October 23, 2011
Saturday morning started with an early call into Dr. Wreck’s office and talking with the on call neurologist. She sounded nervous, possibly because I was very open about my anger with Dr. Wreck and her obvious lack of interest in my daughter, her patient. She was polite enough but offered no advice at all, only an assurance that she would speak with Dr. Wreck Monday morning.
I also called Dr. Southland, the neurologist that we’d met for the first time days earlier but his partner answered. I explained to her what had been happening with Gabriela. She promised that if I brought Gabriela into the ER at Huntington Hospital she and psychiatry would work as a team and together they would figure it out.
I had to coax Gabriela into the car by getting a McDonald’s breakfast for her. Once we got breakfast, I explained to Gabriela that I thought it would be a good idea for us to go to Huntington Hospital, just to get her checked out. Last night, I continued, I knew she was delusional and that what had happened to her on Topamax was happening again. This time however, it seemed to be much worse. Gabriela listened and agreed she needed to get help.
When we arrived at Huntington Hospital, we got out of the car at valet parking. Gabriela was helped into a wheelchair. The orderly began to wheel her into ER and I walked alongside carrying a lock box of medications and a binder of her entire medical history. The orderly stopped and explained that there was something on the wheelchair that was catching against the pavement as it moved. He explained that he needed to get a replacement chair but that it would only take a few minutes.
When he returned with the new wheelchair, Gabriela looked at it with hesitation; she was no longer interested in going into the hospital. She insisted that we go to the front entrance because they were coming to meet her there.
I asked the guards for help getting her inside the ER. The answer was, No, she was an adult; they couldn’t force her to get help. Everyone that had observed her outside knew she wasn’t okay, they knew I was right, and that she needed help. The only offer of help was to call the police.
Gabriela was frantic, running back and forth in the parking lot looking for the main entrance. I ran behind her carrying the binder of records and lock box of medications. Finally, I convinced her that we were at the main entrance, so she sat on the bench next to the security guards station.
That’s when the police officer finally arrived, swagger and all. He strutted up to me and asked who I was? He listened, disinterested, and asked, “Is she suicidal? Has she threatened you?” The answer to both questions was no. “Well then, there’s nothing I can do,” he said as he stood, feet apart, knees locked, and arms crossed in front of his chest. That was it, he turned to walk away.
“But I just need you to help me get her into the ER.”
He stopped, and snapped his head around, lowered his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose. “I told you, there is nothing I can do.” He walked away.
The security guard sat next to Gabriela on the bench. She was crying, he spoke gently to her, asking if he could help her inside, telling her that if she went in by herself she could leave anytime she wanted. That the doctors there were very good and that they could help her figure things out. She cried, she was listening but she was confused, and she was sure someone was coming to pick her up.
Next came the hospital social worker, who explained to me that if Gabriela would just ask for help they would be able to put her on a hold. The social worker couldn’t get her to ask for help, not even once.
I felt so defeated. Here we were sitting just a few yards from the entrance, and not the police nor the guard nor the social worker nor her Mother could get Gabriela into the building, where help was waiting.
Gabriela looked exhausted, worn down, desperate to meet whoever it was that was going to be at the main entrance. I was desperately trying to get her into the ER.
The valet retrieved our car and helped Gabriela into her seat, telling her to come back anytime, that they were there to help, and closed her door. We drove home. She cried most of the way.
I searched my mind for any ideas, I had none.
It seemed that as the sun set our day would just begin. When I sent a message to Susan to let her know what was going on with Gabriela, she decided to cut her trip short and start back home from Washington. I knew at least I was going to have some help.
Gabriela was very emotional that evening, crying, then giggling, then crying. She tried to watch a movie with me. I noticed that she was having quiet conversations so I started videotaping her; I needed to keep some record of what was happening.
Again she didn’t sleep much at all that night, maybe an hour or so. She organized her room until about five in the morning.
I decided to sleep downstairs on the sofa, next to the front door … I was afraid she would leave the house in the middle of the night.
.