She reached for a prescription bottle that had her father’s name on it. He had blinding headaches from time to time so Kristen reached for what she was sure was a painkiller. The bottle felt huge in her hand. She was mesmerized by the orange-tinted plastic.
She let the faucet run for a minute to get the water really cold.
Twenty-Five
“We need to discuss your medication.”
“What about it?”
“For one thing—” Dr. Seidler looks concerned “—it doesn’t seem to be working. You are trying to battle severe depression.”
Isabel has been switching from pill to pill for most of her adult life and knows that changing medication is a traumatic event. “But,” she stammers, “I don’t think about killing myself as much as I did when I first got here. We talked about that, didn’t we? I don’t think I need to change.”
“I hear that this is scary for you but it doesn’t need to be. Recently we’ve discovered ways to work with older methods in order to reduce side effects. I want to talk with you about something that I think could be extremely effective for you.”
Isabel knew what was coming. Her therapist in Manhattan had told her about it. Three Breezes is known for successfully treating suicidal depression with a mix of antidepressants. Patients call it the “cocktail.” Individualized to meet different needs and bodies, it consists of combining the two or three most powerful antidepressants on the market in order to boost their effectiveness.
“I know all about the cocktail.” Isabel wants to beat her therapist to the punch.
“Ah, the cocktail.” The doctor laughs awkwardly and then clears her throat. “Well, no, actually. That’s not what we’ve discussed in reference to your case. We are considering what’s nicknamed ECT… electroshock therapy. It sounds like the Dark Ages, I know.” The doctor moves quickly to explain since Isabel’s face has fallen into a long look of horror. “But it’s not at all like you would imagine. In many cases it can be the single most effective way to combat severe depression. It has little to no side effects and we happen to specialize in it here.
“I can see from the look on your face that you are thinking about something. Why don’t you share what’s on your mind, Isabel.”
“Frances Farmer.” That is all she can say. All she sees is Jessica Lange portraying the old film star.
“Heh, heh.” Another throat clearing. “That movie did more damage to ECT than anything before or after. I get your point, though. The image of electroshock therapy is quite scary if you’re not familiar with it. Is that what you mean?”
“Oh, my God.” The implications of the doctor’s suggestion are starting to sink in. “Oh, my God, you think I need shock therapy?” Isabel starts taking in deep breaths.
“I think I’m going to pass out,” she says while she slips down farther into the club chair she always chooses for her private sessions.
“All right. Okay. We don’t have to talk about this anymore today.” The doctor is looking alarmed. “Take it easy. I’m sorry I upset you, Isabel. I didn’t mean to—”
“Do you ever get any takers for that? For E-C-T?” she asks in angry disgust. “I mean, does anyone actually say ‘Hey, yeah! Let’s stick some electrodes to my temples and then crank some electricity into them! Cool!’?”
“I hear that you’re upset.”
Isabel starts to cry.
“Isabel? You can cry in here, you know. You don’t need to hide your tears.”
“I’m going now,” Isabel says sharply. “I want to take a shower and forget this conversation ever happened.”
Dr. Seidler looks at her watch, notes that they still have fifteen minutes to go in the session, pauses, and thinks better of urging her patient to stay. “Okay. That’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. If you want to talk before then you can ask the nurse to page me.”
“Fine.”
Before Isabel walks out of her doctor’s office she takes a deep breath and pulls her shoulders back, a posture meant to show determination. On her exhale, though, her shoulders fall forward and her body collapses into itself, deflating her defiance completely.
She retreats to her room, gathers up her shampoo and soap and heads to the nurses’ station.
“Yes, Isabel. What can we do for you?”
“I need to get into the sharps closet for a second.”
“Sure,” the nurse says while reaching for the big ring of keys attached to her white belt. Isabel follows her over to the closet. “What do you need?”
“Ah, well…I’m needing to shave, actually. I’ll bring the razor right back when I’m done.”
The nurse had started shaking her head halfway through Isabel’s tentative request. “Has anyone talked to you about shaving?”
“No.”
“If you want to shave you need to be supervised. It’s not as bad as it sounds. One of us has to be there when you do it. Did you want to do it now?”
Isabel had known that there was probably a rule about shaving, but she hadn’t imagined a nurse would have to watch her do it. She tries to seem unfazed. “Um, sure. Okay. If that’s good for you?”
“Yep. Let’s get your razor first.”
The bathrooms at Three Breezes are large enough to accommodate a toilet, a sink and a long, narrow plastic shower stall. Inside the shower Isabel lets the water get hot before balancing her leg parallel to the floor to begin shaving.
“Okay, Isabel. Here’s your razor.” Before Isabel can reach around the mildewed vinyl shower curtain, the nurse pulls it back altogether and cheerfully hands the Lady Bic to a horrified Isabel. She tries to pull the curtain closed to maintain a semblance of dignity but the nurse catches her wet arm. “Nope. It’s got to stay open while you shave. I need to watch you.”
“Never mind! Just take the razor and go!” Isabel yells, her face already burning in shame and embarrassment, tears about to flow. The nurse looks bewildered for a moment, but then takes the razor gently from Isabel and leaves.
Twenty-Six
M
Several hours after falling into a restless sleep Isabel wakes with a jolt of the kind of nausea that signals something tremendously important has been forgotten.
“What time is it?” she asks the first person she runs into outside her bedroom door.
“Eleven o’clock,” the orderly answers.
“A.m. or p.m.?”
“P.m.” His tone is sympathetic, as if she has just come out of a coma.
“Oh, my God, Keisha!” Isabel rushes over to the nurses’ station.
“Well, hello, Sleeping Beauty.” Connie the night nurse is on.
