Dr. Shia offers a gentle smile. “Hannah and I spent a lot of time talking about this last week. At fourteen, it’s normal to be opinionated and want more control over your life, but at the same time, it’s important to know that our parents are looking out for our best interest.”
“You never have reasons when you say no. You just say no, and it’s the end of the discussion,” Hannah continues.
I didn’t realize I should be explaining my reasons for disagreeing with her sometimes ridiculous requests. “I think this issue can be easily solved,” Journey says. “I’ve noticed you can catch Dad off guard when he’s trying to get ready for work, or when he’s doing something around the house. If you wait until he’s not in the middle of something before talking to him, you may have a better chance of winning his approval ... on some things.”
Journey has mentioned this to me … that I say no a lot. But, Hannah asks to go to parties late at night and even to get into cars with kids who are older than her because they have a friend or an older sibling with a driver’s license. The thoughts that go through my mind haunt me. “I see. I can work on this,” I tell her.
“And just so we can get everything heavy off the table today, the last part of this discussion is something I haven’t spoken to Hannah about yet,” Dr. Shia says. “This is something I think we all need to discuss to develop a good plan of action.” What else could there be? I’m thinking of every horrible thought, and it’s making me sick. “After several questions and discussions last week, I went through my notes after the appointment, and I feel confident that Hannah is suffering from some moderate depression. My personal and professional opinion is that we may want to consider a small dose of medication to see if we can balance her ups and downs.”
“I don’t want to be on medication,” Hannah argues.
I’m guessing her immediate response is why Dr. Shia decided to discuss this with all of us together. Depression. Shit. She’s fourteen. Is this a forever thing? “Is medication a long term solution or—”
“Everyone is different,” Dr. Shia says. “We try different things and then evaluate.”
“Okay,” I respond. I see Journey clutching Hannah’s hand between their laps. I don’t think Journey expected this either, but the emotions are rolling through my chest when I see how much she cares for Hannah. It’s like she understands this pain and doesn’t want it for her.
“I don’t need medication,” Hannah continues.
“Is this something we can discuss at home and follow up with you about?” I ask Dr. Shia.
“Of course. The decision is one you need to come up with together.”
“If we don’t go the medication route, is there a risk?”
Is there a risk my daughter will want to climb to the top of a tower and jump off to avoid whatever life brings her way?? How did this happen?
“There are many methods of therapy, but I feel certain medication will help those methods work quicker.”
“I see,” I say, swallowing a lungful of air down my throat.
The room is silent. No one knows what to say or if anything should be mentioned. Journey is staring through the area rug beneath the coffee table, and Hannah is biting her lip as she picks at her fingers. “Everything will be fine, and we can certainly get through this,” Dr. Shia says. “Let it all sink in, discuss it, and let me know how you’re feeling about the subject when you’re ready.”
I nod my head and stand up from my chair to reach over and shake the doctor’s hand. “Thank you for your candor today.”
“Of course,” she says.
Journey and Hannah stand up together and walk out of the room before me. It offers me a free moment to ask a question, if I could think of one, but I’m completely overwhelmed with Hannah’s diagnosis. I have to fix this. I have to fix my daughter before it’s too late.
20
A Year later
If someone wereto ask me how my life might turn out, I wouldn’t have guessed this. Not in a million years. My knees are bouncing, my heart is racing, and I’m short of breath. I thinkI’m too young to be having a heart attack at forty-one, right? No, it can’t be that. My phone buzzes for the tenth time in the last twenty minutes, and I pull it back out of my pocket, finding another text message from Hannah.
Hannah:Do you know yet?
Me:Go back to class and put your phone away. I will text you when I know.
Hannah:Ugh.
Antidepressants. We convinced Hannah it was the best course of action, primarily through the difficult period of severing her ties with Kristy. It wasn’t a quick process, and it took a toll on her. Kristy didn't put up much of a fight to Hannah's request, and I'm not sure if this factor hurt more or helped, but it was a tough road. However, I’ve seen the light in Hannah’s eyes return, and I don’t know if it’s the medication or the lack of pressure on her shoulders, but I’m hoping she’s turned a corner. The therapist said the drugs wouldn’t work overnight, and it can sometimes take months, but I tip-toe around her more than I should. She’s joined groups of friends that a father would rather his daughter not be a part of—the kind where dying her hair a fluorescent color, obtaining secret piercings, and wearing dark clothes and makeup remind me that I’ve lost control of my little girl who is old enough to get her license in a few months. And yet, here I am … still bouncing my knees, feeling like I’m about to have a heart attack while Journey stares at me with confusion.
“Are you okay? You’re flushed. Did you eat breakfast before you left this morning?”
“I’m fine,” I respond.
“Did you eat breakfast?” she asks again.
