Falling Colors

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Relapse

I sat at the kitchen table waiting for Leigh and my dad to bring over the board game of the night.

     It was Tuesday and so far we had watched the latest X-men (which I slept through), listen to old records from the 60’s (Leigh and my dad danced while I picked at my fingers ignoring them).  A couple of times my dad tried getting to dance with him, but I remained stoic on the couch.

     “Come on, Odette!” he begged. “We used to do this when you were a little girl!  You loved it!”

       I blinked at him and went back to picking at my hands.

      After a game of Wii sports (played by Leigh and my dad), it was time for a classic board game.

      “Do you wanna play Sorry or Monopoly, hon?” Leigh called from the closet outside the laundry room.

     “Odette?” my dad called.  “What one you want to play?”

      A few moments later they both appeared, each holding a board game.  They wore a happy look on their faces until they saw me at the kitchen table.

     “Odette, what happened to your hands?” my dad choked out, all the color draining from his face.

      Looking down I saw my hands were covered with blood; not like a little bit from a scratch more like they had been mauled.

      “Neal, call an ambulance,” Leigh said dropping Sorry making all the pieces fall to the floor.  She brought a dry kitchen towel and knelt in front of me trying to wipe the blood off.

      “Neal!” she yelled at him when he didn’t move.  “Call fucking 911! Now!”

***

     The stiff white sheets of the hospital bed covered my legs, my hands were sitting on my lap, bandaged up to the wrist.  I looked like a lobster.  The blood had stopped flowing in the ambulance, but they still hospitalized me because “I was a danger to myself”.

      At the foot of my bed stood my dad, Leigh and the emergency room doctor, Dr. Wurtz.  He was a short man, with a graying beard.  He had a sorrowful look on his face and looked to want to get out of my hospital room as soon as possible.

      “Odette picked through her wrists and hands with her finger nails.”  Dr. Wurtz held up his own hands showing his finger nails to my dad and Leigh for emphasis.  “Luckily she didn’t get too deep, but we still need to take precautions,” he told my dad and Leigh.

     “What type of precautions?” my dad asked numbly.  He had eventually broken out of his state of fear when we arrived at the hospital.  Leigh ended up calling the ambulance herself.

     Dr. Wurtz stared at my dad for a few long moments, having an internal debate with himself.  Finally, he said in a hushed voice.  “Has your daughter had a history of doing self-harm?”

      My dad let out a loud bitter laugh.  He rubbed his hands over his face, and when he removed them he was crying.  His face was streaked with tears, his eyes looked defeated.  He looked like a man who was ready to give up.

      Leigh looked at him and grabbed his arm, trying to calm him down.  She then turned back to Dr. Wurtz.  “Yes.”  She paused for a moment, swallowing her own tears.  “She tried killing herself five months ago.”

      The doctor nodded like he had been expecting that answer.  “We will have to put her on suicide watched. For maybe a day or two.  Until you know what type of treatment you want to give her.”