November 12, 2011
On the drive home that evening I let Gabriela’s father know the events of the day. At this moment there had been no negativity between us, we were both fully focused on Gabriela. Cody had not seen Gabriela at Henry Mayo, nor had he seen her yet at Huntington. When I described that day and how Gabriela had stopped eating and drinking and wasn’t speaking, all he had said was, “Oh my God! Oh my God!”
He wanted to talk with Gabriela, so I gave him the number for the nurses’ station. It didn’t take long before he called back and said, “She wouldn’t talk to me.” I told him that it was okay, I had been with her for six hours and she hadn’t talk to me either. He was confused, and he felt no one was doing anything. We both just wanted it fixed.
After talking with Cody, I drove and thought, what if this was the way it was going to be for Gabriela for the rest of her life? What if she never got better? What if it wasn’t the AED’s? After all, Dr. Southland didn’t think it was, neither did Dr. Wreck, and Dr. Duncan had told me that visual hallucinations were “organic.” What if this was it? I knew my daughter well enough to know that living the rest of her life like she was that day was not an option for her.
That drive was a time for me to think uninterrupted. I considered the events of the day, and I planned for the next. I got mentally organized and I allowed myself to be sad for a few moments. I wouldn’t allow myself to be sad around Gabriela, or anyone else, for fear of completely falling apart; so I just sucked it up.
Like every other night recently, I fell asleep exhausted. That night the ringing of my phone woke me. It was Lillie the nurse from Huntington.
“Bobbie, is it possible for you to come back and visit your daughter? She is refusing her medications and we thought you might be able to convince her to take them.” She paused and waited for my response.
I put my glasses on and glanced at the clock. It was nearly 10:30 PM. “Sure, I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”
Lillie thanked me and asked that I call the nurses’ station when I arrived, because they needed to unlock the outer gates for me.
I pulled my sweatshirt on over my pajamas and hopped in the car. I arrived in less than thirty minutes. The client assistant unlocked the gate and we walked together through the multiple sets of doors that kept the patients of Ward 400 secure.
There, standing in the hallway, just as I had left her earlier in the evening, was my daughter, arms still tucked, wearing the same clothes, and staring up then down and occasionally shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
Lillie thanked me for coming and explained that, in addition to not eating or drinking all day, Gabriela was now refusing all medications. The nurses thought that maybe Gabriela would listen to me. I agreed, and went to Gabriela.
I asked her if she would please take her medications so that I would not worry about her that night. She half–nodded in agreement. The nurse quickly handed me the cup of pills.
Gabriela took the cup from me with a shaking hand and looked down at the pills. She didn’t recognize any of them and looked up at me confused. I reassured her that while they looked different, it was only because they were generic. I explained they truly were the medicines she took every day. The nurse described each pill by name and dose. Gabriela pushed the cup back at the nurse.
I tried talking to Gabriela again, but she wasn’t listening. Finally, I was so frustrated I grabbed Gabriela by her coat collar and pinned her against the wall.
“Open your mouth and take these now!” I snarled at her.
Two nurses and the client assistant closed in around me, ready to restrain me if needed — but they held off. I released Gabriela when it was clear that she wasn’t going to comply, and I told her I couldn’t stand there all night if she wasn’t going to work on helping herself.
Gabriela took the cup of pills and dropped them all into her mouth. Then she lifted the cup of water to her lips and spit every one of the pills into the water. She wiped her mouth on her coat sleeve and with a “so there” kind of gesture, she gave the cup back to the nurse.
I told her, “OK, then I’m leaving and I’m not sure if I’ll be coming back tomorrow since you don’t want to help yourself.”
I turned and started down the hallway. When I got to the doors, I turned around to see Gabriela was watching me.
“I love you Mom,” she said so softly.