Dr. Collins only offers a tight smile in response. Did the mention of Rebecca’s name trigger an alarm? I worry I’m being escorted out of the building until he turns down an opposite hallway, guiding me into another wing of the hospital.
“I wish you would’ve called first,” he says as he pulls aside a curtain and gestures for me to go ahead of him. He then inserts a keycard next to a bank of doors, a beep granting us access.
“Why is that?”
“It would’ve saved you the long trip.” He motions for me to enter the first room.
As I go inside, my gaze lands on a shriveled-looking woman curled into a chair. Her aimless gaze stares at the wall, her eyes unseeing.
“Becky has been unresponsive for years,” he continues. “I suppose it’s now referred to as incomplete recovery, but you’ll have to excuse my old habits. I’m still partial to treatment-resistant.”
I can’t tear my gaze away from the withered woman—the woman who, beneath her frailness and deep-set wrinkles, I can discern traces of Grayson’s features. “I’m sorry, but treatment-resistant…?”
“Schizophrenia,” he says bluntly.
The floor suddenly shifts, vanishes. I plummet as an intense free-fall overwhelms my senses, my stomach pitching, until I land back in the moment with a crash.
Everything slams together all at once.
I can feel the doctor watching me. I swallow and turn to face him. “Are you all right, Dr. Noble?” he asks, tilting his head curiously.
“Yes, sorry. Again, must be jetlag.” As a doctor myself, here to speak with this patient, I should already be apprised of her condition. Clearly, Dr. Collins is surprised by my lack of knowledge. And I’m shocked that it wasn’t mentioned in any of the public records I searched.
Floodwaters rush, answers coming at me too fast. The sinking feeling I always sensed near Grayson solved with a blistering clarity. This is what he’s kept hidden.
Taking another chance on the kinship I feel with him, I say, “Dr. Collins, I know this is highly unorthodox, but since I have come all this way, is there any possibility I can have access to her patient files?”
He studies me closely. “It is highly unorthodox, but I’m inclined to allow it.” He glances at Rebecca. “I feel there’s very little harm anyone can cause at this point.”
“Thank you—”
“On the grounds that you’re completely transparent with me,” he says.
A moment of truth. “Her son is my patient.”
Understanding settles in the lines of his face. “I wasn’t aware that she had a son.” He considers something for another long moment, then turns toward a the wall-mounted screen. He goes through a series of actions, where he mutters a curse at technology, then picks up the hand-held phone. “Emily, can you please bring a nurse station to Becky Sullivan’s room?”
I hide my amusement. “Again, thank you, Dr. Collins.”
He checks his watch. “I trust she’ll be in good hands during your visit,” he says, the question implied.
I nod. “Of course.”
“I’ll check back in once I’ve completed my rounds.”
Then I’m alone with Grayson’s mother.
I pull a chair up next to her, fold my hands in my lap. “Hello, Rebecca. Or you like to go by Becky, don’t you?” She remains catatonic. How long do the episodes last? How often?
The door opens, and a woman—I assume Emily—wheels a cart into the room. She goes over the system with me, giving me access to only Rebecca’s files. “When you’re done, just exit out here.” She points to the program on the screen.
I thank her, then get to work, starting with the earliest records. Wearing my psychologist hat, I review Becky’s medical history like a professional. Her behavior over the years, according to her charts, is similar in nature to many suffering from schizophrenia. It was discovered early on, in her adolescent years, as there was an established history of the mental illness. And like so many, Becky went on and off treatment. Finally refusing medication altogether by the age of nineteen.
I evaluate her like a doctor. Understanding her behavior and even her decision to rebuke treatment. But when I set aside my professionalism, I loathe this woman.
On a personal level—because I know and love her son—I want to shake her, demand an answer to why she refused medication, choosing instead to self-medicate. There are numerous ER reports for heroin overdose. The combination of her illness and drugs would make a toxic living environment for a child.
This is proven with the other records, accounts of domestic abuse. Fractures, bruises, broken bones. The charts don’t list a name of a boyfriend, or spouse…there’s no way to determine whether or not Grayson’s biological father was involved. But I can assume, with a hollowed pang in my chest, that Grayson suffered this abuse as well.