The Many Daughters of Afong Moy(99)

Dorothy rested her forehead against the door’s cold metal, admitting to herself that in addition to wanting to help Annabel, she came here looking for someone, for the familiar strangers whom she saw during her treatments, the people who kept appearing as residual memories, the neurological ghosts who haunted her, spoke to her. Danced with her. She came here because she missed them and she didn’t know where else to turn.

She kicked the door one last time, then jumped when she heard it unlock from the inside. She stepped back as it opened, feeling as hopeful as she felt ashamed when she saw Dr. Shedhorn. Her hair was down, almost to her waist, and she wore a cable-knit sweater instead of her usual lab coat.

“Please, come in. I was expecting you,” Dr. Shedhorn said.

“You were?” Dorothy hesitated, then stepped inside as the doctor closed the door behind her and locked it. “I didn’t think anyone got my messages, I’m…” Dorothy felt a wave of anger. Louis and his mother—one of them must have called, maybe both—they could be on their way. Or they might even be here, waiting.

She turned to leave.

“It’s okay.” Dr. Shedhorn touched Dorothy’s arm. “You’re safe. It’s just us. We’re alone. You have my complete and undivided attention. I’m here for you.”

The doctor led Dorothy to a couch and asked her to sit down, which she did, though she kept her raincoat on. The doctor pulled up a chair next to her.

“I did get your messages,” Dr. Shedhorn said. “And your partner, Louis, called.”

Dorothy went to stand up.

“It’s okay, Dorothy. Please, try to relax. Breathe,” Dr. Shedhorn said gently. “I told him that I don’t treat couples, and when there’s an outside partner, my obligation, my confidentiality, my priority, is with my patient. He doesn’t know you’re here.”

Dorothy covered her face with her hands. Louis’s mother wants custody of Annabel and they both think I’m losing my mind. “What if he tries to take my daughter?” Dorothy asked, looking up. “What if he subpoenas my records here as part of a custody fight? Uses them to try to prove that I’m unstable, that I’m an unfit parent?”

“If anyone wants to look at your records, then they can get in line, because we’ll be in Tribal Court. Even if he manages to get a county judge involved, I would go to jail for contempt before I ever surrendered my patients’ records. Okay?”

Dorothy relaxed enough to take a deep breath.

“Before we talk about you, is your daughter safe?”

Dorothy explained that Annabel was with friends, she was safe, well away from the flood zone. Dorothy also shared that the memories from her treatments were becoming more dramatic, more real. She wasn’t sure if she was having a psychotic break, or a therapeutic breakthrough. She felt at peace but restless, confused but liberated, happy but longing. She never felt more alive than when she was someone else. But whatever was happening, it was happening to Annabel as well. Dorothy worried that it would only get worse. What would happen if Annabel followed these memories into oncoming traffic or over the railing of a bridge? What would happen if she dissociated so much she couldn’t function in school anymore, in social settings, in life?

Is that what happened to my own mother?

“What you’re feeling is normal,” Dr. Shedhorn said. “Though I’m sure it’s quite confusing at times. There was a famous mathematician named Norbert Wiener, the founder of cybernetics. He used to say that ‘We are not stuff that abides, but patterns that perpetuate themselves.’ That’s what people are and that’s what epigenetics is all about. That’s what I’m trying to do here. Recognize a pattern of behavior, of repeated cycles of trauma and loss, and then rewrite the script by reconciling those memories that are floating around your limbic system. Your condition, however, is the most acute I’ve ever seen. In retrospect, this might be a situation where we’d only continue your treatments on an inpatient basis, over several weeks or even months.”

“And my daughter?” Dorothy was too ashamed to share what had happened on the ferry. But too concerned—too scared—to ignore that horrible moment.

“Believe it or not,” Dr. Shedhorn said as she rubbed her chin, “children usually outgrow this behavior. They forget. They give up their imaginary friends. Their stories are relegated to childhood fictions as their minds become occupied with making memories, not remembering them. The present becomes more interesting than echoes of an epigenetic past, though these things typically manifest in other ways later in life. But she’s not the only reason why you’re here now, is it?”

Dorothy closed her eyes. She listened to the sound of the rain and then looked around as though waking from a dream. “I haven’t been able to sleep. I can’t eat. I’m getting lost in memories. Every part of me wants to keep going, my treatments…”

“And I wholeheartedly agree,” Dr. Shedhorn said. “But there’s a typhoon bearing down on the city as we speak. I’m sure you can understand how it would be wildly irresponsible to resume your treatment right now, under these conditions, even if we were staffed up, which we aren’t, even if I could, which I can’t. There’s just no way I can safely put you under while people are literally evacuating the lower-lying areas. We could lose power midstream. If things get really bad, we could be hit with a storm surge, any number of things. I have a solar-powered backup system, but honestly, it wasn’t designed for catastrophic weather. I don’t have any data on what would happen if the batteries failed before your session was complete, before I could bring you out gently, safely. I can’t imagine it would be a pleasant experience.”