Off the Deep End (66)
NINETEEN
AMBER GREER
I sat staring at Isaac’s blank computer screen like I’d done so many times since Mark’s confession yesterday, but I still couldn’t bring myself to look. Seeing it would make it a reality I couldn’t take back, and part of me wanted to stay in denial that Isaac would ever be part of something so awful.
Mark and I had so many arguments over this thing in the past few years. It’d been one big argument since the moment we got it. Even buying it at the store had turned into a stupid fight. Technology and screen time were two of Mark’s and my biggest disagreements. We never argued about things when our kids were young, but it wasn’t due to any admirable qualities of our own. We simply agreed on most things when it came to parenting and child-rearing practices—breastfeeding versus bottle-feeding, managing the toddler years, having the kids on a schedule and trying to keep their lives structured. Bedtimes. Homework. Discipline. All that stuff. We agreed on it all. We were lucky that way.
But all that changed the older the kids got and the more complex their issues and problems became. That’s when we had our first real divide. Mark was much more laid back and relaxed when it came to limiting their screen time, which of course he was since I was on him about it almost as much as I was the kids. He couldn’t say there was anything wrong with the amount of time they spent on their phones and devices when I was always snapping at him to get off his.
I knew Isaac’s password but rarely logged on. The world of online computer gaming made no sense to me, and I had zero interest in it. That was all Mark’s domain. He understood and liked it way more than I did. I’d always figured if there was something concerning about Isaac’s behavior, Mark would tell me. That’d been our agreement, even though we’d never committed to it out loud. We didn’t need to. It went without saying that Mark would let me know if there was anything to be concerned about with Isaac’s behavior online. I couldn’t help but feel betrayed that he’d broken our agreement.
Guilt immediately flooded me. I was such a hypocrite. I didn’t tell Mark when Isaac took too much of his medication last month in the same way he hadn’t told me about the video game stuff. He was going to feel just as betrayed as me when I told him, and I had to tell him. We’d paused our discussion in the bathroom so that we wouldn’t be gone for too long and make the police grow even more suspicious of us than they already were. But our conversation was far from over, and this was going to be the first thing I told him when we resumed it.
I just hoped he would understand that the only reason I hadn’t said anything was because I hadn’t wanted to make a big deal out of something that wasn’t. I wanted to give Isaac the benefit of the doubt. Mark probably did the same thing I’d done when he found out about Isaac’s violent world: told himself it wasn’t a big deal given the circumstances. Kids, especially ones in the throes of puberty and trauma, were going to have all kinds of intense and out-of-the-ordinary reactions. At least that’s what I told myself. That Isaac’s behavior was a reaction to everything he’d been through.
Right before Isaac quit therapy, Theresa suggested a psychiatric evaluation for him to see if medication might help with his depression. I’d been thinking the same thing for a long time, so I gladly took her referral and made an appointment with Dr. Fritz the following week. Dr. Fritz was one of the few child psychiatrists in the area, and he didn’t have an opening in his schedule for three months, but he moved things around once he found out who Isaac was. I’d never used Isaac’s notoriety before, but I didn’t feel bad about it since it was for a good cause. Not like I would if I took any of the money the news agencies offered for our stories.
Dr. Fritz prescribed Celexa, and Isaac started on a small dose. I was concerned about all the potential side effects, especially increased suicidality in teenagers, so we spoke about them at great length. Causing the condition you’re trying to treat seems counterintuitive to me, but Dr. Fritz assured me Isaac would be fine as long as we started at a very small dose, titrated him up slowly, and monitored him closely along the way.
Within two weeks, he’d taken a handful of them. I had no idea he’d done it and would’ve never found out if I hadn’t, coincidentally, taken him to the doctor for his annual physical a few days later. His pediatrician, Dr. Knoll, looked up at me after she listened to Isaac’s heart. She’d gone through the same routine she’d been doing since Isaac was four. Listening to his chest while he took a deep breath, then listening to his back in the same way. It felt strange to sit in with Isaac on his physical since he’d been going alone for the past few years, but he’d insisted on it.
Her brow furrowed. “I’m detecting a slight arrhythmia in Isaac’s heartbeat.” She took a few steps back from him like the separation might help her get a better handle on things. She rubbed her chin. “His blood pressure is also elevated. Have you been feeling okay, Isaac? Any dizziness? Lightheadedness?”
“A little bit,” he said.
“You have?” I asked, piping up from my position on the chair in the corner. So far, I’d kept my mouth shut.
He nodded.
He’d never told me that he wasn’t feeling well. I’d heard him get up and go to the bathroom around one o’clock last night, but I hadn’t thought anything of it. He was frequently up in the middle of the night, and most of the time he used the restroom in the hallway at some point during it. “Were you sick last night?”