want to live?”
Devi stared at the doctor again. The questions she was asking seemed reasonable but each one evoked a sense of helplessness within her, because there were no clear answers to these simple, reasonable questions. It should be easy for her to say,
Yes,
when someone asked her if she wanted to live, but something had happened, something terrible. She'd tried to kill herself and after that, the question of life was a difficult one to deal with.
“Do you?” the doctor prodded.
Devi nodded, unsure as to why she thought she wanted to live when all she wanted was to go back in time so she could lie in the bathtub again feeling the life seep out of her.
Dr. Berkley smiled.
“We'll meet tomorrow morning to discuss your discharge. The nurse will explain your charge plan to you. We can't release you on your own recognizance. That means you have to be with your parents. They will be responsible for you. I need to see you next week, so we will make that appointment as well. Do you agree to these conditions?”
Devi felt like she was listening to a judge speak in a courtroom scene of a movie. The words
recognizance
and
conditions
zipped around in her mind and she felt like a prisoner being allowed out on parole, if and only if she agreed to all the rules.
Devi nodded, putting some vigor into her nod. Just like a prisoner who desperately wanted parole, she needed to get out of this white hospital room.
“So, we'll talk next week, okay?” said Dr. Berkley, standing up. “Keep taking the Celexa regularly, and if you ever feel like talking,give me a call.” She put her card on the bedside tray and patted Devi's hand where it lay on her stomach.
“Devi, we'll work together to help you stay alive and work through the difficulties that caused you to attempt suicide. You're healthy there's no permanent damage. I know you felt hopeless to change your life, but through therapy, we can help you find the strength to overcome whatever drove you to this,” the doctor said as she stood at the doorway, ready to step out of the white room, Devi's prison.
Devi nodded, though she couldn't imagine how therapy, whatever that meant (they were all quacks anyway, these so-called shrinks) could make it all okay. And what was this about no permanent damage? What about the permanent damage that was already done? Who would, who could, repair that?
When the doctor stepped out, Devi's shoulders slumped and the tension that had been building up in the past few minutes seeped out. She felt as if she'd been through a test and that maybe, just maybe, she passed.
Devi was partially correct. Dr. Mara Berkley was convinced her new patient was not going to attempt suicide again. Not as long as she took the prescribed drugs and met with the doctor regularly.
“She already seems quite alert,” she told Avi, Saroj, and Vasu. “Through her communications with me I feel that she's not at risk anymore. But she still needs to be watched, a relative or friend must be with her at all times for the next few days, until she comes to see me again. Make sure she takes the Celexa.”
“How long will she need to take the medicine?” Saroj asked, baffled to be speaking with a mental doctor. It was bad enough that Devi dragged them through the emergency room, but this, talking to a shrink, this was just nonsense. Her daughter was fine. All she needed was some homemade food and Hindi movies.
“About six to nine months. This is a process, Missus Veturi. We'll keep checking on her progress and based on how she's responding to therapy and the drugs we'll decide what to do next,” the doctor explained.
There was silence in the room and then Dr. Berkley cleared her throat.
“It's not common for a grown woman to stop speaking for days like this. Do you have any idea why she does this?” she asked.
“She does it once in a while,” Vasu said, “and it usually does not last more than a few days. She is just… difficult at times. Does not want to
Devi stared at the doctor again. The questions she was asking seemed reasonable but each one evoked a sense of helplessness within her, because there were no clear answers to these simple, reasonable questions. It should be easy for her to say,
Yes,
when someone asked her if she wanted to live, but something had happened, something terrible. She'd tried to kill herself and after that, the question of life was a difficult one to deal with.
“Do you?” the doctor prodded.
Devi nodded, unsure as to why she thought she wanted to live when all she wanted was to go back in time so she could lie in the bathtub again feeling the life seep out of her.
Dr. Berkley smiled.
“We'll meet tomorrow morning to discuss your discharge. The nurse will explain your charge plan to you. We can't release you on your own recognizance. That means you have to be with your parents. They will be responsible for you. I need to see you next week, so we will make that appointment as well. Do you agree to these conditions?”
Devi felt like she was listening to a judge speak in a courtroom scene of a movie. The words
recognizance
and
conditions
zipped around in her mind and she felt like a prisoner being allowed out on parole, if and only if she agreed to all the rules.
Devi nodded, putting some vigor into her nod. Just like a prisoner who desperately wanted parole, she needed to get out of this white hospital room.
“So, we'll talk next week, okay?” said Dr. Berkley, standing up. “Keep taking the Celexa regularly, and if you ever feel like talking,give me a call.” She put her card on the bedside tray and patted Devi's hand where it lay on her stomach.
“Devi, we'll work together to help you stay alive and work through the difficulties that caused you to attempt suicide. You're healthy there's no permanent damage. I know you felt hopeless to change your life, but through therapy, we can help you find the strength to overcome whatever drove you to this,” the doctor said as she stood at the doorway, ready to step out of the white room, Devi's prison.
Devi nodded, though she couldn't imagine how therapy, whatever that meant (they were all quacks anyway, these so-called shrinks) could make it all okay. And what was this about no permanent damage? What about the permanent damage that was already done? Who would, who could, repair that?
When the doctor stepped out, Devi's shoulders slumped and the tension that had been building up in the past few minutes seeped out. She felt as if she'd been through a test and that maybe, just maybe, she passed.
Devi was partially correct. Dr. Mara Berkley was convinced her new patient was not going to attempt suicide again. Not as long as she took the prescribed drugs and met with the doctor regularly.
“She already seems quite alert,” she told Avi, Saroj, and Vasu. “Through her communications with me I feel that she's not at risk anymore. But she still needs to be watched, a relative or friend must be with her at all times for the next few days, until she comes to see me again. Make sure she takes the Celexa.”
“How long will she need to take the medicine?” Saroj asked, baffled to be speaking with a mental doctor. It was bad enough that Devi dragged them through the emergency room, but this, talking to a shrink, this was just nonsense. Her daughter was fine. All she needed was some homemade food and Hindi movies.
“About six to nine months. This is a process, Missus Veturi. We'll keep checking on her progress and based on how she's responding to therapy and the drugs we'll decide what to do next,” the doctor explained.
There was silence in the room and then Dr. Berkley cleared her throat.
“It's not common for a grown woman to stop speaking for days like this. Do you have any idea why she does this?” she asked.
“She does it once in a while,” Vasu said, “and it usually does not last more than a few days. She is just… difficult at times. Does not want to
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