The Lobotomist's Wife(63)
Robert cleared his throat. “As I previously explained to your wife, when we see a case of ‘baby blues’ that doesn’t resolve itself within a reasonable time frame, it often means that the pregnancy and its aftermath have revealed underlying tendencies that need to be addressed. Mrs. Baxter is aware that she suffers from something called agitated depression, a condition that, if left untreated psychosurgically, can cause aggressive, even violent behavior.”
“Violent?” Frank scoffed. “Maggie can’t even kill a spider. She’s not going to hurt anyone.”
“I agree that your wife is a lovely and gentle person, but I can assure you that she has admitted to urges that are quite worrisome.” Dr. Apter looked at Margaret and she felt her stomach begin to churn. She thought those details were private. Now Frank would know what a monster she was. “She has had fantasies of killing young William. Of setting fire to the house.”
“Mags?” Frank looked at his wife, anguish twisting his face. “Is this true?”
Margaret didn’t remember having these feelings, exactly, but she had felt something like them. He was the doctor, so if that was what he heard her saying, and believed her capable of, it must be the case. She gave a barely discernible nod, flushing with shame.
“You see, Mr. Baxter, a transorbital lobotomy is a quick and easy procedure, easier than a trip to the dentist. And it can make these dangerous feelings go away. Forever.”
“But I have read that it can cause brain damage, and should only be used if the patient is in terrible condition with no other options. That’s not my wife.”
“I assume you’re referring to that highly publicized piece in the Saturday Evening Post. For every great medical breakthrough, you will find some lesser scientist who wants to argue against the genius. If research is what you require, I can give you multiple pieces that explain in precise detail the nuances of my procedure, and the many benefits of using it as a course of treatment in cases exactly like your wife’s. Of course, there are minor risks, as there would be with, say, the extraction of an infected tooth. But the long-term benefits surely outweigh them.”
“And what, exactly, are they? The long-term benefits?” Margaret felt uneasy as Frank questioned the doctor, his queries somehow making her, again, less sure of her decision to move forward.
“You see, by severing the connections in the frontal lobe that cause these overblown emotional responses”—he tapped at the front of his head—“I am able to essentially obliterate these negative and dangerous emotional patterns.”
“But how do you know you won’t obliterate my wife in the process?”
Margaret felt as if she might faint. She had never even contemplated that as a possibility. Could that really happen?
“Excellent question.” Dr. Apter smiled. “Mrs. Baxter will not be the same when the procedure is done. She will be calmer, happier. More patient with the children. Content with the excellent life you have given her, instead of miserably yearning for some mysterious ‘other’ that her current mental state is convincing her should exist. She will be freed of the anxious ruminations that prevent her from performing simple household tasks or enjoying an evening out to dinner. She will finally be unencumbered by the crippling illness that currently has her spending her days tied in knots, wishing for a happiness that sits beyond her grasp. She will be free to finally be the best version of herself.”
Margaret felt a wave of relief wash over her. To not have to try so hard anymore. To no longer feel afraid. To unconditionally love her children again. To willingly surrender herself to her home and her husband. It was all she wanted. Trying to fight against these other voices in her head was exhausting, and Dr. Apter was going to quiet them once and for all. “Frank, you see? I know you’re worried about me, but if I do this . . . we can be like we were before. We can be happy.” She looked at her husband, unable to hide the desperation in her face.
“Mags? Is this really how you’ve been feeling?” Frank gazed back at her, his eyes full of love and compassion, and she turned away, pained. “You know all I want in the world is for you to be happy. And you seem happier. Better. Why, the night you made your mother’s roast . . .” Frank smiled at her and her cheeks turned pink.
“Mr. Baxter, I have explained to your wife that it is quite common for a patient to experience a temporary elation simply upon learning about lobotomy as an option. I can assure you that without the procedure this will be temporary.”
Yes, the doctor was right. She wasn’t really happy; she was struggling. And this would end the struggle. “Frank, I’ve been fighting so hard to be the wife you deserve. A good mother for John and Maisy and William. And I’m losing. I don’t want to lose anymore.”
“Mr. Baxter, the area where I perform the lobotomies is just on the other side of that wall. The procedure itself only takes a few minutes. A brief electroshock for anesthetization—no side effects—and Mrs. Baxter will simply sleep through the whole thing. She will be able to walk out of this office within thirty minutes. She’ll likely have a headache for a few days and possibly some bruising around the eyes. I usually tell my patients this is a wonderful reason to purchase a new pair of sunglasses.” Dr. Apter was so calm, so reassuring. As he spoke, she seemed to forget entirely about the fact that he planned to enter her brain. Her brain. It was unfathomable. But, oh, if it worked . . .