Page 58 of Another Postcard

“This is Dr. Arnold,” a kind, female voice answered the phone.

I introduced myself and was grateful that the doctor seemed empathetic and showed a willingness to work with me. I asked for an update on Baylee and when she answered, I was relieved to feel as though she has really taken an interest in Baylee’s case. New York mental hospitals didn’t have the best reputations. If they’d taken her to Bellevue, I would have flown home just to drag her to a better place.

“Baylee was misdiagnosed for many years, Miss Hawk,” she began to explain.

“Please,” I said weakly. “Call me Brooklynn.” I vaguely wondered how she’d come to that conclusion though. I knew that they’d taken Baylee to the hospital the day before, at least that was what I thought, the time difference was throwing me for a loop. “How can you know that so soon?”

“Good question. You’d be surprised what you can learn from someone’s charts if you know what you are looking for. Baylee’s been to a lot of doctors and other medical programs, and we all take notes. It looks like nobody ever stood back and looked at the big picture. A common mistake. But as I said, I had an inkling. Adding in your mother’s depression, which is often hereditary, I was even more convinced what was happening, so I knew what to look for. Plus, after some time conversing with her over the last forty-eight hours, her answers and reactions were consistent with my diagnosis.”

Guilt built the lump in my throat, why hadn’t I found her better doctors? But she quickly went on as though she’d read my mind.

“Don’t blame yourself, Brooklynn. Baylee’s issue is not easy to diagnose. And, her situation is very unique. She has a borderline personality disorder. It’s extremely severe, but not bad enough to be categorized as schizophrenia. She doesn’t have multiple personalities, though it may seem that way because of the severity of what’s actually happening. She’s experiencing extreme mood swings. Patients with BPD are vulnerable to these mood swings not because there are necessarily differences with their brain chemistry, but instead because they possess rather fragile, developmentally-delayed and under-developed emotional coping skills. It can often appear as though the patient is a good or bad person with no in between, not seen as possessing those traits at the same time. Are you following me so far?”

I nodded, then realized she couldn’t see me. “Yes, I think I’m understanding.”

“Good,” she said with a warmness to her voice that was incredibly comforting. “Young children tend to represent the world in this high contrast way, but to then grow out of this black and white thinking as they mature. With Baylee, it’s unique because of the fact that she never mentally matured beyond the age of ten or twelve. She never reached that stage of growing out of it.”

“So, this wasn’t caused by her developmental delay?”

“No, it only exacerbated the situation. BPD represents a situation where that normal social and emotional maturation process becomes interrupted, due to trauma or difficult life circumstances that interact with temperamental—instinctual—emotional sensitivity.”

“We—our parents”—I didn’t know how to explain everything, nor did I really want to. I tried to be as succinct as possible—“Our childhood was incredibly rough. I—I assumed Baylee just didn’t remember anything because she never mentioned it or asked about it. I hoped she’d blocked it all out.”

“I’m not surprised. Again, Brooklynn, I really do stress that this isn’t your fault, the signs are easy to miss. For anyone. Even the best doctors or therapists. But, I feel confident in saying that Baylee is carrying a lot of baggage from your childhood.”

“So, can”—I mentally crossed my fingers and hoped—“you help her? Can she be rehabilitated?”

“Well, in some cases, therapy can be the only thing needed to keep it in check. But, as I said, Baylee’s situation is quite dire. We are still in the process of doing tests and learning all of the facts. I do believe that we can get to a point where it’s manageable. But, to what degree, I’m not sure yet. I can tell you that she would be better off living in an assisted living facility rather than on her own with a home companion.”

My head was spinning with all of the information I’d been given in the last few minutes. But, I clung to one thing in particular, they would be able to help her. “So, my sweet sister isn’t gone, right?”

“No,” she assured me. “She just gets lost in the opposite side sometimes, when her mood swings the other way.”

I sighed and some of the weight on my chest lifted. “How long will she need to be in the hospital?”

“I imagine it will take several weeks to get her on a working regimen and she’s safest here until it’s under control.”

I calculated the time in my head and came to the conclusion that the timing could work out fairly well. “If I need to come home right now, I will. But, I don’t know what you recommend. I have a longer break coming up and I’m hoping it will be right around the time that you’re ready to release her.”

Dr. Arnold hesitated and when she spoke again, she was still sympathetic, but firm. “Honestly Brooklynn, it might be better to give her some time anyway. You are a part of her childhood; you’re wrapped up in the trauma. With some intense treatment, she’ll learn to cope better and then we can introduce you back into her life.”

Tears were rolling down my cheeks by the time she finished. I sniffed and tried to keep from letting her know I was crying.

“I’m sorry, Brooklynn. But, for the most part, this is a good report.” Swallowing my tears and doing my best to keep the tremor out of my voice, I thanked her and after a few more questions, I hung up. Giving in to the ocean of emotions I was drowning in, I curled up on the bed and eventually cried myself to sleep.

It was dark when a light knocking on my door woke me. Hope sparked that it might be Levi, but I quickly snuffed it out, not sure if I even wanted to see him. Sluggishly, I climbed off the bed and dragged myself to the door. I cracked it open and more tears sprung to my eyes (I was shocked I had any left) when I saw Sasha and Kristi on the other side. Words were stuck in my throat, I didn’t think I could take their accusations and disgust on the same day as losing Levi. But, as I met their eyes, I saw only worry and sympathy.

“Can we come in?” Kristi asked quietly.

“I’m not giving you a choice.” Sasha put her hand on the door and shoved, making me stumble backward, the door opening wide. She stepped in and crushed me in a hug. My arms automatically went around her and I began to cry in earnest. She held me for a little while, then she led me over to the couches in the living area.

After we sat, Sasha next to me and Kristi sitting on the coffee table right in front of me, I looked between them confusedly. “You haven’t talked to Levi?” I asked guardedly.

“I ran into him at the bar, well on his way to getting shit-faced,” Sasha revealed. “He told me you needed us and you’d explain everything.”

My confusion only intensified. Why wouldn’t he explain what happened? For that matter, why would he send Sasha and Kristi to me at all? If he thought I was such an awful person, wouldn’t he let me stew in my own misery?

“So,” Kristi prompted, patting my knee. “Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?”

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