The Pain You Hide

Day 6

I sit in the doctor's office with my mother, one eye on her and the other on the clock. My mother shifts in her seat, fiddling with her bag and clothes. I wish she would stop moving.

"What happened to Sandra?" she asks.

"Who?"

"My new nurse? When I woke up, she was gone. Didn't leave a note or anything."

I don't think anything I would say right now would be nice, so I keep my mouth shut. She seems to catch on though. A look of sadness crosses her face.

"It happened again?" Her voice is barely above a whisper.

A nurse calls her name. The sooner this is over with, the better.

"Hello, Cathy," the doctor says when he enters the room. "And Margret. Good to see you."

"How are the boys?" my mother says.

"Good, but James needs to take a break. It's great that he wants to do well in school, but he shouldn't try to burn himself out, you know?"

"Oh absolutely," my mother says. "I think people now and days need to go out more."

Now, I'm the one fidgeting. I have to take over if we're gonna get anywhere.

"Exactly," he says with a nod. "What can I do for you today?"

"I think she's having a negative reaction to the pills," I say.

"What makes you say that?"

"She's attacking her nurses in fits of anger and playing pranks." I think I see her wince out the corner of my eye; I'm only telling the truth. "It's not her usual behavior."

"And you've seen her do this personally?"

There's no way he knows I'm not around my mother often, but it feels like he does. I swallow past the tightness in my chest.

"No," I say. "But every nurse I've hired has left saying the same thing. If it was just one, of course I would question it but when it's all of them?"

"Hmm," he says, eyeing my mother. "Do you think you've been behaving oddly, Cathy?"

I bite my lip. It feels like he doesn't believe me. Maybe I should call one of the nurses and ask them to speak with him. Maybe then he'd believe something was wrong.

"Well," my mother says, "I have to admit I don't remember doing anything to harm or bother my nurses." My stomach drops. He can't just write this off as nothing. "But, like Margret says, I don't see why they would leave if I haven't done something."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. At least she understands this can't go on.

"So you've been having memory problems?" he says writing something down as she nods. "Since, you had a stroke, that's to be expected. The outbursts you've been having however--"

"It's not her pills?" I ask.

"No," he says. "Outbursts like the one you described are not a common side effect of the pills I prescribed." He stares at the paper in his hand. "If you're up for it, I can have our psychiatrist come talk to you."

"Psychiatrist?" I say. "Why?"

"It's just to cover all the bases." He stands. "She might catch something I'm missing. I'll make sure to schedule a MRI for you, just to make sure you're brain is holding up okay."

"I need some water," my mother says when the doctor steps out. "Would you like some?"

"No," I mutter.

Six cups. My mother drinks six cups of water while we wait. She likes water as much as the next person, but this is ridiculous. She smiles apologetically.

"I don't know why," she says, filling her cup again, "but my throat feels so dry."

Why is she like this? Why won't she just hurry up and get better? I don't know how much more I can handle. We hear a knock at the door.

"Hi, I'm Jane," a young woman says, hand out for a handshake, "I'm the psychiatrist. You must be Cathy?"

"That's right," my mother says. "Nice to meet you. This is my daughter Margret."

"Hi, Margret. I don't mean to sound rude, but would you mind stepping outside for a moment?" she says, eyeing my mother. "I'd like to talk to Cathy alone." She flashes me a smile when I hesitate. "It'll only be five minutes or so."

Five minutes have never felt so long. I sit outside the room, bouncing my leg unconsciously. I try to pick out pieces of their conversation through the door. What if they decide to keep her? Will her insurance cover it? Before I can lose my mind further, the door opens and Jane walks out.

"The only thing wrong with your mother that I can see is that she's depressed," she says.

I resist the urge to punch her. I know my mother is depressed; anyone who knows my mother personally can tell she is depressed. Hell, she takes freakin pills because she is depressed. But depressed people don't attack others or play pranks to make themselves feel better. At least, my mother doesn't.

"There's nothing else wrong with her?" I say trying to keep an even tone.

"Doctor Tim already scheduled an MRI so we'll know for sure then. I can order some more tests to be done if you would like, but in the meantime, I'd say just make sure she's taking her pills and keep her preoccupied."

As she walks away, I wonder what she asked my mother. With her memory loss, she wouldn't remember any of the incidents she had with her nurses; I refuse to believe every last one of them was lying. Is it really just a combination of amnesia and depression? Or does Jane not even care to pay closer attention? I rub my forehead. In her defense, she never knew what my mother was like before all of this, but knowing that doesn't stop me from being irritated.

My mother is drinking water again when I enter the room. She gulps it down like her life depends on it. As she refills her cup, she looks like her mind is elsewhere.

"Mother," I say.

She glances at me and my heart stops. For a split second, the eyes that look at me belong to a stranger. I breath again when she smiles.

"I really don't know what's wrong with me," she says throwing her cup away. "I don't think I'm dehydrated."

"Let's just go," I say turning my back on her. "I have work I have to get done."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't mean to make you wait."

I can't shake the fear from the look she gave me. I don't know what I would do if she forgot me. How much harder would it be to take care of her then?

"If you were really sorry," I mutter, "you'd get yourself together."