Never Alone

Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

After breakfast we made our way to the room where we'd had our meeting the day before. Dr. Crimm was already inside, our chairs still circled up like we'd left them. She smiled at each of us as we walked in and took a seat. Aideen was still sick—she'd been up many times before the sun rose making trips to the bathroom and alternating between wrapping up in the covers and kicking them off. She looked miserable, but I had learned she was a fighter.

"So everyone has had a chance to consider the medication?" Dr. Crimm asked as she scanned the group, waiting for each of us to nod in agreement. "Shima, are you still willing to give it a try?"

Shima, pale and thin, twisted her hair over her shoulder and looked to Aideen. I got the feeling she wasn't going to agree just to benefit herself. "Yes. I'll try it," she agreed.

Aideen mustered a shaky smile and nodded. "Me, too. I'm ready to try it." No one else spoke up, and I pulled my feet up to my chair and watched as Shima continued to twist her hair nervously.

"How is everyone else feeling about being present while Shima and Aideen undergo this treatment?" Would it be traumatic to watch our peers struggle through their hallucinations?We were told there was nothing anyone could do for each other once the medication was administered but sit back and be there for the patient when they finally returned. "It might not be easy to watch," the doctor reminded us.

The group was silent as we thought about what the doctor was saying. Marco seemed nervous. He adjusted his position in his chair and kept his gaze locked onto the floor near his feet. If it were as simple as watching someone get high, there's no way Dr. Crimm would be so cautious about our involvement today. Any reasonable adult knew that by eighteen it wasn't uncommon to have seen someone do drugs. It happened all the time at parties, and sometime even in the bathrooms at school.

In his wheelchair, Ken seemed more vulnerable than any of us. We could get up and flee if we wanted to, but his escape would be a little more difficult to manage. On the football field he was probably one of the biggest guys, but here in this meeting he was our equal. His disability physically handicapped him while mine emotionally handicapped me. He'd made a plan and even executed it, but in the end he'd failed and now he was left basically unable to care for himself. When Dr. Crimm looked at him, he hesitated a minute, then nodded in acknowledgment of her warning.

"Koralee?" Dr. Crimm turned to me. I realized then that I was rocking slowly in my chair. She wanted to know if I was sure I could handle what I was about to see. I took a moment to think about how to phrase my response.

"Where will the rest of us be when they're out of it? Will we talk about what's happening?" Would we all sit in judgement?

"Those are excellent questions." Dr. Crimm straightened the tablet in her lap and offered me a warm, encouraging smile. "You will be in the same room, and I'll be here with all of you the entire time. I guarantee you will be safe and we will all be looking out for each other. I'll be guiding the subjects verbally, but you might be moved to speak without even knowing it's happening." My hands trembled as I wrapped my arms around my stomach and nodded. "I hope you'll have the courage to follow through with the treatment. If you decline and choose a more traditional route, your improvement will be far slower and possibly more painful. It will be the equivalent of slowly pulling tape from a wound, the adhesive tearing the skin cells away from each other one by one. This treatment, on the other hand, yanks the tape quickly—a deep, sharp pain and then it's over."

I wasn't sure how comfortable I felt with ripping anything away. We both knew this treatment would be my last. If it didn't change my suicidal thoughts, I wouldn't be around long enough to try a different type of therapy. This was the end of the road.