Conscious Sedation

Ghost of Lucinda

Chapter 5: Ghost of Lucinda

The silence between Harvey and I as we sat face to face in the sofa filled the living room of my apartment. Only the faint sound of the pouring rain can be heard. I waited for him to start the conversation but he simply won’t. Hence I gathered all the courage I have and started to continue the conversation that was cut when we were arguing on the street just before we got here.

“Harvey,”

“Car,”

We mentioned each other’s names in chorus. It seems like he also feels the need of a conversation as much as I do. I smiled at the thought.

“Go on Harvey. What is it?” I asked.

He opened his mouth to speak but he closed it again, seemingly in a great dilemma of saying or holding what’s on his mind. “I was just thinking,” At last he spoke. “I know this Psychiatrist, I think”

“Psychiatrist?” I blurted out. Interrupting whatever explanation he has been euphemizing in his head all along. “Are you saying I’m crazy?” I added, uncrossing my legs, nearly knocking off the huge porcelain vase of pink peonies as I swung my hand in the armrest. My eyebrows met and my forehead wrinkled with insult and disappointment with his words.

“No, Carmen it’s not what you think. There are a lot of cases like yours. Hallucinations and delirium are normal for surgery patients, you know that.” He said as he stood up and sat beside me. “You’re smart, you’re kind, you’re funny, you’re beautiful and a bit weird but Carmen, you’re not crazy. And I will never call you that.” He spoke with sincerity as I was again blessed with the opportunity to look at his beautiful dark eyes that swam with honesty and admiration.

“Harvey, I know about the post surgery hallucinations from anesthesia but If I’m actually seeing people and feeling them like solid at the same time then this is not just delirium, this is something worse.” My voice cracked with fear of what’s happening to me. Am I really going to be crazy? Or worse; am I already crazy?

“That’s why I want you to talk to a Psychiatrist, you need professional advice and medication if you might need it. You know you can’t ‘self-medicate’ cases like this.” He said as he held my hand.

I looked at our hands as our fingers intertwined. My eyes then averted from our hands and to his face. It was then that I wanted to ask the question that was bugging me for the entire time. “Why?” The word came out loud unintended.

“Why what?” He asked.

“Why are you helping me?” As a child I grew up knowing that help is a valuable thing that would cost you another disaster for one to pay back. I have been independent since I moved away from my parents which was years ago. And now a stranger wants to help me? This is completely new to me.

“Why would I not? Carmen, you know how much you mean to me. I will accompany you to all your sessions if you would allow me. I will talk to my dad and ask for help for all I care, you know I would do anything.” He said.

“You sound like you’re not really that close to your dad.” I changed the topic.

“We all have our daddy issues.” He spoke and smiled a very secretive smile. I kept my mouth shut wanting him to continue. After a few moments he decided to talk. “I’m really not a hundred percent positive about this but, I have this feeling that my dad didn’t really love my mom.” He said, successfully searching for words that would either euphemize or express what he truly feels.

I gave him a ‘why do you say so?’ kind of look and he actually gets it and answers me.

“I don’t know, I just feel that way. I mean, yes, he’s a good provider and all but there’s really something missing or at least lacking in the way he looks at her and treats me.” He said, as felt the utmost need to give him a hug.