, “I never got to say good-bye!”

I forced my mind back to the present.

“It’s natural to think of things you could’ve done differently, but this isn’t your fault, Heather. Your parents would want you to be happy. The best thing you can do for them now is to continue with your care plan and live a good life.”

“I always thought that my dad would be proud of me one day, once I got myself together, you know? That’s why I was starting to feel better last week. I was thinking that I could go back to school, maybe for design, get a good job, and show my dad that I was married to this amazing husband. Now there’s no point.”

“Those are still great goals, Heather. Continue doing them for yourself.”

She shook her head. “There’s no point. I’m never going to be happy.”

“I know it feels like that right now, but trust me, you will feel happiness again in your life, and things will get better. You just have to give it some time.”

She stared at her feet, her eyes filling with tears. “I don’t care if it gets better. I just don’t ever want to feel like this again.”

The rest of the session I worked on reassuring her that the pain would pass, but she was still despondent and wanted to go back to bed. Sleep was probably the best thing for her right now, so I didn’t push her to engage too much. The next day she was sad, but not as lethargic and depressed as she was when she’d first entered the hospital. She’d been in the ward for more than three weeks at that point and was on the full dose of Effexor, which seemed to be helping her cope. When I asked if she’d been having any thoughts of hurting herself, she said no, even repeating it while she looked me in the eye. That was a good sign.

Over the next couple of days, they kept a close eye on her at the hospital. I was off for the weekend, but I called in and asked about her a couple of times, relieved to hear that she was managing. Though she was obviously grieving about her parents, she was willing to come out on the floor and watch TV with the other patients, and three days after we’d given her the bad news, she participated in one of Kevin’s meditation groups. I ran into him out in the hall at lunch on Monday.

He said, “I was happy to see Heather made it to my group today.” Along with MMPI testing, which is figuring out personality types, as well as IQ testing, Kevin also worked with anxiety groups and did some “one-to-one” counseling.

“Yes, the poor thing’s been through a lot.”

“I’d say, but she’s processing her feelings well.”

I was glad for the validation, and my shoulders unknotted. I didn’t realize until that moment just how worried I had been about her. “You think so?”

“We talked after group, and she thanked me, said it helped.”

“That’s wonderful!”

When I saw Heather the following morning, she was still lethargic and speaking slowly, but she told me that Daniel was going to bring some vacation brochures that afternoon because they’d never had a honeymoon.

I said, “That’s exciting. Maybe you can put up some photos of where you’d like to go on your trip and things you’d like to do, like a vision board.”

“Maybe.” She met my eyes. “You’re a good doctor.”

Surprised by the comment, I said, “Thanks.”

I waited for her to explain, but she didn’t say anything else. I asked a few more questions: How was she managing? Was there anything she needed? Anything she wanted to talk about? Had she any thoughts about hurting herself?

She stared at her feet and just kept answering “No” to everything, so we finished the session there. She was grieving, but in proportion to her recent loss, and I was hopeful that in time the supportive environment of the hospital would bring her back to where she was before. Then we could continue her treatment so she could go home and finally take that honeymoon with her husband. When I said good-bye, I added, “I’m going to want a postcard from your trip.”

She smiled wistfully and gave me a little wave.