Enchanted Dreams (18 page)

Emilie brought her hands to her chest self-consciously. She remembered everything except how she came to be in the hospital, but she was not about to discuss it with these doctors or David, so she shook her head in the negative. "Please just tell me why I'm here," she said. She sat back in her bed, suddenly calm although a nagging sense of something horrific churned painfully in the pit of her stomach.

"Do you remember visiting the clinic?" Dr. Rozzi asked her in an exaggeratedly patient tone.

Emilie looked at David at the mention of the clinic. He watched her from behind the doctor with the look of horror still fixed in his expression. Emilie's sense of dread and foreboding increased every time she looked at him. "I remember…protesters," she began, struggling to recall what she could about the clinic.

"Okay. That's a start," Dr. Rozzi encouraged her. "And do you remember being inside the clinic?"

Emilie shook her head. "I didn't go inside the clinic," she told the doctor.

There was a pause as Dr. Rozzi appeared to consider this. "Do you remember why you went to the clinic?"

Emilie glanced at David again. Her heart was beginning to beat faster. It was strange to be able to feel it and see it on the computer monitor, all at the same time. She nodded her head.

"That's great, Emilie," Dr. Rozzi told her. "You're doing fine. And can you tell me anything about the procedure you had at the clinic?"

Emilie blinked and then shook her head. "I…didn't have the…procedure," she said adamantly. A strange, unidentified dread was creeping over her. She had been clasping the blankets to her chest while the doctor questioned her, and now she slowly pulled them even more tightly to her, as if to prevent someone from removing the blankets and proving Emilie wrong, right there in front of everyone.

"Emilie," Dr. Rozzi continued in a tone of polite firmness combined with patient understanding, "a procedure was performed on you today at the clinic."

Emilie looked at the monitor above her head. She stared at it, mesmerized, as it traced the erratic pace of her heart.

"Do you understand, Emilie?" Dr. Rozzi asked, speaking to her as if she were a child.

There was silence for a long moment. "They took it," Emilie whispered suddenly.

There was another pause, during which Dr. Rozzi appeared to be grappling over how to proceed. "Okay, Emilie," she continued in her patient tone. "That's good. And then do you remember what happened?"

"I fell asleep," said Emilie.

"And after that?"

"Nothing. I woke up here." She suddenly became upset. "That is all I remember, Doctor. Now, please, please, just tell me what happened!"

The other doctor cleared his throat and Dr. Rozzi turned to him expectantly.

"Hello again, Emilie," he began awkwardly, clearing his throat again before continuing. "You slept through most of the procedure. We had to sedate you because you were further along than we originally thought. You seemed fine until you woke up in the recovery room." The doctor paused here to clear his throat again. "At that point you became quite hysterical."

"Do you remember any of what he's telling you?" Dr. Rozzi asked.

Emilie shook her head, and the other doctor went on. "You kept screaming and demanding to see the…fetus," he said. "You had quite an episode, tearing things off the walls…breaking them. We had to call an ambulance and that's when you were restrained and brought here."

Upon hearing the doctor's words, Emilie suddenly recalled thinking, as she drifted off to sleep, that she must see the baby before they took it away with them. She wanted to be certain that it was really theirs before she let them take it. But how had she ended up inside the clinic with this doctor? Had the aliens come to her there? "But…I don't understand," she said to the doctor. "How did I get inside the clinic?"

The doctor sighed. "The clinic is where you came to have the abortion," he reiterated impatiently.

"But I didn't have an abortion!" Emilie cried. She looked at David, then at the doctors again. "It wasn't an abortion."

Dr. Rozzi put her hand on Emilie's. "It's perfectly all right," she told her. "We are going to help get you through this."

"No!" Emilie cried, jerking her hand away. "You don't understand. I didn't have an abortion."

Dr. Rozzi gave the nurse a look as if to say, "Get ready," and then she turned to David. "She's going to need your support now," she told him. David moved reluctantly from behind the doctors to stand at Emilie's side. He reached down unenthusiastically and took her hand. Their hands remained flaccid and lifeless, as if the connection was equally repellent to both.

"I didn't have an abortion," Emilie repeated again, but this time it came out more like a plea.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Rozzi said. "Doctor Meade is one of the resident doctors for the clinic and he was there with you at the time."

Emilie turned to him and paled. "You were there with me while I…while I…you…"

"Performed the abortion, yes," he told her. "We had no idea that you were so troubled about it. You seemed so determined to go through with it beforehand."

"You're sure there was an abortion?" Emilie was incredulous.

"I'm quite certain, yes," the doctor assured her.

"Was it a…?" The doctor became a blur as large tears suddenly filled Emilie's eyes.

"The sex of the baby is not something you should concern yourself with," he advised.

"Human?" she finished.

The doctors exchanged glances. David gasped. Everyone was clearly taken aback by her question.

"Emilie," Dr. Meade began after an uncomfortable pause. He was clearly choosing his words carefully. "What did you mean at the clinic when you kept saying that you wanted to see if the baby was theirs? Who are 'they'?"

But Emilie suddenly realized what the doctor had said before. Her eyes grew wide with horror. "The baby had a
sex?
"

Dr. Rozzi tried to interject. "Emilie…"

"Did you
see
the baby?" Emilie demanded. Her mind was racing as she now struggled to remember the details of what happened. She had not actually
seen
the aliens take anything out of her. She had only assumed that's what they were doing. But everything seemed suspect to her now. Why had they come for her, if not to get their hybrid from her before the doctors at the clinic got to her? But if that were the case, why did Dr. Meade keep insisting she'd had the procedure? She looked at him with suspicion. He had to be lying. Was he in on it with the aliens? Was he one of them?

"Why was I brought here?" she asked, her voice turning hard.

"I already explained that to you, Emilie," Dr. Rozzi replied patiently. "We're going to keep you here on the fourth floor for a few days," she continued. "For observation, and to make sure you aren't going to hurt yourself or anybody else."

"You can't keep me here!" Emilie said, her voice rising. She looked at David, but perceived immediately that she couldn't expect support from him. Once again, Dr. Rozzi looked meaningfully at the nurse, who now jerked into action, retrieving a little vial from a nearby table and hurriedly attaching it to a syringe.

"David," Emilie began, knowing it was hopeless, but needing to try. "He must be one of them," she said quickly, realizing there would be no way to explain everything before the nurse finished preparing the sedative. "It wasn't yours," she continued. "It wasn't even human, David." She turned to the doctor suddenly. "Bring it here, then," she screamed. "Show it to me." The nurse was preparing her arm for the needle. Emilie knew better than to struggle. "Please, David," she cried. "Please don't leave me here with them."

"This is only temporary," Dr. Rozzi said in an even tone. But Emilie wouldn't listen to her. She felt the prick of the needle in her arm and winced. Dr. Rozzi continued speaking in soothing tones. "Given your history, I think it's likely that all of this is a one-time episode brought on by prenatal stress and hormones. I've run some blood tests to confirm if this is the case. For now, there is nothing more you need to do other than rest."

Emilie remained in a state of drugged bliss for several days. When she next saw David, he was supportive and attentive, more like the husband he had been before the incident. He had recovered from the initial shock, Emilie supposed, and forgiven her "temporary insanity," as Dr. Rozzi called it. The doctor explained that the insanity was brought on by a condition Emilie had—something to do with extreme deficiencies of iron in pregnant women causing the kidneys to malfunction. It was often accompanied by a strong taste of metal in the mouth.

Recovery was slower than Dr. Rozzi expected, and Emilie remained on the fourth floor for several weeks, not days as she had originally predicted. During those weeks, Emilie underwent intense therapy where she and Dr. Rozzi discussed the various details of Emilie's life, most of which led to Emilie's mother. What happened at the clinic was concluded to be a tragic but isolated incident of extreme anemia. Although Dr. Rozzi often questioned Emilie about her feelings about her lost pregnancy, she never mentioned the strange "hallucinations" Emilie had suffered from again.

And tomorrow Emilie would be going home.

Emilie looked upon the coming day with mixed feelings. Things would never, she knew, be the same with David. Going back to him and their life together would be difficult now. Perhaps their marriage would end. The thought of being alone with him filled her with dread.

Emilie sighed, wondering what lay ahead for her. She supposed that she would just have to wait and see, feeling a strange sense of acceptance for whatever it was. There was little she could do to change it anyway, she now realized.

But she had a sense that it would all work out. What did it matter what any of them thought?
She
knew the truth. And she knew better than to tell anyone about it, too. Quite obviously, this world was not ready to accept what she knew to be true. And even among those who would accept it, there were plenty who would fight it if they could. There was good reason for her to keep quiet.

But aside from all of this, Emilie knew now that they were watching her. She had known it all along, really, but she became consciously aware of it her second day in the hospital. And once she'd figured this out, she went back over her behavior in the days prior and decided it hadn't been that bad. She had said very little, even in her worst moments, and afterward she had denounced every word. And since then, her behavior had been exemplary. Everything she said now, especially in her conversations with Dr. Rozzi, was really meant for their ears. She was determined to prove that she could be trusted. Next time she would handle things better. She promised this to herself and to them. She hoped they heard her. Hadn't they communicated to her telepathically in the little room? She was certain they must be able to hear her now, as well. They simply must.

And so tomorrow Emilie would go home, to David, and wait. She knew she would have to trust them if she expected them to trust her. She would keep their secret hidden deep inside her, releasing her memories of them only in her dreams. This would have to suffice until they returned. In the meantime, Emilie would remain…expecting.

The addition of Eleanor Dobbs to my patient list puts an end to my Tuesdays off, but I couldn't comfortably fit her in any other day. I will see her at eleven, and then, for now, spend the afternoon catching up on office business. It looks as though all my hard work has finally blossomed into a successful, full-time practice!

My new patient is a middle-aged woman dealing with issues of loss from the death of her husband (he has been gone for nine months). I'll begin grief therapy initially, until I ascertain if she has any other issues. I had a brief consultation with her today, where we went over the basics. Incidentally, she and her husband had been seeing Dr. Michael Czernick in couple's therapy right up until he died.

Meanwhile, the tension at home continues to escalate. Tom's attempts at reconciliation are cursory and unsatisfactory. Things got a little heated last night, and sure enough, I find flowers in my office this morning (carnations!). Every gesture from him seems calculated to annoy me. His lack of genuine effort makes it impossible to take him seriously.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

I encouraged Eleanor Dobbs to simply express her feelings about her loss today. As is the tendency with grieving spouses, she appears to be exaggerating his attributes somewhat and admits to no negative memories of him whatsoever. This is fine for now, but it will be important later on in therapy for me to help her to accept the man he was, so that she can grieve properly. I sense this may be difficult with her, as she seems a bit more rigid in her denial than what is typical. Perhaps there are issues of guilt? She currently expresses feelings of loneliness, lethargy and depression, and says she has the most difficulty at night. I prescribed a mild sedative to help her sleep.

Tom was distant and sullen last night. When I am around him lately, it's like there's a constant pressure weighing me down. He was upset because he made dinner and I was late and didn't feel like eating. But here again, his gestures are thoughtless and rarely hit the mark (he knows I'm watching my weight and he makes pasta, of all things). So I guess I'm supposed to choke down the meal he prepared whether I want it or not? Everything always has to be on his terms.

But even when he's not moping or complaining, he's bombarding me with questions—always his incessant questions about everything! The smallest query from him grates on my nerves like a dripping faucet. I'm not sure why this is. I know he's trying to be civil and it's not like I have anything to hide. But I get the impression that he's only asking these things to gain some kind of advantage over me. Even the simplest inquiries about my day, my practice, my health, even my feelings—when coming from Tom—feel like the most frightful invasion.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Last week, as Eleanor Dobbs was preparing to leave my office, I asked her to write down some of her most cherished memories of her husband as she thought of him throughout the week. I was looking for examples of their more memorable moments together, some nice things he had done for her, special gifts he given her, etc. The list Eleanor brought me was astonishingly deficient. I felt it so lacking as to be mendacious, but she appeared to be quite sincere.