| |
Mom and I found the doctor’s office in a small building near the hospital. Dr. Whittaker’s assistant took us to an examining room and left us there. After a half hour, the doctor came in, carrying a pile of papers.
“How are you feeling, Faye?”
“Fine, I guess. Still a little tired, though.”
He checked my eyes and ears, listened to my heart, and asked me to follow his finger as he moved it in front of my eyes. He nodded and wrote something down. “That’s normal. You should start feeling better soon.” He shuffled through his papers. “Your tests are all normal. Did you ever figure out why you thought your name was Pilot?” There was a twinkle in his eyes.
Mom spoke fast without looking at me. “She was out of her mind, sir. Nothing she said made any sense for a while. The knock on her head did it, I think.”
“Faye, what do you think? Do you even remember the things you said in the hospital?”
The doctor had been nice to me, so I decided to take a chance. I took a deep breath. “Yes, I remember them now. I was kind of confused for a while. But I do think I remember having a different name and different parents when I was little.” It was no longer a secret. I could feel a giant chasm opening before my feet.
He shifted his gaze to my mom. “Mrs. Smith, is her memory correct?”
Her tone was forceful and frustrated. “No, sir. I’ve told her over and over that she’s imagining things. She’s always had an active imagination. She gets these spells when she seems far away and thinks she’s remembering things that never happened. Her dad calls her Punkin, and I guess it could sound a little like Pilot. And I’ve always worked, so she stayed with a lot of babysitters when she was little. She must have gotten them mixed up.”
He looked at me. “Tell me more about these spells, Faye.”
It took me a while to put together an answer as I tried to find the right words. “Well, several things happen. Sometimes I get these squiggly lines in front of my eyes, and I can’t see anything for a few minutes. Other times, I feel like somebody’s holding a picture in front of my face, or it seems like a curtain is about to be lifted and I’ll see something important. But it never happens, and then I get sick to my stomach. That lasts for just a few seconds, I think. And I have this terrible nightmare. I’m in a dark place all alone, and I’m scared out of my mind. I wake up screaming.” I paused to think. “That’s it, I guess.”
He had taken notes while I was talking. “Going back to the squiggly lines in front of your eyes. Do you ever get a headache after you see the lines?”
I nodded, surprised that he understood me so well. “Sometimes. But not always.”
“And what about the other times? Do you get a headache, or do you ever black out when you get these strange sensations?”
“I’ve never blacked out, but I do get a weird feeling in my head, and sometimes I forget where I am for a few seconds. I might get a headache then, too. But more often, I get sick to my stomach.”
He nodded and then turned to Mom. “Have you taken her to a doctor for these problems?”
“When she was little, I took her to a doctor, and he said she might be having small seizures. He said if they got worse, we would have to see a neurologist, but we never had the money. He prescribed some medicine for when she had one of her spells. I guess it’s worked, because she hasn’t gotten worse.” Her face was red. Beads of sweat were forming on her forehead, and her eyebrow twitched.
He shuffled through his papers for a few seconds then looked up. “I don’t think she’s been having seizures. Her tests look good. What was the medicine?”
“Phenobarbital. I keep getting the prescription refilled.”
“I don’t think she needs to take it anymore. But you’ll need to taper her off of it. Here’s how you do it.” When he finished talking to my mom, he turned to me. “Faye, I think you are having migraines. They start with a visual aura, like you describe, and then they may or may not lead to a headache. The headache, when it comes, can be intense or mild. Does that describe your experience?”
Migraines. I’d heard of them, but I didn’t know much. I nodded.
“If they get worse, I can give you some medicine. But it sounds like you’re managing pretty well. I’ll give you a pamphlet about it before you leave.” He paused. “As far as the ‘spells,’ as you describe them, I’m not sure what to make of them. I wonder if you’re having flashbacks.” When he saw my look of confusion, he continued. “Flashbacks are something from your past that you might not remember, but it happened, and at times, pieces of it come back into your mind.” He looked at Mom. “Did anything like what she describes happen?”
Mom laughed. “Different parents? No. Definitely not. I have her birth certificate at home if you want to see it. Like I said, she could be remembering babysitters. But we did have a car wreck when she was about four, and that might be part of it.” She shrugged. “What can we do about these spells?”
He frowned and looked away. “The only thing I can think of would be counseling. I don’t think any medicine is going to help. Would you consider counseling? I could refer you to someone.”
My face went hot. I probably blushed up to my hairline, thinking about Terry. Fortunately, nobody was looking at me.
They were quiet for a while until my mom said, “Sir, I appreciate the thought, but we don’t have the money for counseling. We’re simple working people. Faye’s doing better now. If she didn’t insist on running so much, everything would be fine. But I can’t talk any sense into her.”
He turned to me, concern in his eyes. “Does running make your symptoms worse?”
“No, sir. Not at all.” I knew it wasn’t completely true, and probably so did Mom, but neither of us said anything.
He nodded. “Running’s good exercise, and I know more women are starting to run. You can go back to it whenever you’re ready. Don’t push it until you’ve got your energy back, though.” He stared hard at my mom. “I don’t think she has epilepsy now, and she probably never did. She might have had a seizure at one point because of a high fever. But taper her off the pills, all right?”
Mom nodded, her face red.
He said we should come back and see him if things got worse and assured us that, other than the spells, I seemed to be a normal teenager. He patted me on the shoulder and left the room.
When Mom was driving home, she said, “I know you lied to that doctor, missy.”
I didn’t respond, but I thought, And so did you.
* * *
THE NEXT DAY, I STOPPED by Laney’s clinic before meeting Francie for our regular run. Laney sat at her desk, trying to write with her left hand. Her right arm was in a sling, and she had a big bruise on her cheek. But when she saw me, she smiled and stood up to give me the best hug she could manage.
I held on for as long as I dared and tried to hold back the tears. A few leaked out anyway, but I kept them to myself.
“Hi, sweetie,” Laney said. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m much better. How about you?”
“Oh, I bruised my shoulder, but I’m mending. No major harm done.”
“What about the car?” I asked, wondering if I would be charged for the damage. After all, I had been driving.
She laughed. “The car is the least of our problems. It’s dinged up, but it can be fixed. It’s in the shop now. Don’t worry about it. That’s what insurance is for.”
It was time to take responsibility. I cleared my throat and forced myself to look directly at her. “I’m sorry about the wreck. I know I overreacted.”
“No, Faye, you’re a new driver. It was my responsibility to keep you safe. I guess I didn’t react quickly enough.” She sucked in her breath. “Maybe I’m not such a great driver’s ed instructor. I’ve never been in a difficult situation before.”
We stared at each other. I didn’t know which of us was telling the truth. Possibly we both were. The whole thing had happened so quickly that I couldn’t say for sure.
“Well, I’m sorry,” I said, awkward in my new role as equal to an adult.
“Yeah. Me, too.” We hugged again. When I didn’t make a move to leave, she asked, “Was there something else you wanted to talk to me about?”
This was going to be hard, but I needed to do it. I took a breath and opened my pocketbook. “I want to show you something.” I told her about the doctor’s visit and then handed her a bottle of the pills I’d been taking for as long as I could remember. “Do you have access to a chemistry lab or something?”
“I can send things to a lab in Orlando if I need to. Why?”
“I just wondered if you would have these pills analyzed. They’re supposed to be phenobarbital, but I just want to make sure.” I felt like a dog that had done something wrong and was cringing, waiting to be yelled at for its behavior. Somebody—either Laney or my mom—was bound to yell at me for doubting those pills.
She took the bottle and removed the lid, shaking out a few pills. Giving me a funny look, she said, “Let’s check it out.” On a shelf was a nurses’ book of pills, with pictures. She opened it to the photo of phenobarbital. The pills in my bottle were round and white and pressed, similar to but not exactly like those in the picture.
We stared at each other. “Honey,” she said, “I don’t know what this is, but I don’t think it’s phenobarbital. Is this what you’ve been taking all along?”
I didn’t need to cringe after all. I nodded, unable to speak.
She drummed her fingers on the table. “I’ve got to say, this pill looks a lot like aspirin.”
“Really? Will you have them analyzed?”
“Of course I will. But it might take several days to get the results.” Taking an aspirin bottle from the cabinet, she shook one into her left palm. The pills I’d been taking were in her right hand. We examined the two types of pills. The aspirin had something stamped on it, and the mystery pill didn’t, but otherwise, they were exactly alike.
She sounded a little shaky. “These are Bayer aspirin. I imagine the generics wouldn’t have the B stamped on them.” Looking down at the two pills, she said, “We’ll know soon.” She placed two of my pills in an envelope then picked up the prescription bottle. “It plainly says here that it’s phenobarbital. But look, the date is from 1956. Didn’t you notice that?”
“Mom just said we’re using an old bottle. The pharmacist gives us a discount if we use our own bottle, and she gets it in a big bottle that she fills the little bottles from.”
Laney shook her head. “Faye, that doesn’t happen. My husband takes a lot of pills for the pain in his leg, and no matter how many pills he takes, the pharmacist always gives them to him in a new bottle. Every time.”
“Oh.” This information was as shocking as driving into a tree. I couldn’t have known about the prescription bottles. Things were unraveling in my family faster than I could believe.
Her next words echoed my own question. “What is happening in your family?”
I didn’t know. Mom and Dad had had a big fight after we came home from the doctor’s office. They walked out into the orange grove so I couldn’t hear, but I could see their arms waving. Dad seemed madder than Mom. When they came back inside, their faces were bright red, and Dad went outside to work until it was dark. He almost never missed supper, but he did that night. Mom and I ate without him, and we watched the news without saying a word.
I didn’t want to tell Laney any of this. I needed to think about the rest of my suspicions before I confided in her. I shrugged. “I’m not sure. But it has something to do with these pills. Can we talk about it again after you get the lab report?” I said goodbye and hurried out to meet Francie.
* * *
LANEY WAS RIGHT. THE report she received later that week said I’d been taking aspirin. She showed it to me. “I’ve been a nurse for twenty years. In that time, I’ve seen parents do some weird things. At least this didn’t hurt you. You might ask your mom why she deceived you, but she probably figured just thinking you were getting medicine would help you. And maybe she was right.” She continued, looking thoughtful. “Your parents love you very much, Faye. I think you need to show them the lab report and ask them why they were giving you aspirin.”
I agreed to do it, but I didn’t say when. As I was leaving, she asked, “Have you asked your parents about going to Boston yet?”
Oh gosh. I didn’t know if I should lie or tell the truth. If I lied, she might feel compelled to call my parents and talk to them about it. “Yes, ma’am. They’re thinking about it.”
There, that was only partially a lie. It would keep her from calling the house, and I would get to ask them on my own timetable—which would have to be soon. I needed to find out what was going on in my family, Boston Marathon or no Boston Marathon.