Actually, I could. I’d heard that word for most of my life. No, things can’t be normal. No, you and Daddy can’t come with me to California. No, I can’t promise you this won’t happen to you, too. Still, for Daniel, I laughed at his attempt at camaraderie.
“I told you not to come here,” my mother’s voice, graciously playful with a hint of discipline, rang from the other side of the door before I even entered.
“Mama,” I sighed, “you’re awake, so am I—what’s the big deal.”
“The big deal, young lady, is you don’t have a life.”
Amanda Hall seemed back to her old self, whatever that meant, and had been getting there over the course of the last several days. She sat on the edge of the bed. No wheelchair, a real smile, and making eye contact with me.
Daniel dutifully stood in the doorway as I walked over to the bed and took a seat next to my mother, laying my head on her shoulder. “You’re my life, Mom.”
“No, Georgia. You’re mine. I demand you go get one.” She nudged my shoulder. “Plus, I’m leaving here as soon as the administrative cats crawl into the office in a few hours.”
Out of habit, when she said something I hadn’t heard from her doctor first, my eyes flashed to Daniel, who refused, it seemed, to look at me.
“You don’t have to check with him, Georgia.” My mother caught me staring. “I checked myself in. I’m checking myself out.”
“No ... I know that. It’s just...”
“You’re scared that if I leave now, I’ll be back here in a few days, like I was last time.”
I nodded, peering up at her as if I were a small child again, and we were in my room for a bedtime story. Those usually had happy endings, though. “Last time you were only out for two weeks, Mom.”
“And it was several months before that.” She gave a firm nod, as if to signal the end of the discussion.
Only, it wasn’t. There was no end in sight to these discussions.
“Susan—”
She cut me off at the mention of her sister’s name. “I have a condo. I don’t need to stay with Susan, and I will not be staying with you. Also, I need to talk to you about a decision I’ve come to.”
Her words didn’t make me nervous, but Daniel taking a purposeful step toward me did. I looked at him for a few seconds, trying to determine the risk I was about to take simply by listening to her. His face was set like stone, though.
“Georgia,” my mother confidently brought my attention back to her, “I’ve decided to go forward with the ECT.”
“What?” I shouted, causing Daniel to take another step forward. My mother didn’t flinch. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Darling,” she put her hand on my leg, “that’s not a decision you get to make.”
I stood. “Oh, so now it’s not a decision I get to make, but you drilled into me for, like, five years that when it was my decision to make, it was to be a hard no every time? What the hell? What’s going on?”
I knew my ability to make medical decisions for my mother was only covered insofar as she was incapacitated. Once she left the confines of the hospital, she could do whatever she wanted. Including zapping the hell out of her brain.
“It’s my best chance against staying out of here for the long term. The medication and the talk therapy can only carry me so far, honey.”
“But, you—”
“I know what I’ve said in the past. Things have changed. I’m getting worse.”
“So you want to fry your brain to get better?” I stood, the vomit working its way up my insides, needing more room to settle, or else it was going to be all over my mom’s room.
She sighed. “Georgia, you know that’s not how the therapy works.”
“No, Mom, I don’t. You spent several years making damn sure that I knew the exact and horrific reasons you didn’t want that therapy. Now you’re asking me to forget it?”
“I’m asking you to think of the times where it works. This is the last solid option I’ve got. Come on, Alice, take a deep br—”
“Stop!” I cut her off with a garbled yell, prompting Daniel to put his hand on my back. “Don’t start with that bullshit now. You can’t calm me down by making me pretend, Mom. I’m not eight, and that was just a fucking story.”
Of a lonely girl. With no prince.
My mother’s face fell; her lifetime tactic with me no longer effective. She looked at Daniel, then at me, then got up and walked to the window, saying no more.
“Please get my things.” I looked at Daniel’s shoes as I spoke. Once they moved toward the door, so did I.
“Georgia, I want to encourage you to stay. Don’t leave like this.” Daniel’s movements were slow as he gathered my bag from behind the nurses’ desk.
Tears welled in my eyes and threatened to burst at any moment. Now wasn’t the time for discussion. I sniffed as I snatched my bag from his hands.
“Sorry,” I sniffed again, tears fleeing the pressure of my head, “I can’t. It’s just ... I can’t.”