Chapter 2 - THE DOCTOR WHO HAD STOPPED BELIEVING THE FAMILY
I took Lenora to NewYork-Presbyterian that night.
Not alone.
My maid of honor, Rachel, drove because my hands were still shaking too badly.
Thatcher stayed behind with his father.
He sent me seven messages before we reached the emergency department.
YOU HURT MY HAND.
DAD DIDN’T HIT HER THAT HARD.
MOM FALLS. YOU DON’T KNOW THE HISTORY.
Then:
COME BACK BEFORE THIS GETS WORSE.
I turned off the notifications.
Lenora had bruising along her shoulder and ribs and a small cut near her temple.
Nothing looked catastrophic.
That did not make it normal.
When the emergency physician asked what happened, Lenora initially said, “I lost my balance.”
I looked at her.
She looked at me.
Then she closed her eyes.
“My husband pushed me.”
The physician documented it.
A social worker came in.
Then someone called Dr. Priya Shah.
Dr. Shah arrived by phone first.
Her voice came through the physician’s workstation while Lenora lay beneath a warmed hospital blanket.
“Lenora, are you somewhere Sterling can hear you?”
Lenora’s eyes filled.
“No.”
“Good.”
I felt something cold move through my stomach.
Dr. Shah asked permission to speak openly in front of me.
Lenora said yes.
For eight months, Dr. Shah had been treating her for intermittent confusion, falls, fatigue, and unexplained bruising.
Sterling had blamed aging.
Thatcher had blamed wine.
Lenora had blamed herself.
But Dr. Shah had noticed something strange.
Lenora’s cognitive testing was normal during appointments she attended alone.
On visits after weekends with Sterling, she sometimes appeared heavily sedated.
Her medication lists also changed without Dr. Shah authorizing the changes.
“Which medication?” I asked.
Dr. Shah paused.
“Primarily clonazepam.”
Lenora turned toward her.
“I don’t take that.”
The room changed.
Dr. Shah answered gently.
“You’ve tested positive for it twice.”
Lenora stared at the ceiling.
“No.”
“Sterling told us another physician prescribed it for anxiety.”
“I don’t have another physician.”
The ER doctor looked at me.
Then back at Lenora.
Nobody accused anyone yet.
Nobody should have.
But the question was suddenly unavoidable.
How had a sedative Lenora didn’t knowingly take ended up in her system?
The medical card made sense now.
Dr. Shah had given it to Lenora after Sterling repeatedly provided conflicting medication lists.
“You told me to keep it in my purse,” Lenora whispered.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell him?”
Dr. Shah’s answer was careful.
“Because you asked me not to.”
Lenora covered her mouth.
A memory was returning.
“I was afraid.”
Of Sterling?
She didn’t say.
Then her phone began ringing inside her clutch.
Thatcher.
She stared at his name.
My husband.
May you like
Her son.
And whispered, “He knows about the pills too.”
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