October 25, 2011
It was nearly six in the morning and the sun was just starting to come up, it was going to be a beautiful day. We were driving through a farm area where my grandparents had lived; over the years it had changed from strictly agricultural to a mix of high-end horse property and small farms. It was one of my favorite roads, and on this morning while Gabriela was immersed in her own conversation I took the time to enjoy the open fields and sense of quiet outside.
Inside my car was a completely different world, one full of commotion. Gabriela was now so angry with Karen, one of the characters in her conjured conversation, for trying to stop the exorcism that she kept frantically insisting that I get to the church as quickly as I could.
“Hurry, I just need to touch the Holy water.” She was adamant that the hospital chapel wouldn’t do.
As we pulled into the church parking lot I noticed there was only one other car, most of the town was still sleeping.
“Here we are,” I said. “This is the church.”
Gabriela quickly got out of the car and I was right next to her. She was anxious and confused as we crossed the parking lot together. It was colder outside than the sunshine had deceived me into believing.
Opening the doors to the sanctuary, we found ourselves alone inside the church. We walked down the empty aisles to the Holy water, which was contained in a small cross shaped pool with a waterfall gently tumbling in.
Gabriela walked up to the pool with some hesitation, then knelt down and dipped one hand into the cold water and scooped it up to touch it to her face. Well, I thought, this isn’t so bad, she did just needed to touch it.
As soon as I started to relax Gabriela sunk her arms, jacket and all into the Holy water up to her arm pits. “Gabriela, this is not how you behave with Holy water! Take your arms out!”
“No Mom, I can feel the green thing melting, just a few more minutes.” She sighed with relief that the green thing was being dealt its final blow.
“You have two minutes to remove your arms from there or I’ll call 9-1-1,” I said sternly, although I was panicked at what might come next.
I picked up my phone and dialed, then showed Gabriela the large 9-1-1 displayed. Gabriela pulled her arms out but only long enough to grab the edges of the pool and jump in fully clothed.
I pushed call. The 911 operator came on the phone.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
“My daughter is in the Holy water at Mary Magdalene church.” I really wasn’t sure how to explain, I knew it sounded like a prank.
I decided that this time I needed to make sure Gabriela would be admitted into a psych ward. My thoughts went back to the past evening when Susan, my roommate, had handed me the phone to talk with her police sergeant. He told me that I may have to color the picture of Gabriela’s situation a little worse in order to have the police put her on a hold.
“Oh, shit! She just hit me!” (I was sure I would be forgiven for this.)
The operator came on, “Your daughter hit you?”
“Yes.”
“Officers are on their way.”
My conversation with the 911 operator ended as the police officers entered the church. I have never been a particular fan of the police, but that morning I was so happy to see them come through the doors.
The officers quickly reached the Holy water and asked Gabriela to come out. She was in the process of dunking herself repeatedly, fully clothed. Holding her nose and submerging her entire body, then erupting out of the water, throwing her head and long dark hair back each time she rose out of the water.
When she didn’t respond to their request the two officers each grabbed an arm and twisted it behind Gabriela’s back, leading her out of the pool and onto her knees on the floor. I told them she had epilepsy and asked that they be gentle with her.
The whole incident with my daughter in the Holy water and the officers holding her on her knees, face down on the floor, moved frame by frame in my mind. I watched and wondered if I was I doing the right thing. What would happen now? Could Gabriela be institutionalized?
The two of us had always had a pact. We agreed that I would never leave her in a psych ward; we called it “Frances Farmering”… Frances Farmer was an actress from the ’40’s whose mother institutionalized her against her will, and it took Frances years to get out.
The EMTs arrived and had divided into two groups. One worked with Gabriela and one with me. I was relieved. Help had arrived. I knew Gabriela would be put on a 5150 (a mandatory psych hold) and that people who knew what to do were going to help her. I knew I would visit her every day until this got fixed.
Gabriela was still on her knees, face on the floor, arms held up behind her back to keep her from moving. A growing crowd of police, firefighters, and EMTs surrounded her. I heard someone ask, “If we let go, will you be calm?”
Her response: “I just need a few more minutes in the Holy water.”
I was several feet from her, with two officers, answering the basic questions; name, date of birth, medical history, and medications.
Gabriela was being strapped onto a gurney. She wasn’t violent, just insistent that she complete the exorcism. She didn’t care where she was going, she had only one focus: the Holy water.
The officers with me continued to collect information, and let me know that they’d be driving me to the hospital and back after Gabriela had been admitted.
I was oddly calm, I wanted to cry, but there was too much to do to be bothered with that now. There would be plenty of time to cry when everything had settled down.
I didn’t talk to Gabriela from the moment the police arrived until we met again in the hospital ER.
When I sat in the front seat of the patrol car, all at once it hit me how incredibly tired I was. The officer was soft spoken and very kind; his daughter also suffered from seizures and had the same pediatric neurologist that Gabriela had had when she was younger. He explained what a hold meant, what would happen at the ER; and he assured me that my daughter would be well taken care of.
Sitting in the patrol car, I tried to understand what was happening to Gabriela. I knew it was largely due to her anti-seizure medications but I had failed to get any medical doctor to respond to my request for help. I had really failed Gabriela this time, I just hoped that someone would listen now.