“The technician and the doctor overseeing the treatment will be there to answer any and all of your questions.”
“What about
“I will for the initial meeting, but once you go into the treatment room I’ll have to leave.”
“Why?” Isabel’s voice is urgent.
“You’ll be in good hands” is all she says. “Don’t worry, Isabel. You won’t even notice I’m not there.”
They walk along in silence, following the pathway that cuts across the grounds. Dr. Seidler walks at a brisk pace but slows from time to time to allow Isabel, slumped and sluggish with dread, to catch up. The building they are headed toward looks more like a conventional hospital than any other structure at Three Breezes.
As they pass the cafeteria, the door opens and out file small children. There, taking up the rear as always, is little Peter. As they pass each other he looks Isabel straight in the eye for the first time. For that brief moment Isabel feels a tremendous sense of peace.
But Peter is already studying the pavement, searching for the anthills he is so desperate to avoid.
The Medical Treatment Facility is a structure remarkable only in that it has not one piece of ornamentation, not one redeeming decorative architectural element. To Isabel it is a whole other world: nurses she does not recognize clutter the hallways, visitors stand around killing time, the smell of a distant cafeteria permeates every corridor. Having been cloistered in her tiny unit for more than three weeks, Isabel finds it surreal. She quickens her pace to keep up with Dr. Seidler.
“It’s just up ahead,” says Dr. Seidler, noting Isabel’s worried face.
“So many people…” Isabel says, her eyes wide, taking it all in.
“I know.” Dr. Seidler sounds apologetic. “I’ve been telling them for some time now that we need a more private place for some of our treatments.
“Here we are,” she says as she holds the door open for Isabel.
The psychiatric wing is much quieter. They turn into a nondescript waiting room and Dr. Seidler motions for Isabel to take a seat. “I’ll be right back,” she says as she goes through an unmarked door at the far side of the room.
“Where are you going?” Isabel’s heart is beating so fast she feels it in her throat.
“I’m just going to let them know we’re here. Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”
Isabel’s breathing becomes shallow.
She scans the room to find something on which to focus her attention but finds nothing. The blank walls are littered with nail holes where pictures once hung. Isabel squints to make out the discolored squares surrounding the marks.
“Isabel?” Dr. Seidler is standing in the open door, motioning her to pass through it.
Isabel has slumped so far down in her chair that her shirt rides up her back. She stands up and pulls it back down. Wordlessly she crosses the empty room, her breaths still short and shallow.
“Hello, Isabel.”
“I’m Dr. Edwards and I’ll be treating you today. Why don’t you come on into the treatment room so that I can show you exactly what’s going to happen.”
Isabel follows the two doctors into the treatment room. The smell of ammonia is overpowering.
Dr. Edwards gets right to the point. “The machine you’re looking at is what we use to gauge the intensity of electricity used to treat our patients. I know it looks like a dinosaur but it’s state of the art.” The doctor is proudly standing alongside his silent, mechanical partner in crime.
“It’s quite simple, really. We’ll ask you to lie down on this table and we’ll attach two electrodes to your temples. Then we will set this needle and flip this switch and the current will be administered. It’s very brief. The whole thing lasts a matter of seconds. You might feel a bit of a jolt but it’s not painful. In the old days, patients had rubber mallets in their mouths to protect them from biting off their tongues. Now we need nothing of the sort.”
“Isabel?” Dr. Seidler is facing her. Isabel feels like she is snorkeling, the muffled words come at her in slow motion.
She turns to face her therapist and watches Seidler’s mouth as it moves, imagining tiny air bubbles floating from it with each word.
“See? I told you it’d be quick,” Seidler is mouthing, not so surreptitiously checking her watch while reaching out to touch Isabel’s forearm in reassurance.
“And maybe feel a bit tired…” Isabel turns to watch Dr. Edwards’s mouth move. She nods at everything they are saying. She watches as they talk at her and then to each other.
Isabel’s attempts at twisting her mouth into the shape of something upbeat fail and her smile is more of a miserable smirk. Dr. Seidler looks sad.
Isabel telepathically messages her doctor.
Failure. Dr. Seidler is gone.
“Okay, Isabel, we’ll have you lie down right here,” an overweight nurse pats the hospital bed as though it is made of feathers and sitting by a fireplace at a bed-and-breakfast.
“Are you cold? Do you want a blanket?”
Isabel cannot speak. She watches the kind nurse open a cabinet and pull out a light hospital blanket to drape over Isabel’s bare legs.
“Now. This jelly might be cold. I’m just going to dab a spot of it on each side of your forehead. There. This will help the electrodes stay in place. They’re suction cups so they need a bit of moisture. Now they’re in place and we’re all set to go.” Her touch is soft.
It is as if the entire scene is part of a dream sequence in a movie and someone has hit the fast-forward button on the VCR after watching in slow motion for a while.
“Okay, Isabel,” Dr. Edwards is hovering over her head, checking the nurse’s work. “Looks like we’re good to go.”
Thirty-Six
“Okay, so we’ll run first then we’ll get bagels on Chestnut Street,” Alex offered. “Just come running with me. Please?”
The sand is so soft it feels like running in molasses. The waves are too big to run along the water’s edge without getting soaked. In the distance, the Golden Gate Bridge seems to remain untouchable no matter how hard they run toward it. The wind is at their backs gently nudging them along.
