Chevy Stevens: The Other Side

I said, “Would you be more comfortable just talking to me?”

She gave a small nod as she worried a corner of her bandage with her teeth. Again, I was struck with the image of a wild animal trying to escape its bindings. I glanced at Michelle, signaling that it was okay for her to leave.

Michelle smiled at Heather.

“I’ll check on you later, honey. See if you need anything.”

I liked Michelle’s warmth with the patients, had noticed it before. She’d often sit and talk with them, even on her breaks. When the door closed behind her, I turned back to my patient.

“Can you tell me how old you are, Heather?”

She slowly said, “Thirty-five,” as she looked around, starting to become more aware of where she was. I saw the room through her eyes and felt bad for her: the small plastic window in the heavy metal door, the Plexiglas cover on the window with scratch marks down it like someone had tried to claw their way out—which someone had.

“And your name?” I said.

“Heather Duncan…” She shook her head, catching herself, but the movement was sluggish, delayed. “Simeon. My name now, it’s Simeon.”

I smiled. “Did you get married recently?”

“Yes.” Not yeah or uh-huh, but yes. She was educated, brought up to speak clearly. Her gaze focused on the heavy metal door. “Daniel… is he here?”

“He’s here, but I’d like to talk with you first. How long have you and Daniel been married?”

“Six months.”

“What do you do for a living, Heather?”

“I don’t do anything now, but I used to work in the store. We take care of the earth.”

I noticed her shift to present tense.

“Are you a landscaper?”

“It’s our job to tend and keep the land.”

I felt an uncomfortable flutter in my stomach about the phrase. It sounded familiar, and she’d also said it like she was reciting an expression she’d heard many times. She was repeating it, not speaking for herself.

“I heard you had a bad night,” I said. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”

“I don’t want to be here.”

“You’re in the hospital because you’ve been certified under the Mental Health Act. You tried to hurt yourself, and we don’t want that to happen again, so we’re going to help you get better.”

She pulled herself up into a sitting position, and I noticed how thin her arms were as she braced on the mattress, the veins popping. Her arms shook as if the effort of holding up her body up was exhausting.

“I just wanted it all to stop.” Her eyes filled with tears that weaved down her face, dripped off her nose. One landed on her arm. She stared at it as though she had no idea how it got there.

“What did you want to stop?”

“The bad thoughts. My baby—” Her voice caught and she flinched, gritting her teeth as though something had stabbed her deep inside.

“You had a miscarriage, Heather?” According to her file, she’d lost the baby a week ago, but I wanted to see if she would tell me more about it herself.

Another tear slid down and dropped onto her arm.

“I was three months along. I started bleeding…” She took a breath and let it out slowly through clenched teeth.

I paused, a beat of silence in honor of what she’d just told me, then said, very gently, “I’m sorry, Heather. That must have been very painful for you. It’s normal to have feelings of depression after losing a child, but we can help you manage your feelings so they aren’t so overwhelming. Your file said your doctor prescribed Effexor last year. Are you still taking it?”

“No.”

“When did you stop?”

“When I met Daniel.” I caught the slightly defensive tone and knew she felt guilty that she’d stopped taking the pills, ashamed that she needed them. People with depression often stop their medication when they fall in love, the endorphins creating their own natural antidepressant. Then real life kicks in.

“The first thing I’d like to do is put you back on the antidepressant.” My voice was casual: This isn’t a big deal. You’re okay. “We’ll start you off on a low dose and see how you do. Your file mentioned that you also went through a hard time a few years ago.” Her previous two suicide attempts had been with pills. She’d been found at the last second in each case, but now that Heather had progressed to more violent means, she might not be so lucky next time.

“You were referred to a psychologist. Are you still seeing him?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t like him. Daniel, is he okay?”

“The nurses said he stayed here all night and only went home this morning to get some of your things. He’s back in the waiting area now.”

Heather frowned, her face worried. “He must be so tired.”

“I’m sure Daniel just wants you to get well. We’re here to help with that.”

Fresh tears made her eyes seem even bluer, like sapphires set in diamonds. She was so pale you could see every vein in her neck, but she was still hauntingly pretty. People often assume that beautiful people have no reason to be unhappy. It’s usually the complete opposite.

“I want Daniel,” she said. Her eyelids had begun to droop, the effort of talking draining what little energy she had left.

“I’m going to speak to him first, then we’ll see if we can arrange a little visit.” I wanted to get a sense of what kind of emotional shape he was in, so he didn’t make the situation worse.

“They can’t find me in here.” She said the words to the room as though she’d forgotten I was there and was just reassuring herself.

“Who are you afraid is going to find you?”

“I want them to leave us alone, but they just keep calling and calling.” She picked at her cuticles as she spoke, tearing at a small piece of flesh.

“Is someone bothering you?” Her file hadn’t said anything about paranoia or hallucinations, but psychosis is sometimes possible with severe depression, which Heather was clearly suffering from. But if she was also having problems with some people in her life, we needed to know about it.

She started to worry the bandage with her teeth again.

I said, “This is a safe environment—it’s a place for you to get better. We can bar anyone you don’t want to visit, and there’s a security guard on the floor at all times. No one can get to you.” If there was a real threat, I wanted to make sure Heather felt secure enough to tell me what was going on. If it was just paranoia, she still needed to feel protected, so we could begin to treat her.

“I’m not going back.” The last part was said as though she was warning herself. “They can’t make me.”

“Who can’t make you?”

She forced her eyes open, met mine with a flash of confused alarm. I could see her wondering what she’d just told me. Fear, and something else, something I couldn’t name yet, rolled off her body in thick waves, pressing into me. I fought the sudden urge to step back.

“I need to see Daniel.” Her head lolled forward, and her chin dropped onto her chest. “I’m so tired.”

“Why don’t you get some rest while I talk to your husband.”

She curled up under the blue blanket in the fetal position, her face to the wall, shaking even though the room was warm.

Her voice now barely a whisper, she said, “He sees everything.”

I paused at the door. “Who sees everything, Heather?”

She just pulled the blanket over her face.

When I walked into the visiting area, a tall man with dark hair leaped to his feet. Even unshaven, with shadows under his eyes and a rumpled dress shirt hanging outside faded jeans, Daniel was an attractive man. He was probably in his mid-forties, judging by the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth, but I had a feeling he was one of those men who grow even more handsome with age. Their child would have been lovely. I felt a wave of sorrow for them.