The Watchmaker's Doctor ✔️

VIII

2000, Eighteen Years Backwards

The light blinded her. Squinting through the tiniest slits she could manage, Anaya's vision went from seeing multiple, then double, to eventually single. A TV was mounted on the wall in front of her, her clothes were on the chair to her left and a bottle above her was dripping liquid through a tube attached to her arm. The smell of... iodine grew with each breath she took. Then the beeping sped up as she remembered where she'd been.

"You're okay now, Anaya." A nurse appeared from behind the curtains. "You just passed out. An administrator from St. Jude's called the ambulance and they brought you here."

Anaya recognized the symptoms of her hypomania all too well. She'd been flying from one idea to the next all week and gravely overestimated her physical abilities. The distance from their house to St. Jude's represented a half-marathon, while finishing a 10k at school was usually a struggle for her.

The beeps intensified.

In one fluid motion, the nurse stabbed the syringe she held into the IV. Anaya protectively pulled the blanket up to her chin before she began to float.

"Your parents will be here soon. Try to get some rest."

She didn't know how long she was out for, but she woke to the familiar phrase, "Hey, kid."

Her father stroked her head. He'd aged overnight. His skin looked flaky, probably from all the coffee he was consuming. Plenty of fluid seemed to have collected under his eyes though. He looked like crap, and that was no easy task for the likes of Marcus Jones.

"I'm fine, Dad." She smiled through her concern. "Just ran myself flat out."

"You get that from me, you know."

His words were far more telling than he realized. Anaya's stomach knotted and her eyes went wide. What else had she gotten from him? As she groped for the best way to get at the truth, she fished: "Along with your amazingly good looks?"

"Those too, but I meant the playing it down with our charming wit, rather than addressing the issue head-on."

She couldn't have staged a better setup. "Well, to tell you the truth, I have been having a lot of ups and downs recently. Since we're here, would it be all right to see a doctor about it? I think I'm scaring my friends with my sudden mood swings."

Then she watched the pantomime play out. His expression flashed from worry to confusion, realization then fear. "Of course. Let me see what they can do. Mom's on her way." Her dad cleared his throat, straightened his spine, then escaped into the hallway.

Her thoughts switched to Greg for a split second. Perhaps what you learn IS forever. As incredulous as it sounded, her medical knowledge had stayed with her. When her father said she'd inherited something from him, she'd instantaneously remembered that bipolar disorder had a chance of being passed down genetically.

She'd never delved into it too much because the causes were always less important to her than chasing solutions. This time around, she wanted to be treated as soon as possible.

But what if she were to find she'd gotten the disorder from her dad? Would he feel guilty? Would he agree to be treated? She tried to recall what happened to him in the future, but got no further than the bankruptcy.

Her insides were roiling and her training warned that her brain was repressing memories she wasn't yet prepared to handle.

***

The doctors were surprised that Anaya had asked to be evaluated during a hypomanic period. "Most patients seek help when they are down and therefore may get misdiagnosed and treated only for the depression. When experiencing increased levels of energy and self-confidence, they seldom think there is a problem or want to be brought back down. What made you decide to consult a doctor now, Anaya?" Dr. Grey removed his gold-rimmed spectacles and placed them by her file.

Anaya assessed him. Simple, clear words, open body language, undivided attention on the patient, curious yet not pushy. He exhibited an exceptional bedside manner, she concluded.

She'd provided lengthy descriptions and specific instances of her racing thoughts, and lightning-speed decisions without thinking through the consequences. And the sudden bursts of energy that made her feel able to take on more than she could.

"To be honest, I'm freaking my friends out with the mood swings, and I couldn't bear to lose them," she said, hoping that would be innocent and simple enough to throw off any suspicion she knew she would be having if she were the doctor. In truth, the feelings of worthlessness and the inability to genuinely enjoy the little moments of pleasure they shared every day were not things she was prepared to suffer in silence this time around.

The doctors had also requested a thorough review of family history. To Anaya's relief, her father grudgingly agreed to the tests. He didn't take their confirmed diagnoses nearly as well as she did, though. But then, she had the advantage of being seventeen going on thirty-five, already trained as a doctor. She watched him from afar and gave him the time and space to travel the emotional rollercoaster, commencing at stunned, progressing to upset and lurking at angry. Then he brooded and grieved for the end of his life as he knew it.

She supposed it was harder for his generation, for whom mental health had, catastrophically, been stigmatized and brushed under the carpet. But when Dr. Grey told them both that bipolar cannot be cured, only treated, Anaya just shrugged at her father across the room to convey, "If you'll accept treatment, then so will I."

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G.