He adjusted his glasses. “She fell. Is that all?”
“That’s all.”
He stared at me a second longer than necessary. “I see. Well, she’s definitely suffered a concussion. However, she also seems to be in a delusional state. I cannot imagine how a concussion could cause this. Disorientation, yes, but delusions of this magnitude? Are you sure nothing else happened?”
I shifted. I’m sure he noticed how uncomfortable I’d become. “She was considering taking medication for her depression. It’s possible she was suffering other symptoms as well, although she never told me.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You are a therapist, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“Then let me ask you, Dr. Kennedy, in your medical opinion, what do you think is causing your mother’s delusions?”
I scrambled to come up with an answer. “She may be suffering some untreated situational depression. I’m not really sure what else could cause it.”
“You do realize that situational depression rarely causes the sort of delusions she is experiencing?”
“Yes, I’m aware.” I rubbed the tension knot forming in my neck. Why couldn’t he just believe me? Maybe I should tell him the truth. My mom went to fairy world, and now she remembers it.
“Perhaps her delusions aren’t caused from the concussion,” I suggested.
“Then what else could they be?”
“I’d have to guess, but she may have started taking an antidepressant without my knowledge. I’ve had clients who complain about Paxil and Sertraline’s side effects, particularly the disturbingly vivid dreams. It’s possible that the dreams could be negatively impacting her brain chemistry and causing her to think they’re real.”
“There are no medications listed in her chart. If she has started a medication, it is very important for you to inform me.”
Strike out. “No, she isn’t on medication. Not to my knowledge.”
He nodded. “Then we are left with a mystery as to what is causing the delusions.”
“Yes, I guess we are.”
He eyed me. “Has she ever been treated for schizophrenia?”
This was so not going in the direction I’d hoped. I shook my head. “No.”
“In that case, I would like to give her a full psychological diagnostic immediately. I would also like to prescribe a tricyclic antidepressant. Usually, it is best to start with a low dosage, but in this instance, I believe it prudent to put her on a higher level. As you probably know, Elavil is an older drug, and it may have an increased risk of side effects, but she should be able to tolerate them.”
My skin crawled at the mention of Elavil. He wasn’t going near her with that outdated, brain-screwy crap. There was a reason the FDA put black-box warnings on drugs.
“Dr. Markov,” I said, “I’m sure that’s not necessary. She’s been living alone for seven years. If I help with her isolation issues, there will be no need for medication.”
He adjusted his glasses. His silence told me he wasn’t thrilled with my solution.
“I’ll make sure she stays constantly monitored. If her delusions worsen, you’ll be the first to know.”
This seemed to get his attention. “You will have someone with her at all times?”
“Yes.”
“Even in hospital?”
“Yes.” I cringed as I said it. How would I ever be able to stay with her and find the bloom?
He nodded, seeming to come to an agreement. “Very well.”
This seemed like a great time to change the subject. “Can I see her now?”
“Yes, I think it would be best. You will be able to stay with her tonight, correct?”
“Of course.”
“Good.” He stood. “If you will follow me, I can show you to her room.”
I walked with him out of the waiting area and into a wide, linoleum-tiled hallway. A few nurses passed us on our way to my mom’s room. We stopped in front of a door near the end of the hallway. Dr. Markov opened it, and I followed him inside.
Mom lay propped up on a few pillows, her red hair still pulled into a sloppy ponytail. Her eyes were closed, and her face was ashen. I felt an energy flowing around her—not magic, exactly, but a spark of power emanating from her that filled the room. I’d always know that my father was a powerful practitioner, but was my mother trained in magic as well?
I stood over her bed and took her hand as her eyes fluttered open. Dr. Markov stood beside us.
“Mrs. Kennedy,” he said to my mom, “I’ll be back in the morning to check on you. Your daughter is here to stay with you. You remember your daughter, correct?”
She didn’t speak as her eyes wandered to me. I still saw the wild in her, that look of a caged animal. She closed her eyes once again. “Yes,” she answered.
“Very good. She will stay with you tonight. Get some rest. The nurses will be back to check on you soon.”
Mom nodded.
Dr. Markov turned to me and spoke quietly. “I will postpone the antidepressant drugs for now, but that is not my first choice. Should she get any worse, I will prescribe medication immediately. See that she has someone with her always. She has been speaking of spending time in a fairy world. I suggest you bring up memories from her past—something she would easily recall—a memorable holiday or family trip, perhaps. It’s important for her to remember her past correctly, or else I fear her delusions will worsen.”
“I understand.” If only he knew how well I understood.
He nodded and left the room, shutting the door with a click behind him, leaving me alone with my mother. I spotted a heavy vinyl chair in the corner. Wooden legs scraped across the room as I shoved the chair to Mom’s bedside. Sitting down, I hoped I could help her.
“Are you going to help me remember, Olive?”
She laughed a bitter, cheerless sound that made
