Sweet Forty-Two(25)

Tears clouded my view of the faraway woman I still called Mama. Taking her hand, I smiled and nodded.

“I’m here.”

Catatonic Schizophrenia.

The name doesn’t look pretty, doesn’t sound pretty, and the effects on the person and their family are a self-contained Antichrist to pretty. At that point there were several other diagnoses on the brink of landing on her chart, but the original catalyst was catatonic schizophrenia.

“Georgia?” A delicate male voice called from above.

At the sound of my actual name, my mother’s eyebrows drew in, and she mouthed Georgia, looking between me and the floor for a few moments before turning her wheelchair to face the polka-dot caps of the ocean.

I cleared my throat, sniffing once as I stood. “Hello, Dr. Carver.”

Dr. Carver was well seasoned. Easily in his early sixties, with a head of thick salt and pepper hair. The only wrinkles he had were around his eyes and mouth, and only appeared when he smiled. I admired that despite the work he’d chosen to dedicate his life to, he spent most of it smiling.

“Take a little walk with me?” He held what I presumed to be my mother’s chart as he tilted his head to the hallway that hosted his tiny office.

I looked back at my mother with a sinkhole slowly caving in my stomach. Moving slowly, I put my hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be right back, Mom, okay?”

A thin, cool hand reaching up and resting on mine for a second was the only response I got. It was good enough for now, and far better than Saturday’s responses.

I walked to Dr. Carver’s office with my head down, feeling somewhat like I was on my way to the principal’s office. He was quiet, too. There were very few good reasons to have to sit in a doctor’s actual office, and I wasn’t betting this was one of them.

“Please sit.”

I did. Then, waited.

“Georgia,” Dr. Carver started with great hesitation, “we’ve known for some time that your mother hasn’t been seeing the progress we’d like. What happened Saturday was a setback—”

“She has catatonic schizophrenia, Doctor. By definition she swings between excessive mobility and immobility.” I cut him off by reciting basic medical information to a man who’d been practicing medicine since long before I existed.

He patiently cleared his throat and clasped his hands on the desk in front of him. “I’m aware of her admitting diagnosis, Georgia. That’s what concerns me. Typically, this type of schizophrenia can respond well to benzodiazepines, which she’s on, and psychotherapy, which she’s involved with.” He took a deep breath. “As you’re aware, the length of time between her hospital visits have been shortening...”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“Is she still living with her sister?”

I shook my head, looking down. “No. My aunt Susan had a baby a few months ago. It wasn’t really ... you know...” Safe. I couldn’t say the word, but it made itself known inside my hesitation.

“So she’s been living on her own?”

I nodded. “She’s refused for six months to move into the vacant apartment in my building. I finally had to rent it out today.” My throat closed around the words. I’d known she’d put up a fight, but I hadn’t counted on it being a forever fight.

She didn’t want to live with me.

He sighed. A long, heavy, preemptively apologetic sigh. “It’s time we actively consider adding ECT to her treatment plan.”

“No.” I stood with such force that my chair slid several feet behind me, tapping the back wall of his small office.

Dr. Carver didn’t flinch. I’m certain he’s dealt with more startling situations than my brewing temper tantrum. “Georgia. ECT, in conjunction with medications, like the ones she’s taking, has time and again proven the most effective for patients with catatonic schizophrenia.”

Electroconvulsive Therapy. Sounds fancy, right? Shock therapy is what it is.

“Dr. Carver, when I became her healthcare proxy she made it very clear to me that ECT was not up for discussion. I intend to honor her wishes.”

I wiped my palms against the soft cotton of my skirt. I knew she wasn’t getting better. She only had to be hospitalized when she slid to either end of her catatonic spectrum. She’d been spending less and less time in the middle, making living on her own a dangerous option.

However, she still had life left in her. I could feel it as sure as I could feel the sun was out even if my eyes were closed.

“Georgia ... the combination of medicine we have her on right now is the best she’s responded to. Why don’t we help that along with a round of—”

“No. I’m not sending her into seizures in the hopes that it rewires her brain so she can function normally again.”

“It’s not just a hope. It has a very high success rate of—”

“I’m aware of the numbers, Dr. Carver. I’m also aware of the potential negative side effects. So is my mother. Again, the answer is no.”

Dr. Carver stood and squared his chin toward me. “Your mother is here on her own accord, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes.” I scrunched my forehead, wondering what this lead-in was all about.

“If her history is any indication, she’ll likely be released within a few days. If she gets worse and has to eventually be involuntarily admitted, we’ll be completely out of proactive options unless you okay the use of ECT.”