A rush of relief washes over me. He was trying to help. I can’t even say that the result didn’t have a tremendous effect.
“Does it say who paid for it?” I ask the woman in front of me.
Her eyes scan the computer screen. “Nope. It says it was an anonymous donation. Though with a payment that large, it usually comes from an organization. Maybe you applied for some kind of assistance?”
Right. We never applied for assistance. This has Zach’s handiwork written all over it.
“That’s good,” Lyndsey whispers beside me. “Now, you can just focus on taking care of what your mom needs right now.”
I dragged Lyndsey along today for emotional support. I’m not sure what I’d be doing now if she hadn’t come with us. They have thrown so much information at me within the last few hours, I couldn’t keep one doctor straight from another. My emotional state completely fried any use I might have gotten out of my brain this week. Lyndsey was my backup, playing back anything I might have missed and helping me work through the available options.
“Have you decided on what kind of treatment you’re going to go with for your mom?” Dolores asks.
I shake my head. “I think the doctor recommended two weeks in a psychiatric hospital.”
This was her second suicide attempt in three years. Most people didn’t get this many chances to spring back from like a cat with nine lives. The doctors were adamant about this decision. In most of these types of cases, they said, the court mandates ninety days in a psychiatric facility. It could still come to that. If the doctors deemed it necessary to keep her. Then where would that land us?
She tried traditional therapy in the past. She even tried medicine to regulate her emotional state, but nothing seems to be working. A stay in a psychiatric hospital is vital for my mom to get better, no matter how badly I want to deny it. I’ll agree to whatever they ask, but I’d be lying if a small part of me doesn’t worry about how I’m going to pay this off later.
“We can set her up for two weeks with our hospital down the street.” Dolores sets to work typing up the information. “With your insurance and the credit on your account, you’ll still have plenty left over if they want to hold her for an additional week or two.”
“The what?” Did I hear her correctly?Good Lord.How much did this man pay?
“You have an additional credit on your account.” Dolores looks at me like I shouldn’t be this confused or upset about someone paying all my medical expenses. “I’m not sure how they did this. I’ve never actually seen anything set up like this before. Are you sure you didn’t sign up for any assistance programs?”
“I’m sure. Fine. Whatever we have to do,” I say, taking a look back at my mother in the chair across the hall from us.
I don’t want to imagine leaving her in that place, all alone and terrified about what’s happening around her. How will I be able to visit her like that? I’ll probably start crying my eyes out on the spot. Then where will that lead us? It certainly wouldn’t be the best method for making her feel better.
Still, I tell myself this is necessary. This is what will get mom feeling better, what will make it easier for me to leave her alone again. I’ll have time to go back to work, complete my studies at home.
Spend time with Zach.
A pang twists in my chest. I’ve been so horrible to him these past few days, ignoring his phone calls and texts, yelling at him for trying to take care of me. I didn’t want any help at all. I wanted to do everything myself.
Why? To prove I could do it? To have an achievement that says I did all this on my own without asking for assistance? And where had that led me? Overworked, stressed and pushing away the people in my life I loved the most.
I don’t want to be that person anymore. I don’t want to be the woman who turns down any opportunity to spend time with my friend in favor of working extra hours. I want to be able to see my mother every week, to really take care of her, instead of paying part of her bills every month.
I want Zach. I want to give him all my love, share his burdens as well as relinquishing some of my own.
We’re supposed to be doing this as a team.
Yet, he was not the only one acting as a team of one. I’d tried so hard to do everything myself, and it all fell apart in the end. The only time I’d really let anyone help was for the proposal. And now, I’m well on my way to seeing that dream realized.
I guess having someone to help you navigate issues like this really does make a difference.
“Ooo.” Lyndsey trills beside me. She’s looking over one of the pamphlets from the information packet on the psychiatric hospital Dolores gave us. “This place is nice. Becky’s uncle had to stay here one time when he had that mental breakdown after his wife left him, and he said it was nicer than the Four Seasons.”
“Why is Becky telling you about her uncle’s stint in a mental hospital?”
Lyndsey raises an authoritative finger in the air. I feel a lecture coming on already. “First, stints are for jail. Your mom is going to be fine. She’s getting all the help she needs. And second, you know Becky is a blabbermouth. I don’t even think she has an off button. I’ve had to start carrying earplugs with me whenever we hang out.”
“Then why even hang out with her?”
“Because my best friend is always busy working.”
“Yeah, well.” She got me there. Dammit. I really need to be a better friend. I need to be a better everything. All I’ve been these past few years is a workhorse. “I know. I’m going to try harder from now on.”