Chapter 11
“Hello,” called a soft, sweet voice on the other end of the telephone.
“Carol?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“It’s Walker, but please don’t say my name out loud, I don’t want Diana to know it’s me. Is she there?”
“Yes.”
“Alright,” he sighed, “I’m not sure how to say this, but I’m at the hospital with Taylor and he…I don’t want Diana to worry.”
“Well, what did you say happened to the dog Mr. Fowler?” Carol said with an exasperated shrug at Diana.
“When I came home I found him in his room,” Walker said choking back a sob, “He’d taken some painkillers.”
“Well how is he?”
“I don’t know yet, they’re still working on him. I need you to bring Diana here, is Ted there to watch the kids?”
“Of course Mr. Fowler,” she said trying not to cry.
“I’m at Saint John’s, please hurry.”
“I’ll bring it right over.”
“Thank you.”
Carol hung up the phone and sighed. She didn’t know how she was going to tell her little sister that her son had tried to commit suicide, but she had to think fast.
“What happened to the dog?” Diana asked.
Carol looked around the room and saw they were alone, “Diana, that wasn’t Mr. Fowler; it was Walker.”
Diana became immediately became pale-faced, “What’s wrong?”
“He’s at the hospital with Taylor,” she said tears forming in her eyes, “He’s had…he…”
Call it mothers intuition, but when the phone rang she knew what kind of call it would be. She just wished she’d known it sooner.
“Did he commit suicide?” she asked taking a very deep breath.
“He tried…Walker said they were still working on him. He wants me to bring you there. Ted will stay with the kids.”
Diana grabbed her coat as Carol rushed into the next room to tell Ted what had happened and that they were leaving. When Carol returned Diana was sobbing uncontrollably so she rushed her into the car and sped away to the hospital.
Walker stared at the floor. It had been a hundred years since he had called Carol and two hundred since Taylor was whisked away through the emergency room doors. No one had told him anything, and he wasn’t sure if that meant things were going to be okay or if the family curse was about to claim another life.
Diana suddenly appeared in the room. She flung her arms around Walker, sobbing, staining his shirt with her tears. He led her to a chair, but her arms never left his waist.
“Is he alright?”
“I don’t know…no one has been out to speak to me.”
Diana looked up at him, “How did he…”
“Pills. He took pills.”
Diana did not ask what pills or how many. If she didn’t know he couldn’t be hurt. If she didn’t know it couldn’t be serious. If she didn’t know he couldn’t die.
A middle aged African-American man in baby blue scrubs and a long, white lab coat entered the room. His eyes immediately fell on Diana Hanson. There was no doubt in his mind that this was the young suicide patient’s mother. She had the frail look of worry on a face that resembled the boy in bed in the room at the end of the hall. He assumed in happier days her face had color and her eyes twinkled like stars. In happier days he imagined that his young patient’s eyes were the same.
He approached the Hanson’s cautiously; he was never sure how to speak to the families of suicide patients, “Mr. Hanson and Mrs. Hanson?”
They nodded and the doctor took the seat beside Diana, “I’m Doctor Douglas, I’m the doctor in charge of your son’s case.”
“How is he doctor?”
“Taylor is in stable, but critical condition. He took a high dosage of meperidine, which is found in Demerol, did you have Demerol in your house?”
Diana nodded, “Yes, it was a prescription given to me when I had surgery. I never used it. I didn’t even know Taylor knew I had it.”
“Well, he took about ten pills. That’s a pretty serious amount for anyone especially…” Dr. Douglas sighed, he had a feeling that these people did not know what was coming next, “Mr. And Mrs. Hanson, was your son being treated for bulimia nervosa?”
“No,” Walker choked.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this than, but Taylor is drastically underweight, and there is enamel damage on his teeth and skin damage on his knuckles consistent with bulimia patients.” Diana began to cry into Walker’s sweater and the doctor continued, “He is truly lucky that he is alive. I’ve seen many people die from bulimia without the help of Demerol.”
Walker nodded, “He will live, won’t he?”
“At this point, I can not say anything for certain. He’s still critical, but providing he does live I do not know if he has done any permanent damage to himself. All I know for sure is that Taylor is going to need a lot of physical and psychological care. Something was eating away at his soul, and at the point when he swallowed those pills, had most likely destroyed it.”
“I see.”
The doctor swallowed hard, “And as much as I hate to say it, there is one more thing.”
“What more is there?” Diana asked, somewhat more composed and facing the doctor.
“Unless Taylor was the victim of a violent attack,” the doctor said carefully and both parents shook their heads, “Than Taylor has been practicing self mutilation; there are several scars on his stomach, thighs, arms, and ankles.”
“Oh God,” Walker cried holding Diana close against him.
“Can we see him?” Diana asked quietly.
“Yes, but I want to warn you, it is going to be hard to see him as he is. He’s hooked up to a lot of monitors and we’ve hooked him up to a respirator because the drugs have considerably slowed his breathing. Will you be able to handle it?” Walker and Diana nodded, “Than follow me.”
The doctor opened a cold metal door closing off the entrance to the solemn corridor Walker and Diana took a step to follow the doctor, but Diana took her step back and turned to Carol who has been sitting quietly across from Walker, “Call Isaac, please,” she whispered hoarsely.
Carol nodded, not wanting to break the news to another person, but having no choice. Taylor needed them all right now. This was no time to be selfish.