Page 30 of Controlled
“Ms. Rothschild. You need to calm down,” the nurse said as she gripped my mother’s shoulders.
My mother had an on and off switch. She was either docile and nontalkative or nasty and rude, even violent. There was no in between.
“Go ahead and give her a mild sedative,” Dr. Zane instructed her nurse. “We need to restrain her.”
The use of drugs to calm my mother down was rare, which confirmed what the desk nurse had said when I’d asked how my mother had been doing. More violent than ever. I slunk against the wall, caught in a strange limbo as I watched my mother screaming and fighting while the two women attempted to wrestle her to a point the leather straps could be placed around her wrists. I’d yelled at them the first time I’d seen them doing that but now I understood why.
My mother had given two nurses black eyes, another a split lip and she trashed the first room she’d been given. Thankfully, I hadn’t been required to pay for the damages. I folded my arms, still able to see the hatred in her eyes. Why did she hate me so much? In my mind she blamed me for the loss of her career.
I knew better. A director had told her she was too fat for a role and she’d gone into a tailspin, eventually becoming just another Hollywood tale of woe, including the use of drugs.
When she’d become unpredictable, showing up late to rehearsals and fittings, she’d been fired by her agent then one studio after another. By then the drugs had taken their toll.
Somewhere in that period of time, I hadn’t been able to take the pressure. I could have easily gone down the same path, but I’d chosen to dance instead, becoming lost in the music and my dancing. I’d learned to lie about my age, performing in nightclubs so I could squirrel away money. I hated memories of the past.
When my mother started screaming at the top of her lungs, I couldn’t take it any longer. I slapped my hands over my ears and raced toward the door, tears already streaming down both sides of my face. I’d believed myself hardened from all the terrible things she’d called me over the years, but today they hurt more than usual.
By the time I made it into the corridor, easing my back against the wall, I was close to hyperventilating.
I closed my eyes, trying to keep the same hate from my heart but it was becoming more difficult. Seconds later, I felt a presence beside me and turned my head away on purpose, taking a few seconds to rub my eyes fiercely. I hated breaking down in front of anyone.
“I’m sorry, Bella,” the doctor said quietly.
“My mother called me a whore.”
“You know you can’t take what she says to heart. Often, they are talking about themselves.”
A whore. My mother had been called that in the press more times than I could count. Maybe that was why she’d rarely talked about my birth father other than to scream at me for asking, telling me he was a criminal and nothing more. I used to think she believed I was the bad seed. Just like the girl in the movie.
“I wish I could say I understood what you’re going through but I can’t. But I know how rough it is seeing your mother like that.”
Dr. Zane’s voice was even more comforting than usual. “She’s getting worse. Isn’t she?”
“Yes, I’m afraid her outbursts have gotten much worse.”
I finally looked in her direction. “What can be done?”
“At this point I’m going to try and alter her medications, but I need to warn you that they are more expensive and at this point, some insurance firms aren’t covering it.”
My heart immediately started racing. “I can’t afford to pay any more than I am. I’m trying. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“Maybe I can get her into a clinical trial. There’s no guarantee they’ll accept her or that the treatments will alter the outcome, but it might be worth learning the details. Would you like me to try?”
I’d heard that before. My mother wasn’t the best candidate given her violent outbursts. “Sure. What if she doesn’t get in and I can’t pay for the drugs myself?”
She sighed and I knew what that meant. “Then you’re going to need to find another facility, Bella. I’m sorry, but she’s becoming dangerous.”
Dangerous.
My mother was irrational, argumentative, a bitch, and hateful but my definition of dangerous was entirely different than hers at this point. “I understand. Please give me a little time.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not throwing her out on the streets, Bella. But I was made aware that you’re having difficulty keeping up with the bills as it is.”
For a doctor to hassle me about what I still owed for two months of her care was gut wrenching. “I pay what I owe. I’ll get the money.”
“That’s not what I mean, Bella. You shouldn’t be forced to struggle trying to keep her in a private facility.” I knew what that meant. Yes, there were plenty of state-run organizations that would provide for her care based on Medicaid, but I couldn’t stand the thought, even if she hated me. I’d seen a couple of those places. They were terrible. At least in my mind.
“Please see what you can do about the trial. I’ll attempt to talk to her.”