Reviving Ophelia - Mary Bray Pipher [42]
I asked how all this medical turmoil had affected the family. Sylvia said, “We did what we needed to do to save Lucy’s life. I never left her side when she was in the hospital. Frank came every night after work.”
She looked at her husband. “Frank’s a policeman. He was passed over for promotion this year. I’m sure his captain thought he had his hands full. But there will be other years. I am sick to death of hospitals, but Lucy is alive; I’m not complaining.”
Frank spoke carefully. “Our boy had the toughest time. He stayed with my sister. Lucy came first.”
“Mark’s been a brat since I came home,” Lucy interrupted.
I asked Lucy about the hospital time. “It wasn’t so bad except when I was sick from the chemo. Mom read to me; we played games. I know the answers to all the Trivial Pursuit questions.”
It had been hard for her to return to school. Everyone was nice to Lucy, almost too nice, like she was a visitor from another planet, but she was left out of so many things. Her old friends had boyfriends and were involved in new activities. When she was in the hospital they would visit with flowers and magazines, but now that she was better, they didn’t seem to know what to do with her.
Frank said, “Lucy’s personality has changed. She’s quieter. She used to clown around. Now she is more serious. In some ways she seems older; she’s suffered more and seen other children suffer. In some ways she’s younger; she’s missed a lot.”
Lucy had missed a great deal: ninth-grade graduation, the beginning of high school, parties, dating, sports, school activities and even puberty (the leukemia had delayed her periods and physical development). She had lots of catching up to do. She’d been so vulnerable that her parents were protective. They didn’t want her to become tired, to eat junk food, to forget to take her medicines or to take any chances. Her immune system was weak and she could be in trouble with the slightest injury. Lucy, unlike most teens, didn’t grimace at her parents’ worries. She associated them with staying alive.
The first time I saw Lucy alone, she was shy and tongue-tied. She sat looking out the window, her forehead wrinkled with worry. She was good at quoting what her mother or the doctors thought she should think or do. Lucy volunteered that when she watched television she marveled at the energy of the characters. “They move around so much and sound so perky. I get tired and jealous just watching them.”
I began by asking her what she thought was fun. She drew a blank. So I suggested that by the next session perhaps she would know. Lucy agreed to sit alone for ten minutes a day and think about what she enjoyed.
Lucy came in the next time rather discouraged. She had religiously followed my instructions and the main thing she had discovered was that she had no thoughts of her own. “All I think is what I’m supposed to.”
I said that realizing this was the beginning of the process of finding her private thoughts. We talked about how Lucy was different from Sylvia, Frank and Mark. At first this was difficult, but as we talked she became interested and animated for the first time since we’d met. Her differences were small: “I like candy and Mom doesn’t. I like rock music and Mark likes country. I am short and Dad is tall.” But later they became more important. “Mom suffers without complaining, while I like to tell others. I cry when I’m upset and Mark gets mad. I like people around when I’m worried and Dad likes to be alone.” We discussed these differences without judging and Lucy seemed pleased that she could be different from her family and still be close to them.
The next week Lucy came in with a jubilant smile on her face. “I know what I like,” she said. “Last Thursday my family went to a Cub Scout meeting and I stayed home. I thought, ‘How should I spend this evening?’ I realized that what I wanted to do was watch an old movie on television. Duck Soup