Looking Through the Cracks

Chapter 18: His Greatest Fear

"Are you sure he's here?" Ivy asked as she nervously peered outside her car window. Before them lay the main entrance to the hospital. The words "Grafton County Hospital" framing the large doorway in a vibrant red.
"I think so. It's a small town, and I know this place has a d--" he stopped himself from speaking it aloud. "A wing for people like your dad." Afraid Ivy noticed his slip up, B added, "I'm sure if you go in and say you're his daughter they'll let you see him."
"Are you not coming with me?" The words were out of her mouth before Ivy realized what they meant. She had grown so accustomed to B being there for her, that she had just assumed he would go with her. But she knew he couldn't. Even if she wasn't worried about how dad would react to seeing her, nevermind B, she doubted the hospital would let him, whatever he was to her, see her father too.
"I--I mean--" B stuttered.
Ivy stopped him. "Nevermind. Forget I even asked. I should do this by myself." With a deep breath, Ivy unbuckled her seatbelt, opened the car door, and heaved herself out of the car. The entrance was maybe ten feet from the car, but to Ivy it might as well have been miles away.
Come on, Ivy. You can do this. Dad needs you.
Urged forward only by the call to protect her father, Ivy walked to the entrance, through the sliding door, and up to the front desk. Sitting there was a eldery woman snuggled into a large brown cardigan, with a name tag reading "Barbara" pinned to it. Laying next to her keyboard was a crochet hook, and a half finished knit.
Clearing her throat, Ivy timidly spoke, "Um, excuse me? I think my father might be staying here." Her voice rose to a higher tone, like the saccharin sweet waitress who uses a different voice to attend to customers.
"Sure, dear. What's his name?" her aged face creased further as she grinned at Ivy.
"Robert Fitzgerald." Ivy nervously tapped her fingertips against her thumb as she listened to the woman's keyboard click away.
Glasses hanging on the tip of her nose, Barbara leaned forward to read the computer screen. "Hmmmm. Yes, I do see someone here under that name. Do you have any proof of ID on you? It's protocol" She gave a slight shrug, as if to apologize for asking.
"Umm, yeah I do." Ivy reached into her wallet, and struggled to pull her driver's license from the clear slot. Victorious in battle, Ivy handed the card to Barbara. Even though Ivy knew had nothing to be afraid of, the scrutiny Barbara applied to her ID made her nervous. What if my address is wrong? What if I don't look enough like dad?
"Looks like you're all set. Go straight ahead, and he'll be in the wing to your right. You'll need to put in this pin to get into the wing," the woman took out a pad of sticky notes, and began to scribble a series of numbers on it. Ivy's eyes grew wide. Barbara registered Ivy's shock and added, "it's for their safety. Without it, they may accidentally leave the wing and get lost in the hospital." With a smile, she ripped the note from it's stack and handed it to Ivy. With a sigh of relief, Ivy thanked the woman, and proceeded down the hallway.
As Ivy neared the wing she was able to read a sign located above the doorway: "Dementia Wing." There it is, loud and proud for the world to see, Ivy thought with derison. With great apprehension, Ivy keyed the pin into the number pad beside the locked door. With a loud beep and a click, the door unlocked, and granted Ivy access.
Upon entering the wing, the door shut behind her, and the lock latched into place. Instantly Ivy felt her heart begin to race. Her throat felt tight, and she could feel herself struggling to catch her breath. The longer she stood there, the greater her paranoia grew. What if I have an episode in here and they don't let me leave? What if they force me to stay here? Like an animal trapped in a cage, Ivy's eyes search the room for another exit. In the distance, she saw a neon exit sign above a door. But instead of seeing the same metal door that she came through, she saw a door with a bookshelf painted on it. Her brows furrowed in curiosity.
"May I help you?" Lost in fight or flight mode, Ivy jumped. She instantly felt like an idiot when she realized it was one of the nurses. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you."
Quickly, afraid if she looked paranoid she wouldn't be able to leave, she recollected herself. "It's my bad. I was just spacing out." Now that she had calmed down a bit, Ivy was able to finally see the nurse before her. Unlike most nurses who wear scrubs of various colors and patterns, this woman wore a red turtleneck, and black corduroys. She looked a little old to be a nurse, which made Ivy believe she had found the head nurse of the wing. For a while, Ivy stood there awkwardly waiting for the woman to speak. Instead, the nurse simply stood there with her plastered smile. Pleasantries aside, Ivy got to the point of her mission, "so, yeah, um, I'm here to see my father. His name is Robert Fitzgerald?" Her nervousness caused her voice to raise, making it sound like she was asking, rather than telling the nurse.
"Hmmm," the nurse crossed her arms across her chest, and tapped her chin in thought. "That name doesn't ring a bell. Who else would you like to see?" Again she beamed a wide grin at Ivy.
"No thank you..." Ivy hesitated, unsure how to handle the situation. "I just want to see my dad. The lady at the front desk told me he was here. Can't you check the computer?" Ivy grew anxious at the thought of her father not being there. "He's only been here for a couple of weeks," she added, hoping that might help.
With great enthusiasm, the nurse said, "what a great idea! Let's go check!" With the speed of an ambitious turtle, she made her way to the desk in the middle of the wing. As she went to go behind the desk, another nurse, this one in bubblegum pink scrubs, gently wrapped her arm over her shoulder, and quietly said, "come on Dolores, let's have a seat on the couch."
Her frustration rising, Ivy called out, "Um, excuse me! She was doing something for me!"
The pink nurse gave a sad laugh. "I'm sorry hun, but as much as she wants to, Dolores here won't be much help."
"What do you mean?" Ivy asked through gritted teeth, her anger bubbling.
"She's one of our patients."
It was like a curtain had been drawn back, and Ivy was finally able to see the room that lay before her. To the left of the circular desk was a mishmash of various furniture: a paisley patterned couch, several folding chairs surrounding a plastic table, and a handful of rocking chairs. Some of the seats were occupied with patients. Others were aimlessly walking about the room either independently, or accompanied by a tennis ball-footed walker.
One patient in particular strolled toward the exit painted like a bookshelf. Ivy turned to warn the nurse, when she noticed him stop at the door, and scan it, as if looking for something. Either uninterested, or unable to find what he was looking for, the man turned, and proceeded into the open doorway to his left.
The real nurse, aware of what Ivy had witnessed, proceeded to explain. "As you can see, painting the door helps prevent them from accidentally opening it." She scoffed lightly, "you should have seen how bad it was before we did that. If we didn't have a nurse posted up there, the alarm would go off every five minutes." Ivy nodded her head in understanding, but was unable to speak. These "decorations" all felt like an elaborate way to keep their patients trapped. She couldn't help but wonder if she would fall for the same thing when she got older. No, Ivy. Don't think about that. You're here for dad. You need to keep your head straight. You can think of all this after you've seen that dad is okay.
"Now, what can I help you with?" the pink nurse asked.
With a shake of her head, Ivy reiterated what she had told Dolores. "Yeah, um, I'm looking for my father, Robert Fitzgerald. The lady at the front desk told me he was here." Nervousness caused her to tap her fingers up and down her thumb.
"Oh, yes, Robert. I will say, he did have a hard time adjusting at first, but I think he's finally starting to settle in."
The words "settle in" alarmed Ivy. They had a permanence to them that made Ivy question whether her father would ever be able to leave this place. Again, she began to feel the clinically white walls surrounding her close in. As she took a deep breath to steady herself, she brought to mind her father, and like a warrior going into battle she reined in her anxiety. "Can I see him?"
"Well of course you can," smiled the nurse, "his room is right over here." Ivy followed the woman, as she made her towards the back of the wing. As they passed each room, Ivy couldn't help but glimpse inside. In one room, there was an old woman sitting in a wheelchair carrying a conversation with her television screen. Across the hall lived another woman who lay in a recliner staring out her window.
Caught up in the lives of those hidden away in these hospital cells, Ivy failed to notice the nurse stop before a darkened doorway, and bumped into her. With an awkwardly strained smile, Ivy quickly stepped back and apologized.
"Don't worry about it. It's always hard for people the first time they come here." The nurse gave Ivy a knowing look, but the nurse had no way of knowing that Ivy was freaked out, not because these people scared her, but because they showed her a future she didn't want to face. A future that was very current for her father.
"Let me just go in and check on him first. He tends to get started when guests visit him without him being prepared." Like an adventurer braving the dark depths of a cave, the nurse entered the dark room, and made her way to the bed. Underneath the covers, Ivy could see a large lump, his head blocked by what she assumed was a shoulder. With a soft and quiet voice, the woman gently coaxed the lump to an upright position in bed. From the doorway, Ivy struggled to see her father's face through the darkness, but could only make out the shape of her father.
It wasn't until the nurse turned on the light that Ivy was able to see her father for the first time since the cops took him away. The few scraps of hair that remained on his bald head had grown since she last saw him. He usually kept his hair short and buzzed, but now his hair had grown to the point where he began to look like a mad scientist. His small patch of bald scalp was even more prominent now. His normally icy blue eyes were dull and cradled by purple bags underneath. Despite the couple weeks passed, Ivy's father looked like he had aged a decade or more.
"Robert, this is your daughter, Ivy." The nurse said in the same tone a parent uses when introducing a child to a stranger.
"I—I—Ivy?" He looked up at her, and despite looking like the shell of the man he used to be, he grinned wide at her. "Ivy? Is that really you?" He stretched out his arms, and Ivy ran full force into them. She clung to him like he was a lone life vest in a raging ocean. Enclosed in arms, she felt at home for the first time in what felt like years. Her father kissed her forehead, and calmly petted the top of her head. It wasn't until she heard her father whisper "it's okay, lovebug, it's okay," again and again that she realized she was crying. It was like seeing her father had opened a vault, and now that it was unlocked, she wasn't sure if she'd ever stop crying.
"Oh, Dad, I missed you so much!" She feared to let go of him, afraid that if she did, she might wake up only to find this all a torturous dream.
"Shh, honey. It's okay. You're here now, and that's all that matters."
"I'll let you two catch up," said the nurse as she exited the room.
For a while, Ivy and her dad just sat on the bed in silence as they held each other. It was only after Ivy was sure her father was truly in front of her that she allowed herself to detach from him and sit beside him on the bed. As the adrenaline rush of finding her father subsided, Ivy felt a new wave of emotion overwhelm her: guilt "Dad, I'm so sorry this happened." She could feel tears welling in her eyes again, but she fought them back. " If I had only gotten home earlier, maybe I could have stopped them from taking you away." She looked down at the cream colored blanket strewn across the bed, too ashamed to make eye contact.
"Ivy," her father took her face in his hands, forcing her to look him in the eye, "this is not your fault. I don't want you for a second to think that you are in any way responsible for this." He gave a great sigh before continuing, "How I got here might not be ideal, but I needed to come here. I needed to come here in order to get better."
Ivy's face lit up. "Does that mean you can come home soon?" Ivy felt that little bird of hope flutter within her chest.
Again he sighed, "Ivy, it's not quite that simple."
"What do you mean? You said you're better now."
"Better, not fixed." He paused. "Unfortunately, there is no fixing this. All you can do is put another bandaid on."
Ivy's eyebrows furrowed in frustrated confusion. "I don't understand. What are you trying to say?"
"Honey, I'm going to have to stay here for a while."
"No, you don't. I can take care of you at home, like I always do." Ivy could feel the tears threatening to stream down her face, but she didn't care. "You can't leave me too."
"Please don't cry," he pleaded. "I have to do this for you. You're not safe with me in that house.
"Dad, you can't blame yourself for that. You can't control it" Ivy argued.
"That's exactly why I can't leave, Ivy. What if I have another bad episode and I hurt you?" He closed his eyes and shook his head, unable to fathom the thought. "I could never forgive myself."
Ivy had only seen her father cry once. It was years ago when she was maybe five or six years old. She found both her parents quietly sitting on the living room couch. Her mom had her arms wrapped around her dad. She later learned that her grandfather had passed away. To this day, she could never forget the sound of her father sobbing onto her mother's shoulder, his shoulder shaking with uncontrollable sadness.
This time it was different.
He held his head in his hand, shaking it back and forth as he cried quietly to himself. "I am so sorry, Ivy. I never wanted you to have to deal with this. It's better for you this way. Now you can have a life. Go out. Make friends. Enjoy yourself."
Quietly, Ivy muttered, "I'm never going to be able to do that."
Her father's head rose from his hands, his face a mask of confusion and concern. "What do you mean by that?" She could hear the slightest tone of anger in his voice. Over the years she had learned to recognize this change in his voice. It was her warning alarm before dad had an episode. Once she heard it, she knew she had only a few minutes to disable the bomb, or else he would become a slave to his disease again.
Normally Ivy would have kept what she said next to herself in order to keep her father calm, but she was done keeping secrets from her father. She hoped that maybe, just maybe, if her father knew the truth, he would understand why she needed him, just as bad as he needed her.
"I have it, too."
"You can't. You're too young! No, no, no, Don't tell me this. Tell me this isn't true!" He smashed his fists into his face, and began to scream. "No. No. No. This can't be happening. First your mother, and now you?!" He was now out of his bed, and charging towards his dresser. In a great rage, he swept his hands across the top of it, sending a lamp, and plastic dishware across the room.
Instantly, a handful of nurses come rushing into the room and attempt to restrain him. It wasn't until a nurse stabbed him in the side of the neck with a syringe that they were finally able to calm him down.
"I think it might be best if we cut your visit short today" said the same nurse as she wrapped her arm around Ivy, and led her out the room. All she could hear as she walked away from her father's room was her father repeating, "Please, God, not Ivy, not my little girl."
"I'm sorry you had to see that. Like I said earlier, he hasn't had the best experience with visitors." She gave Ivy a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
It was now that the nurse's words finally registered in Ivy's mind. "He's had other visitors?"
"I guess I wouldn't call it visitors per say. Besides you, he's only had one other visitor."
"Do you remember who it was?" Ivy thought she was the only one who knew he was here.
"Shouldn't you know? It was your mother, afterall."