"Your new patient refuses to come out of her roam," she said. "I thought you might want to handle it yourself, so I didn't do anything else."
"Yes, you were correct, Ms. Gordon. Thank you. I'll look in on her first thing." I said.
I glanced at Edith and then hurried to the patient housing corridor. Once again, this was in no way a terribly unusual event concerning a new patient or any patient, for that matter. We usually took on only patients who were at least at a basic minimum of normal behavior. They would eat, sleep, participate in some recreation on their own.
I knocked on Grace's door and then stepped into the room. She had the curtains drawn, and as I've already written, it was a rather dark, dismal morning. She was in bed, her blanket drawn to her chin, staring up at the ceiling, not caring about or taking notice of my arrival.
"Good morning. Grace." I said and crossed to the windows to open the curtains and let in whatever light we had. Then I turned on a nightstand lamp. She blinked rapidly before turning toward me. "Still tired?" I asked. "Didn't you sleep well?"
The pills make me sleep. but I don't have any reason to get up," she said.
"Oh, that's not true, not true at all." I told her and pulled up the desk chair. "You have lots of reason to get up and to get well again."
She raised her eyebrows skeptically.
"You have someone waiting for you at home, someone who needs you and will need you for a long time to come," I said.
"He has my mother," she replied.
"It's not the same thing. Grace, You 'claw that better than I do."
"No, I don't. He's better off with my mother." "Is he? Do you really think so?"
She turned away.
"I haven't been doing this all that lang. but I have had the benefit of so many wise and talented doctors under whom I assisted." I continued softly. "If there is anything that is true about all of us, it's that there is a very, very special relationship between a mother and her child. Nothing can substitute for it, and many of the problems I've seen come about because something happens to that relationship. Both the mother and the child need each other. Grace. It's true for the child and his or her father, of course. but I believe and many of my colleagues believe that because a mother carries her child, there's something a little more involved.
"I'm sure you miss Linden terribly already and that's good. Grace. Don't be afraid to admit to that. That's hopeful," I concluded.
She was blinking away new tears as rapidly as they emerged, "I can't be any good to him like this and I'll never be better." "Yes, you will. Sure you will."
"I'm afraid,' she said. "Afraid that I will bring him bad luck, too," Now there you go saying that again. Okay," I said, sitting back with my arms crossed over my chest. "how was it decided that you should be the one to bring bad luck to people. Grace?"
"I don't know."
"Did you do something terrible before you were
born?" I asked. She looked at me. "Of course not." she said. "How could I?"
"Did you do something terrible when you were younger?"
"No."
"Was your father a bad man?"
"No!" she said emphatically.
"Your mother, she did something terrible?"
"No."
"So why were you chosen? Why are you being punished?"
"I don't know."
"I know many people who have suffered great tragedies in their lives, and many of them were involved with me in one way or another. Grace. Why shouldn't I say I'm bad luck to them? I'm cursed?"
She turned away. "I don't know." she muttered.