Chapter Ninety-Two
Next Day…
"We need to discuss Lucky's treatment plan after he receives the ECT," stated Tony. Bobbie sat next to him in Kevin's office, and the two held hands as they discussed their nephew's future. "Our houses have sold, and Bobbie and I will be moving into our new home with Lucky's sister and cousin. We're scheduled to move in three weeks. At that time, we want Lucky to come live with us - together, as a family."
"The children have been in family counseling for several months," added Bobbie. "They've bonded well, and the counselor has helped them to understand and accept Lucky's illness."
A bright beam of sunlight shone between the slats in the miniblinds behind Kevin's desk and danced over the surface, leaving pools of light over stacks of folders and Kevin's hand, betraying the nervous movement of his Mont Blanc pen. Kevin smiled at the couple and laid down his pen. "You two are directly responsible for much of the progress that Lucky has made to date," he said. Kevin paused. "Lucky's recent setback is a serious concern, but I am more confident with your support behind him. I'm certainly not opposed to listening to any ideas that you have regarding his treatment."
Tony cleared his throat and continued. "I feel like Bobbie and I know Lucky as a person. Certainly we grew to know him as a member of our family - we've seen him in better times, that's for sure. We know how he used to be before all of this tragedy, and although we know that he's changed, and that's natural, we want him to be comfortable again in a family setting. The problem is, he's not going to do that in the hospital."
Bobbie nodded. "The younger children miss Lucky, but there are no opportunities for them to bond or interact in a meaningful way with him. The phone calls are nice, but when do they get to play or just hang out? Lulu especially needs her brother. Both of their parents will be in prison for a long time. I think Lucky would be good for Lulu as a much older brother who she can depend on. You remember that for awhile she even thought he was dead. And Lucky is uncomfortable visiting with his sister in a hospital environment. He told me that he's afraid his sister will always see him as being a crazy guy, someone who is locked up."
"What we're saying is that we want Lucky to receive intensive outpatient treatment while he lives at home with us. Kevin, I would have that kid so busy helping me fix up the house that we'd certainly know where he was all the time. I'm his neurologist, so his epilepsy isn't an issue if he's living with us. He'd be supervised constantly. I'd like to see him in a day treatment facility where we'd drop him off in the morning on our way to work, then pick him up to take him home with us in the evenings. He'd have family meals, so I'm sure he'd start eating again. Access to his computer means he can regain his skills to eventually return to work, and he needs access to the phone to call his girlfriend. I mean, it makes sense. He so desperately needs to rebuild his confidence and self-esteem, and for him, work is it. He was so proud of himself when he held down his fast food job. Now, I know his depression and desire to commit suicide need to be addressed, but what if we shoot for his release in three weeks? Wouldn't that give him an enormous incentive to work hard toward his recovery?"
Kevin nodded and pushed back his chair. "I've had similar thoughts," he admitted. "There's a limited type of help that we can provide Lucky with an in-patient setting. Primarily, we were interested in keeping him safe while he progressed through trauma therapy, and to an extent, that worked. Every patient is different. With Lucky, he has an intense desire for freedom and independence. It's been hard for him to be dependent. We can't in good conscience allow him back on the street if he's homicidal, as in the case of his drug abuse, or if he's suicidal, as he has been recently. However, he has had quick success with the ECT, and I'm hoping that this maintenance course will be sufficient to pull him out of his depression so that he can begin therapy again."
Kevin looked down at his desk for a minute, trying to select his words carefully. "I believe that many of his current as well as past problems are rooted with his mother and their relationship. It certainly was a major factor in his first suicide attempt. If we can begin and successfully continue his therapy along those lines, then I'd consider allowing him to continue treatment through a day facility. In fact, they are more equipped to handle his future needs, which revolve around learning coping skills. He does need to continue substance abuse counseling and maybe for a long time. It might be necessary for him to participate in "refresher counseling" in that area throughout his life. I'm sending him to a specialist in the area of substance abuse, and we've already enrolled him in group therapy, which he has of course protested against." Kevin laughed and shook his head. "I do agree with you that Lucky strongly needs to feel a sense of accomplishment in his life, and that this setting won't provide that for him. Why don't we set a goal for his release within a month's time, and set up a weekly meeting with the three of us to review his progress?"
"That's great, Kevin," Tony announced with enthusiasm. "Now if we can get through this next round of ECT, then maybe we'll see if this is viable."
"How's his epilepsy coming along?" asked Kevin curiously. "I noticed that he hasn't suffered any seizures since his return to the hospital."
"His last major seizure was when he was running from the hospital," stated Tony. "From Lucky's description, it was a major seizure, and he did a lot of damage to his tongue when he bit it. Frankly, I was surprised that he didn't have a seizure with all the drug abuse and his violent reaction. Maybe it was because he took so much heroin that his nervous system was depressed, I don't know. I have been researching his case, and I think he might be a candidate for surgery, which would eliminate the seizure activity in his brain by removing the scar tissue that is causing it. However, it is major surgery and involves a lengthy recovery. I don't plan on even suggesting the possibility until his other problems are resolved."
Tony perked up when an idea ran through his head. "I forgot to ask, but I was wondering if it would be okay for Lucky's pastor to visit with him occasionally? I've been seeing him off and on for support with this situation, and I can vouch for him. I think he'd be real positive for Lucky."
"I don't have a problem with that," agreed Kevin. "It might be a good idea for you to ask Lucky first, and if he's agreeable, then go with the pastor the first time the two meet. The boy can use more support and encouragement, especially after his recent suicide attempt. I think it's a positive step."
~*~*~*~
"How's our most interesting patient doing?" asked Kevin.
Barb shook her head, "He needs a spanking," she laughed.. "He's been obstreperous, that's what. Won't cooperate with anything or anyone. Won't eat, won't use the restroom, won't talk, won't move. Staff have said that an hour with him has been like a full day's work. It took two techs three hours to get him up and dressed and washed this morning."
"Thanks," said Kevin wryly. "So you're telling me I have almost no chance of a successful session with him today."
"Bingo!" said Barb brightly.
~*~*~*~
When Kevin walked into his room, Lucky was sitting in a chair, facing the wall with his back to both the door and the unfortunate psych tech assigned to him. He was wearing his brand new red sweatsuit, but it did nothing to cheer his disposition. He was slumped over, his one leg resting on top of the other one, and his fingers busy trying to pull apart his tennis shoe, working his fingers over and over, trying to find a hold that would allow him to further rip at the rubber sole where it was attached to the fabric of the shoe. He already had ripped off one Velcro tie, which was promptly confiscated by the tech, against the protests of Lucky. His hair was every which way - clean but extraordinarily untidy, and the dark circles under his eyes indicated a restless night.
Kevin sat on the edge of the bed, but Lucky didn't notice him - he was too busy rocking back and forth in the chair and messing with his shoe, cursing with irritation every once in awhile. Kevin watched him for several minutes before he spoke. He noticed that Lucky wore a blank, stunned facial expression that changed to an angry one when he began cursing.
"Lucky," said Kevin. Lucky shook his head and refused to turn around to identify who'd spoken to him. "Lucky, it's Kevin, turn around so I can see your face," he stated firmly.
Lucky turned his face halfway, glancing sideways at Kevin. He turned to face the wall again.
"What's wrong, Lucky?" Kevin asked.
Lucky reacted by pulling his chair closer to the wall, knocking his knees against the textured wallpapered surface. He mumbled something that Kevin couldn't hear.
"What did you say, Lucky?" asked Kevin. "You need to turn around and speak so that I can hear you."
"Stop staring at me!" screamed Lucky as he turned and jettisoned himself from the chair to his bed, grabbing a pillow and burying his head under it.
The pysch tech made a face. "He's been like this the whole time."
Lucky remained on the bed on his stomach with the pillow over his head. Kevin waited him out until he ran out of air and pulled off the pillow, whipping angrily onto his back and staring straight up at the ceiling. Lucky's face started to take on a distant, fuzzy aspect, and his eyes glazed over.
Oh no you don't, thought Kevin. Kevin grabbed him by the lower leg and shook him roughly. "Focus on where you are," stated Kevin. "I'm here to talk with you, and I don't want to be ignored."
Lucky's eyes widened at Kevin's tone, and he reluctantly sat up on the bed, looking away from Kevin to the side of the room, seemingly fascinated by the wall.
"I asked you a question that I want an answer to," repeated Kevin. "What's wrong? You're obviously upset."
Lucky shot a look at Kevin and started his emotional collapse. He raised his knees and lowered his face onto them, gripping his head with his hands. He started crying and pulling at his hair as he rocked his knees back and forth. Kevin waited him out, leaning back in his chair and watching Lucky.
After a minute or two, Lucky sighed deeply and raised his head, turning it away from Kevin to snivel and wipe his eyes. When he turned back toward Kevin, his face was tight and angry. "I don't WANT all these people STARING at me!" he shouted as he huffed and puffed with emotion.
"Did they explain to you why they're here?" asked Kevin.
Lucky bit his lip. "They have to be with me, to keep me in sight," he replied tensely.
"And why are they doing that?"
"SO I DON'T KILL MYSELF!" screamed Lucky loudly. "You won't let me GO! But you're killing me NOW! I hate you! I hate all of you!" Lucky was getting light headed from all of the heavy breathing that he was doing in the midst of his emotional upset. He jumped up from the bed and banged his back into the wall.
The psych tech shot a quizzical look at Kevin who nodded. The psych tech got up from his chair in search of a companion or two. Kevin got up from his chair and walked toward the doorway to prevent Lucky from leaving. Lucky started beating the back of his head against the wall, and Kevin ordered, "Lucky! Stop hurting yourself. Sit back down on the chair."
Lucky stopped his head butts, but an angry, determined look invaded his eyes. He saw that a very tall and capable looking Kevin was blocking his path, but he was still full of adrenaline that demanded to be spent. He coughed repeatedly and looked sick as he started feeling the aftereffects of his near drowning.
Lucky pointed his finger in the direction of Kevin and the door, prepared to make another caustic remark, but he bent over and coughed long and hard, having difficulty catching his breath. When he straightened up, he had a desperate, panicked look on his face at the memories of drowning himself and not being able to breathe. Knowing that he couldn't escape his racing mind and emotions or his room, he turned to the wall and slapped at it with his open palms, harder and harder. His fingers bent in to allow his fingernails to rip and tear blindly at the wall, but they couldn't find a hold, and he wasn't even successful at tearing apart the room. He shot his foot out and kicked the bed. Satisfied at the jarring feel of that motion, he repeated it until he broke out into a sweat. He stopped when he detected motion at the door.
Spotting three psych techs hovering near the entrance to his room, Lucky gave an anguished cry and made a futile attempt to escape through them, ramming his way past their bodies, but he was caught around the waist and lowered to the floor as the three men worked together as a team, and Kevin exposed an injection site. Lucky tried to twist and turn and flex his legs, but got nowhere. His desperate, sad cries reflected his misery at being both imprisoned and alive. He continued to cry out and struggle for a few minutes until he could resist the sedative no longer and succumbed to its numbing reality. "You…can't keep…me here," he said breathlessly with a half-hearted sneer. Lucky's eyelids felt impossibly heavy, and his hands opened and closed as if he still wanted to indicate that he was struggling and resisting against their tyranny.
"Damn!" said Kevin as he looked down at Lucky who was breathing heavily and drugged with the sedative. The three techs lifted him to his feet and partially carried him as they tried to walk him back to his room.
~*~*~*~
Several hours later…
Lucky was sitting up in his bed, tired and nervous. The effects of the sedation were wearing off, and he felt drained and sick to his stomach. His hair was even a bigger mess than before with his restless tossing and turning on the bed. Half of his bangs hung in his eyes, and the other half jutted out from his forehead from the continual motion of his hand running up through them. His eyes looked both sad and hurt, and his lungs ached when he breathed.
He couldn't put any thoughts together. It seemed like he alternated between despair and anger, and nothing would take away the emotional pain, even a sedative. His mind hopped among all of the people in his life, and he couldn't feel connected, safe or happy about the relationships. Every person was tied with guilt, anger, betrayal or no feeling at all. Lucky laughed edgily as he kicked his feet up and down on the bed.
The psych tech stirred and looked more closely in his direction. He was trying to determine if Lucky's behavior was escalating into something dangerous, but Lucky turned over on his stomach with his face in his pillow. Luke, dad I want my dad, but he's not coming, he's never coming, he thought dejectedly. "I want my mom, I want my mom, I want my mom…." he murmured over and over to himself. When he turned his head on the pillow and kept talking, the tech noticed that he was calling for his mom. Lucky gripped pillow and pulled it tightly toward him, kneading his fingers into the soft, giving fabric. "Ooooohhhh," he moaned to himself. "Ooohhhh." Lucky started crying louder and louder, moaning continually. The tech poked his head out into the hall and motioned with his hand. "Get Barb," he said tensely when his co-worker approached.
By the time Barb came to the room, Lucky was rocking back and forth on the bed, still moaning and crying hard. "He was calling for his mom a bunch of times, then he started this," the tech whispered to her, motioning over at Lucky. "Sounds like he's in pain or something," said the tech worriedly.
Barb stood at the doorway watching Lucky for a few minutes. "He is in pain, but not like you think," she said. Barb walked over to the bed. "Lucky," she said gently. Lucky continued to cry and rock on the bed as if he didn't hear her. "Hey, what's this all about?" she asked calmly as she placed a hand on Lucky's arm. Lucky wailed and coughed with his extertion. "Can you talk to me?" asked Barb. "Why don't you talk to me and tell me what you're feeling," she said as she sat next to him.
Lucky began keying into her voice, and his cries grew less desperate. He took in a deep breath and said between his tears. "I'm alone. No one loves me. They're never coming back." Barb patted Lucky on the back. "It sounds like you could use a hug. Do you want one?" she asked. Lucky nodded and sat up in her direction. Barb held out her arms and hugged him, stroking his hair and patting him on the back as he continued to sob. "It's okay to feel lonely," she said. "Everyone does from time to time. You just need to tell us when you do, okay?" Lucky sighed raggedly and stopped crying. "You need something to take your mind off your troubles," she stated. "Why don't I call your brother and ask him to bring round your guitar. We haven't heard you play in a long time, and we miss it."
Lucky nodded. "Okay," he said.
"And I have a candy bar that I definitely don't need. Do you want it?" she asked.
"Yeah," said Lucky, brightening a notch
~*~*~*~
"I thought you weren't supposed to have chocolate," teased Nikolas as he entered Lucky's room.
"I'm not!" said Lucky proudly as he sucked the smears of chocolate off of his fingers and turned his attention to the inside of the wrapper, pulling a finger along it to get to the last remnants of candy.
Nikolas took in Lucky's appearance and felt shocked and dismayed. Lucky looked much worse than the last time he'd seen him, and then he'd been recovering from a near drug overdose. This Lucky was pale, dejected, and disheveled with dark circles under his red, puffy eyes. He looked off, or more than merely edgy.
Nikolas sat down on a chair and felt conspicuous with the continual presence of a psych tech slash bodyguard. He held the guitar in his lap and thumped it nervously with his fingers. He'd been told yesterday that his brother had tried to kill himself once again. Nikolas didn't know what to think. Would Lucky ever leave this hospital or would more permanent arrangements have to be made? His heart saddened while he looked at his brother and remembered all of the times that they'd fought when Nikolas had first arrived into town. Lucky then had been cocky, a bit mouthy and very, very sure of himself - or so it seemed at the time. Maybe he was bluffing all along, Nikolas wondered.
Lucky reached out his hands for the guitar, and Nikolas shook himself out of his reverie, handing the guitar to his brother's waiting hands. Lucky strummed the strings and began playing a country and western tune, something that had been popular in the eighties. Nikolas was amazed at the difference in Lucky as he continued to play. It's like he relaxed all of a sudden, taking comfort in running his fingers over the strings and making beautiful music. Lucky stopped suddenly and looked over at his brother with a wicked grin.
Nikolas' eyebrows raised in alarm. "Oh no, you don't," he protested, holding his hands up to protect himself against Lucky and his ideas.
"Yes," insisted Lucky.
"No,' replied Nikolas firmly.
"Yes, Nikolas," said Lucky in a determined voice that indicated he'd wait a century if it took that long.
Nikolas shrugged and sighed. "Okay," he conceded, "but just one song."
"Two," said Lucky firmly.
"One."
"Three," replied Lucky.
Nikolas knew when he was beat. "Two and no more!" he yelled in mock anger.
"I know that you know this one," stated Lucky as he began playing Ave Maria. The psych tech's eyebrows rose a few inches when Nikolas began to sing. After the song, the man clapped while Nikolas blushed furiously. "Bravo!" complimented the psych tech.
:Lucky strummed a few more chords and stated, "You know this one, don't you?"
Nikolas laughed and ran his hand nervously through his hair. "When the Saints Go Marching In," he stated.
"Learn that one in Catholic school, too?" asked Lucky merrily.
"No," Nikolas replied sullenly.
"Let's go," said Lucky as he began playing.
Unbeknownst to Nikolas, he had acquired a small group of admirers by the middle of the song. Five or six people clapped and cheered after he finished. Nikolas held his head in his hands and shook it.
"How would you like to sing in our
church choir?" asked one man who was standing with Tony.
.