“Yes, your secretary asked…” I patted my pockets. “Shit, I’m sorry. I must have left my phone at home.” I never left without my phone, but just getting mum out the door this morning had been a battle. This appointment alone was an emergency, and I was so grateful Bug’s contact could get us seen so quickly.
“That’s okay, I’ll request directly from her GP. Can you tell me more about Greta? I’ve read her notes, but I want to try and understand her a little bit more. Is there anything that helps when she’s in one of these episodes?”
I paused, thinking it over as I bit my lip. “I make her brush my hair. It sounds silly when I say it out loud, but it was something she enjoyed doing when I was young.” She’d always been obsessed with my hair, to the point she’d get angry when I went to cut it. Even now if she realised it was shorter, she’d go into a spiral. So I’ve let it grow, secretly trimming the dead ends. “I was told to find something that would connect her to reality. It seems to ground her.”
The doctor nodded. “Indeed, it’s well-known that familiar and soothing activities can assist individuals with schizophrenia in managing, and even potentially lessening, the severity of their psychotic episodes. So what you’ve been doing is perfect.”
“But why is this happening?” I asked, hugging myself as the words started to spill. “The clinic she’s under put her on antipsychotics, but it’s like they’re doing nothing. The hallucinations are getting worse, not better. She used to have a job, a life. Now all she does is rot in front of the TV. For the last few weeks, I couldn’t even get her outside unless I physically dragged her. She thinks everywhere we go we’re in danger.”
“Agoraphobia isn’t uncommon in those with schizophrenia.”The doctor pursed her lips, looking down at her notes. “It says here that she’d been living a well-managed, normal life up until last February. What happened?”
My hands gripped my arms tighter. “We fought because she didn’t want me to move out, and after that… everything spiralled, I guess. I mean, she was holding it together. But when I left, it’s like something inside her snapped. She got fired, then lashed out at her landlord and friends. She began thinking they were out to get her, spies.
“I thought moving her in with me again would help, that she would settle. But she’s fighting me on everything, and I don’t know what to do. She says people are after her, and it’s genuine fear. She believes it, and nothing I say can help. I’ve caught her hurting herself. The other night… I think she even tried to tie herself to a chair.”
“Unfortunately, PTSD can exacerbate psychotic symptoms in schizophrenia.”
“You think she has PTSD?” None of her other doctors had even mentioned it.
“It would explain some of her behaviours and responses,” the doctor replied, writing something down I couldn’t see. “Miss Sonne, what I’m about to suggest may sound alarming, but I want to assure you I have only the best intention towards your mum. After observing Greta, and your answers, I’m suggesting we detain her under the Mental Health Act.”
All the blood left my face. “Detain her? No, that’s not what I’d wanted. You’re supposed to help.” My attention immediately returned to the glass, only to find mum had sat herself in the corner of the white room, her head resting on her knees.
“Thisishelping her. We sometimes detain those who pose a risk to their own safety, or the safety of others.”
“She’s fine, she’d never?—”
“Detainmentis always a last resort,” the doctor interrupted, her voice calm but firm. “I would’ve preferred she admit herself voluntarily, but I don’t believe that’s an option right now.”
My stomach twisted. “How long will she have to stay?” I whispered.
“This isn’t prison. We’ll keep her for the minimum of 72 hours, then reassess from there.”
Tension braced my muscles, every word tightening around my ribs like a vice. “I don’t know if I can even afford this. I barely scraped together enough for this appointment.” Mum had been under the NHS, but this was private.
The doctor’s tone softened. “Miss Sonne, one step at a time. Right now, our priority is your mum’s wellbeing.”
The weight that had been crushing my chest eased, but in its place, a wave of emotion surged up my throat. I bit down hard, fighting the burn behind my eyes. “Can I see her before I leave?” I croaked.
The doctor gestured gracefully, sweeping her arm toward the door, and I pushed it open.
Mum still sat curled in the corner, knees hugged tightly to her chest and her head resting against them like she was trying to disappear into herself. She didn’t look up when I stepped in, nor did she react when I lowered myself to the floor beside her, the carpet harsh against my bare legs.
The hum of fluorescent lights filled the silence, sterile and cold.
“Mum…” My voice cracked before I could stop it. “You’re going to stay here for a few days?—”
Her head snapped up in horror. “Please don’t make me stay!” Panic burst across her face. “You’re not safe alone. They’ll find me here, and then they’ll come for you, and I?—”
“Mum, look at me.” I caught her flailing hands, tone firm. “You’ll be safe here. I promise. No one is coming to get you. And no one,no one, is going to touch me.”
Her eyes shimmered, wide and raw. “Please…” Her fingers curled into my T-shirt, gripping the fabric like a lifeline, her breath coming in shallow, jagged gasps. “My flower…”
“I’m here, mum.” I squeezed her trembling hands, weaving my fingers through hers. “It’s only for a few days, and then you’ll come home. I swear.”
Her lips quivered. “A few days?” she echoed, the words brittle.
I pressed my forehead gently against her knuckles. “Please, mum. For me. Stay. Get better.”
