Lily Love (10 page)

“Clearly you can see that Lily is out of control,” Chelsea says. She motions toward Audrey and Lily with her free hand and tucks her contraband behind her back with the other.

“What did you do?” I cry out. There’s no way Lily got this way on her own. She’s not self-injurious, and she’s been doing so well in behavioral therapy.

The hurried steps of soft-soled shoes turn my attention to the door. Dr. Baker hustles into the room, evaluating the scene unfolding. She looks at me sympathetically, but then quickly shifts her focus to Lily. She tentatively approaches the bedside while she assesses the tantrum with a keen eye.

“How long has she been like this?” Dr. Baker addresses the room, never taking her eyes off of Lily.

Audrey checks her watch. “Fifteen minutes,” she murmurs softly. Both doctor and nurse understand the need to read Lily’s level of tolerance and are careful not to upset her further by making sudden movements or raising their voices. Everyone understands this but Chelsea, who sees fit to start defending herself in loud, irritated bursts.

“Dr. Baker, I called the code green because the patient struck me and I couldn’t get her to comply with the soft restraints.” She punctuates her statement by revealing the Velcro cuffs she intends to use on my girl. Over my dead body.

“You called a code green?” My heart stops beating. Code greens are for violent patients who are a threat to the staff and themselves. They aren’t for five-year-old little girls.

“That was a gross abuse of authority,” Dr. Baker scolds. “You’re trained to use nonviolent crisis intervention to de-escalate these situations, not default to using restraints.”

I want to kiss Dr. Baker. Tears of gratitude mix with my frustration. They silently fall while I listen to her belittle Chelsea.

“Doctor, all I did was come to check on a loose lead,” Chelsea says. She shifts nervously, crossing her arms.

“Did you read her chart first?” The calm of my tone doesn’t betray the seething fury inside. I grab the metal clipboard from the foot of Lily’s bed and start to recite her diagnosis. “Sensory Processing Disorder. Noted tactile defensiveness.”

“Excuse me?” Chelsea sneers.

“It’s a patient’s chart,” I say. “When you read them beforehand, you learn things like, ‘is fearful of strangers. Doesn’t like to be touched.’ ” I point out each bullet in the patient orders.

Dr. Baker’s attempts to soothe Lily are met with more maniacal thrashing. I watch in horror as Lily starts to beat her head against the bedrail. Dr. Baker grabs a pillow to place in front of Lily to soften her blows, and addresses Audrey in a whispered flurry. What I can make out threatens to buckle my knees:
point zero five milligrams of haloperidol.
Haldol. They want to give Lily an antipsychotic. Before I can protest, Audrey nods at Dr. Baker and runs from the room, shoving Chelsea along with her.

“Wait,”
I plead.
“No!”
I rush to replace Audrey at Lily’s bedside, wanting to sweep her into my arms and whisk her away from this nightmare.

“Caroline, I need you listen to me very carefully.” Dr. Baker’s voice is stern but gentle. She waits for me to look at her, locking my eyes with hers. “Lily is hurting herself. None of us wants her to do real damage. Haloperidol is the quickest and safest way for me to protect her right now. Do you understand?”

“No, I don’t understand how any of this is happening,” I cry. “She was fine when I left.” I must sound like an idiot. I never should’ve left.

While I mentally berate myself, Lily grabs the protective pillow and launches it across the room. She grips the bedrail and throws her head backward, keening like a wild animal. She’s crazed, unrecognizable to me. My heart has no time to break as her intent becomes clear. Reacting on pure instinct, I lunge forward and block her face as it comes careening toward the rail.

Sharp pain radiates up my wrist when the force of her head slams my hand against the bed rail. My only thought is,
Thank God it wasn’t her forehead.
A moment later, Audrey is there to shuttle me out of the way so Dr. Baker has room to hold Lily still. With the smooth and precise movements of a seasoned nurse, she prepares the syringe and gives Lily the drug with a quick stab to the thigh.

Dr. Baker takes Lily’s arms, crosses them over her chest, and slides onto the bed behind her. Gentle but firm, she places Lily in a therapeutic hold, the one the hospital staff is supposed to use before restraints are introduced. Nonviolent crisis intervention—NCI—is meant to keep the patient and staff safe until the situation de-escalates. In this case, until the meds kick in.

I can feel my heartbeat in my hand, each beat bringing another wave of pain. Everything else is numb, but the pain helps to keep me anchored in the moment. Dr. Baker whispers softly to Lily, reassuring her that she’s safe. I’m mesmerized by her soothing bedside manner; I startle when Audrey reaches for the hand I have clasped to my chest.

“Caroline, let me see,” she demands. I wince as she probes, yelping when she gets to my wrist. “You need to have this X-rayed.” She sighs. Her tone betrays what she knows. What I know—it’s broken. I can only imagine what the ER doctor is going to say when I tell him that my daughter crushed my hand between her skull and the TV remote built into the hospital’s bed rail.

“I need to call Peter first. I’m not leaving her alone again,” I say. In truth, calling Peter is the last thing I want to do. I don’t know where I’d even begin to tell him what’s happened. Thinking about it sends a new wave of tears falling, because I can almost hear his frustration. I already feel like I’ve failed Lily. I don’t need or want him to remind me.

I hold my breath as his line rings, dreading the moment he answers. How am I ever going to explain this to him without him freaking out? If Peter called me with this news, I would be completely out of my mind.

Voice mail. Voice mail. Voice mail.
I will it to be, but Peter answers on the fourth ring.

“Caroline, I can’t talk now. I’ll have to call you back.”

“Peter, wait,” I urge, “it’s an emergency. Lily and I had a little accident.”

“What?”
he yells into the phone. I pull the receiver away from my ear. “I thought you were at the hospital. How did you get into a car accident?”

“No, no,” I stammer. If he would just shut up for a second I could explain. “It’s a long story, but we’re still here at the EMU. Lily had a really bad tantrum, Peter. I’ve never seen her like that. She was thrashing around violently, trying to hurt herself. I threw my hand out to keep her from banging her head on the bed rail, and smashed it. I need to have it X-rayed and I don’t want to leave Lily alone.”

“Jesus, Caroline,” Peter breathes into the phone. “Has she calmed down? I can be there in thirty minutes.”

“They had to sedate her,” I say.

“Come again?” Peter sounds incredulous.

“They sedated her,” I repeat. “She was trying to hurt herself. We didn’t have a choice.” Peter stays silent on the other line. I can only imagine what he’s thinking, how angry he must be with me right now. It hurts my heart so badly. I have failed so miserably. “Say something, please,” I beg.

“I’m so sorry.”

His softly spoken words floor me. I was ready to face his anger, not his compassion. A sob tears free from my chest. All of the anguish I’ve been keeping at bay runs in steady streams down my face.

“I can’t imagine seeing Lily like that. It breaks my heart to think about it,” he continues.

“Peter,” I sob. My breath comes in staccato gasps, making it impossible to say more.

“I’m on my way,” he promises. “Hang in there.” Then he’s gone. A warm hand rubs steady circles across my back. I look up to find Audrey holding out a box of tissues and an ice pack.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Stay strong, Caroline.” She continues to rub my back as she speaks. “This too shall pass.”

I believe her, but I’m scared to death at what awaits me in X-ray. Deep down I know my wrist is broken. Even if I tried to explain, would anyone believe that I was protecting Lily? My hope that people will accept Lily slowly circles the drain. People are rarely accepting of things they don’t understand, and no parent would let their child play with a girl who broke her mom’s hand.

reason why

T
he Haldol will last a few hours,” Dr. Baker says.

“I want to take her home when she wakes up,” I respond. Dr. Baker’s silence meets me, and I worry she’ll disagree. “You’ve already said that the EEG hasn’t shown us anything new. You have almost thirty-six hours of data. I want her home.”

“I wasn’t going to disagree, Caroline,” she assures me. “I’m just at a loss for the words to say how sorry I am. I’ll go write up the orders so they’re ready when you are.”

“Is this going to keep happening?” My voice is a breathy whisper of my fear. “Will her tantrums be violent like that now?” The walls of the room bend inward, hemming me in. Trapping me inside the prospect of the doctor’s words and a fate I can’t handle.

“Do I believe Lily is inherently aggressive? No. I do feel like she would benefit from the aid of a behaviorist. Someone who can teach you as a family how to cope with Lily’s deficits. Lily can learn to self-regulate before she gets that upset, and you and Peter can learn how to help her do that.” She gives me a reassuring smile, but I’m too overwhelmed to return it. “I’ll come check on her later,” she promises before she leaves to continue her rounds.

Dr. Baker’s words swim through my mind as I brush silky strands of hair off Lily’s forehead. Every time I think things can’t possibly get harder, something happens to prove me wrong. Someone sent me a card once that said, “If God doesn’t give us more than we can handle, then He must think you are a real badass.” I didn’t think it was funny. I didn’t chuckle at the sly wit of the friend who’d sent it. It pissed me off. It made me irate at God. Furious that He would do this to me—and for what? What purpose does it serve, to make my child suffer? Why should
she
go through any of this? So some fucking whacked-out crack whore can give birth to a healthy child she neglects? Don’t get me started on God. He is a sadistic thief who took everything away from me without a glance backward. Where is He now? Nowhere around here, that’s for damn sure.

Lily breathes in a shuddering sigh, like she can hear my hostile thoughts. Thick, acrid shame spreads like venom through my veins. Unfazed, Lily snuggles closer against my body. All she needs is my acceptance, and all I’m doing is cursing God for who she is. I don’t deserve her.

“Uh-oh. I know that face.” My head snaps up at the sound of Peter’s voice. He levels his kind eyes on me, bathing me in sympathy. “Stop blaming yourself, Caroline. It won’t help.”

I recoil from Peter’s words. What right does he have to assume what I’m feeling? It’s easy to oversimplify what someone else should or shouldn’t be doing. It’s a lot harder when you’re the one living it day-to-day.

“Thanks, Peter.” I let my words drip with sarcasm. “That’s insightful of you.” I shimmy my body out from under Lily, and fuss with the sling Audrey wrapped my arm in. I try tugging it into place, but it keeps digging into my neck. What I’d really like to do is wad it up and throw it at Peter.

“Caroline, you can’t keep condemning yourself,” he presses. “You can’t—”

“No,
you
can’t, Peter,” I snap, cutting him off. “You can’t tell me how I’m supposed to feel. In fact, you don’t get an opinion on how I feel at all.” I deserve to be condemned; look what I let happen. If I’d just come back a little sooner I could’ve stopped it.

I grab my purse and head toward the hall; Peter’s footsteps follow, so I keep talking. “She should be out for another hour or so. Dr. Baker is coming back in a few minutes to remove the electrodes, so you’ll need to get the hair conditioner out of Lily’s bag and comb out whatever glue the acetone doesn’t get to. I will wash it out when we get home.”

“Caroline,” Peter starts.

“Someone from Administration is meeting me in Radiology to take my statement for the accident report.” I ignore Peter and continue. “I shouldn’t be more than a couple hours.”

“Caroline, stop.” Peter grabs my shoulders, swinging me around to face him. “It’s not your fault. You can’t be there all the time, no matter what you’ve been spinning in that stubborn head of yours. You can be pissed at me for saying so. Whatever. Just stop, please.” He rubs my shoulders, placing his forehead against mine. Instead of comfort, it feels like acid where he touches me. He winces as I push him away. Where was this comfort when we were together? Why didn’t it occur to him to treat me with this kind of care when it mattered? Why now?

“What do you mean, you don’t know what happened?” Peter bellowed. “What else do you have to do but supervise her, Caroline?” His outburst hung like a poisonous cloud in the Urgent Care waiting room. The woman in the seat next to me got up and moved a few rows away. I hung my head in humiliation.

“Will you please keep your voice down, Peter. People are staring at us,” I whispered as I looked around at the curious stares. “I was in the bathroom. It’s not like I left her to fend for herself.”

“Yeah, well, you left her long enough for her to crack her head open on the coffee table.”

My heart shattered on the impact of his words. I knew that Peter was angry; I was, too. I was exasperated that the moment I took to use the toilet
was also the moment Lily had a seizure and hit her head. I felt more guilt than Peter could’ve fathomed.

“You don’t think I know that? I’m the one who has to live with that on my conscience. For what, Peter? What would you have me do, wet my pants?” I cried. “I know you’re frustrated, Peter. I am too, but you can’t blame me. It’s not fair. I don’t deserve your poison.”

“You should know better than anyone, Caroline,” Peter scoffed. “Life doesn’t give a shit what any of us deserves.”

“Is that what you tell yourself, Peter?” My gentle tone did nothing to soften the sting of the words that followed. “That it’s not your fault you were never there? Screw you.”

Hindsight is always more clear than the present. If I had to pinpoint the moment that our marriage started to fall apart, that day would be it. The memory of those words, and what they did to my heart, fuel the fury building inside me. Peter’s never had to worry about feeling the way I did that day, because Lily’s care has never been his responsibility. It’s
always
been mine. It’s easy to criticize someone else’s efficiency when you’re never around to experience it yourself.