November 11, 2011
My phone rang relatively early the next morning. It was Dr. Duncan, Gabriela’s new psychiatrist from Huntington Hospital. He wanted to review his first impressions of Gabriela, and her medical and psychiatric history. We agreed to meet within the hour at Huntington.
Dr. Duncan was a tallish man in his early fifties. He looked well suited to his profession in his brown pants with matching knitted cardigan (leather patched elbows and all). He had slightly graying brown hair and was thin, pale, and had a gentle demeanor, with an appropriately therapeutic tone to his voice.
He greeted me nervously and directed me to sit opposite him in the waiting area, which we had to ourselves. He explained that he had met briefly with Gabriela; however, she had not been willing to talk with him.
He explained that she had been moved from Ward 200 to Ward 400 early the past evening when she had attempted to break out of the ward. That she had thrown herself through the window of the nurses’ station in an effort to get to the door that was visible at the back of the room.
He told me that in the process, Gabriela had sustained some minor injuries but was otherwise physically fine.
I sat stunned. Sustained injuries?
“What injuries?” I felt like throwing up.
“Well,” he started with his calming voice and a slight stutter, “I understand that she sustained a cut to her eye in the process, so it has some swelling and discoloration.” He motioned toward his eye, “Very minor really, she’s physically fine.”
That was no comfort to me.
Dr. Duncan continued, “Now, ah, Mrs. Shufani, from my visit with Gabriela, she, ah, is clearly suffering from psychosis. There is probably some mood related issue, but at this point we are unsure.”
We talked back and forth about her medical history, and the desire of both Gabriela and myself to have him work closely with Dr. Southland’s office in determining to what degree the medications could be the cause of, or contributors to, the problems Gabriela was having. He agreed.
He let me know that there was a need to medicate the psychosis that she was currently experiencing, and that these medications, much like AED’s, were hit or miss. He explained that he might have to try several medications before he found which worked best for her. He was relieved to find that I completely understood this process.
He also had a form that Gabriela needed to sign. It wasn’t anything that would’ve signed her rights away, it was merely to confirm that he had discussed the first anti-psychotic medication, Seroquel, with her; and that she would still be able to refuse it, but that it would be offered to her. The problem was that Gabriela hadn’t signed the form, so they couldn’t offer her this treatment until she did.
He asked if I would I help. I promised to talk with Gabriela about it while Dr. Duncan made copies of a record that he needed.
We walked together through the first set of locked double doors, and then through the second set of locked double doors, where a sign was posted that read: “Caution! AWOL risk!”
He escorted me to a locked conference room where I waited for him to return with Gabriela.
They both entered the conference room. More had happened over last night than just Gabriela’s attempted escape. Gabriela was empty, she had no expression on her face, she looked hollow. She had a blackened, swollen eye, with a small cut just below her brow; and she was wearing the same clothes she’d arrived in: jeans, black shirt with three-quarter length sleeves, and a heavy blue fleece pea coat. Her hair was pulled back and bunched in a scrunchy.
Gabriela moved in small shuffles, side to side then backwards, almost like a penguin. Her arms were tucked tightly under her breasts. She hadn’t spoken since she came in. I hugged her but she jerked away, and I didn’t force her. I explained to her that Dr. Duncan needed her signature, and asked if she would please read the form and sign it.
Dr. Duncan watched quietly as I spoke with her, and as she looked down, read the paper, then signed at the bottom.
He thanked me and asked if I wanted to stay and visit with Gabriela for a while longer. Absolutely! We were not allowed to visit in the conference room but the day room was available.
Gabriela and I walked slowly down the hall together. I watched her; no expression on her face, and shuffling alongside me to the dining table. I sat and offered her the chair next to me. She declined by not sitting.
Gabriela still had not spoken. I looked up at her face, searching her eyes for an answer to what was happening. There was no answer.
I bent my head to wipe my tears with a napkin when I felt her finger touch one tear as it rolled down my cheek.
I looked back up at her face; there was still no emotion. She was just curious, wondering what it was on my face.
I touched her hand and I told her I loved her. The only response was a flick of one side of her lips; an attempt to make a smile, but she was apparently unwilling or incapable of putting in the effort.
I wasn’t allowed to stay long, so I kissed her on the cheek and told her I would be back to visit that evening. There was no response.
I left Gabriela standing in the day room, eyes looking up, head tilted.
I walked the long hallway, stopping at the nurses’ station to pick up the medical files, then followed the nurse to the exit in silence.
I felt like I was standing still and that the hallway was moving alongside of me, like old movie scenery. Everything was in slow motion.