Daphne’s Journal, August 8, 20—
Peter took me to see the new doctor today, Dr. Gruener. If he really is a doctor. I’m not sure of anything anymore.
For one thing, his office didn’t look anything like a psychiatrist’s office. It was in one of those medical buildings by the hospital but it looked like he’d just moved in. All the furniture looked like it had been rented from one of those office-supply companies. The carpet still smelled new—like cleaning fluid—and when I touched the front door I got an electric shock. I know none of that should be important—Peter says it’s snooty—but I’m very sensitive to my surroundings. Besides, I didn’t like Dr. Gruener very much.
For one thing, I could tell right away that he’d talked to Peter before I came and that he’d already made up his mind about me. He asked me a lot of questions about the “intrusive thoughts” I had about harming Chloe—how many times I thought about dropping her over the banister or drowning her in the bathtub. Had I ever acted on those thoughts? Say, held Chloe over the banister? Or dunked her under the water just for a second?
I told him of course not! I told him I’d do anything to keep Chloe safe, anything at all. He’d looked at me funny then, as if that were an admission of some kind of guilt. As if wanting to keep my baby safe was somehow suspect.
Then he asked me about my suicide attempt. Did I still hear voices telling me to hurt myself and Chloe?
“No!” I told him, but then I had to admit I did hear a voice saying, What if she’s better off without me? but then I explained that was Laurel’s voice and it wasn’t talking to me; it was talking to Laurel. It was Laurel who was suicidal and I was trying to help her.
“Help her how?”
I almost told him about my plan, but even with doctor/patient confidentiality I didn’t really think I could trust him so I just said, “I’m trying to help her see her options.”
“So you feel responsible for Laurel?” he asked.
“Well, yes,” I told him, “because she’s my friend.”
“And are you afraid that Laurel might hurt herself? Or her baby?”
I didn’t answer that right away because I was afraid suddenly of getting Laurel in trouble, so I asked him if what I told him was confidential.
He put down his pen and looked at me hard, like he was really seeing me for the first time. Then he said, “Yes, unless you give me information that involves you or someone else planning bodily harm to another person or self.”
I had to process that for a few minutes. If I told him that I was afraid that Laurel would hurt herself or her baby, Dr. Gruener might call up Social Services and have Chloë taken away from Laurel. But if I didn’t tell him and Laurel did hurt herself or Chloë, I would never forgive myself.
So I told him yes, I was afraid that Laurel might hurt Chloë and herself, but only because she was so sick. She would never mean to.
Dr. Gruener pushed a box of Kleenex across the table because I was crying. “Tell me this . . .” He had to look down to see my name. “. . . Daphne, if you were Laurel, what would you like to happen now?”
“I’d want someone to make sure that I didn’t hurt myself or my baby,” I said.
“Even if you didn’t know you were sick?”
And suddenly I understood what was going on. I got up and grabbed my bag, but my hands were shaking so hard I dropped it. Laurel’s wallet dropped out, open to the flap where she kept her driver’s license. Dr. Gruener picked it up. I saw him glance at the license, but he must not have read the name because he didn’t bat an eyelash.
“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You seem upset.”
“I see what you’re trying to do and no one is going to take my baby. Is Peter doing it now?” I demanded. “Is that why I’m here? So he can take Chloe away while I’m out of the house?”
“Perhaps you should sit down, Laurel. I don’t think you should be driving while you’re so upset.”
“It’s Daphne, not Laurel,” I said. “You can’t even remember my name. Where did Peter find you anyway? Rent-a-Shrink?”
I got out of there as fast as I could. I could see it all now. Peter had gotten this shrink to certify that I was crazy, that I was a suicide and infanticide risk. I was afraid he might already have a social worker at the house and that he was planning to take Chloe from me and have me put away. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let him take Chloe away from me.
I drove home as fast as I could without breaking the speed limit. That would be all I needed now, to get a speeding ticket. But as anxious as I was to get home, somehow I found myself driving to Laurel’s house. Force of habit, I guess, or guilt that I should make sure that she was all right. But when I looked up at her dark and shuttered house I couldn’t imagine that there was anyone home or that even if she was there I’d know what to say to make things better. To calm myself down I took out my laptop and wrote for a while in this diary, trying to put it all together. And it helps! It’s in writing it down that I figured out what I have to do. I called Schuyler Bennett and asked if we could move up my start date. When I asked if I could come today she didn’t answer right away and I was afraid that I’d ruined everything. She must think I’m crazy. But then she said, “Of course.
