Never Mind Me By Jill McKenzie
Looks like it’s all quiet on the upstairs front, thank goodness. Rowan should be out for a good few hours with the dose she took. I don’t like to go that far, but she needed it after the day we’ve had. For my part, I’m letting myself unwind with a home measure of whisky in a quiet living room. I think this was the closest call yet.
Other people probably wouldn’t understand, but I feel comforted when I have to take my daughter to hospital. Today went well at first – we got a cubicle she likes, the one in the far corner that’s extra wide for her wheelchair and also has some privacy from the nursing station. It’s reassuring to know help is there, but she gets annoyed if they fuss. Of course, it’s awful that she was ill but it’s great to be in good hands.
She had had one of her episodes this morning so I half thought she’d be admitted, although in the end that didn’t happen. When we come to this particular hospital we see Dr Mayhew, but apparently she has left since we’ve last been. What a loss she will be! She was so sympathetic – in fact, our favourite of all the people Rowan sees. You’d like to think any doctor would be as good, but I’m always afraid that people won’t understand the nature of her condition, and think she’s putting it on.
After that bombshell a new woman presented herself, a Dr Cummings. I said hello, and introduced Rowan. I explained briefly about the episode. Dr Cummings examined her and took some basic details. I told her what had happened – Rowan had been playing on the computer, had got really involved in a silly game and didn’t want to stop. Next thing you know, she’s taken ill. I expect the hours of screen exposure triggered it. I think there were flashing images. Of course she was as meek as a lamb by the time we got to the hospital but as I said to Dr Cummings, she can be quite a tyrant when she starts! Dr Cummings then wanted to know more about Rowan’s history. I suppose she wanted to be thorough given it was our first encounter, but I knew Rowan would be struggling, seeing someone new.
So I explained that Rowan is fourteen now. She’s been sick since she was very young. Her life is limited, although within that context she is generally alright and she is very well looked after by myself. I had to tell the saga about her being educated at home because she just couldn’t cope with the demands of a school. Aside from her physical difficulties of getting about, she’s too timid to deal with all those other children, plus with her weak immune system they are a big threat to her health. I told the doctor about the special group we go to once a month for families with children like Rowan. It gives me time to exchange war stories with parents in a similar situation. The things I hear! It lets me know what’s in store for Rowan, the poor thing. It’s a charity of course and I had raffle tickets to sell, though Dr Cummings said it wasn’t appropriate for her to buy any. I explained it’s for special equipment and days out but she still said no. I suppose she must see all sorts of poor souls and can’t be giving money to every cause.
Dr Cummings actually asked me outright what’s wrong with Rowan. She said she wanted to hear my understanding of it. I just said, Oh I leave that stuff to the experts, I just do the caring. Rowan’s what they call a complex case. Since she was young she’s had many different symptoms and the doctors have checked for all sorts of things, without success. X-rays, CT scans, MRIs – you name it, we’ve had it. I think we’ve been to about every clinical department there is. She’s a medical oddity – I say she’ll get a syndrome named after her one of these days! And every time she seems to pick up, she goes right back down again not long after. It’s just awful.
Dr Cummings then wanted to get Rowan’s own opinion of what had happened. Now, anyone who has dealt with her knows not to even try because it really stresses Rowan to talk. I’m used to her hoots and grunts so I can usually get the gist, but it’s hard for others and I have to interpret. I said, Oh, don’t ask her, you won’t get much sense. But she wanted to try anyway. Well go ahead, I said. She is new after all. I don’t know if she’s long out of college. You know, I should maybe have asked to see her superior. In fact, if that sort of thing happens again then that’s what I’ll do.
So of course Rowan, who despite being so unwell is still angry with me about the computer game, she blurts out something designed to make me look bad. What’s that about special medicine? said Dr Cummings. Oh it’s just some herbal things she takes, to relax. I said. Is it prescription? said Dr Cummings. I said, oh no, it’s from health food shops. She just gets so anxious at times, she needs something to settle her nerves, poor thing. She takes the pills all the time, so I don’t see why they would make any difference today.
Rowan tried to talk again but I just put my foot down. No darling, I said, you’re too worn out for this. Be quiet and let mummy and the nice doctor talk. I even whispered to Dr Cummings that I don’t know if the pills do Rowan any good, but she feels better for taking them. Placebo effect, isn’t it? Poor soul that she is, I just have to do what I can for her to get through the day.
But Rowan kept on and on. I told her, I said, No, darling, the doctor doesn’t have time to hear your silly stories. I said to Dr Cummings, Honestly, teenagers! Always feeling sorry for themselves! I said to Rowan that we’d get ice cream afterwards, and she had the nerve to splutter out that she hates ice cream!
Rowan then actually tried to stand up out of her chair. What are you doing, darling? I said. Dr Cummings was useless, she just stood back and let it all happen. Calls herself a doctor! Rowan could have fallen and broken something if I hadn’t jumped in and got her strapped back down in her chair. After all the years she’s spent in bed or her wheelchair, she’s got no muscles to speak of. She can barely stand at the best of times and two hours previously she had been thrashing on the floor.
Dr Cummings then said she wanted to see Rowan alone. I refused immediately. How do I know she’d be safe with some stranger? I’m her mother and sole caregiver, so I need to know exactly what is going on, at all times.
But then, what Dr Cummings said to me next, I’m still reeling. I had obviously underestimated her. She looked me straight in the eye and said I don’t think it’s just Rowan who is unwell, is it? I didn’t know how to react. I just muttered something about hormones, which is a good answer for a middle-aged woman on any given day. But she’s right of course, I’m not well, I’m very depressed most of the time. Who wouldn’t be, with a sick child to take care of? I managed to hold back the tears but Dr Cummings could tell I was very upset, and she was so nice about it, she offered to make an appointment for me with someone suitable. I said yes please, and when she went to get the paperwork we slipped out the fire door.
Of course Rowan blubbered and snotted all the way back. I was all over the place with what Dr Cummings had said, so I’m afraid I just let her be, and she had the good sense not to mention the ice cream. When we got home I put up her to her room right away – no dinner, no telly. I gave her an extra dose to help her sleep, then locked the door. That way she won’t go head-first down the stairs if she takes a stupid notion to walkabout in the night. I don’t want her to come to any harm, after all.
I’ve had some time to calm down now, and look beyond my own troubles. Rowan can’t help it, she’s a young woman who needs all the love and care that she can get. I need to bear that in mind when she plays up. She’s of an age when she’ll have started thinking about the life ahead of her, the poor thing. I need to get her spirits back up. I should surprise her with a treat tomorrow, and we’ll make up. Maybe I’ll give her some time on her computer game, if she’s good. We can get tonight’s soaps on catch-up.
But today has really shaken me. I just hope Dr Cummings forgets all about us. Rowan needs me, depressed or not. What if they decided I’m not fit to look after her? What if they wanted to put her into an institution? I can’t let that happen, it would be awful for her. They need to focus on Rowan and not be distracted by me. I’m glad now that I didn’t bother telling anyone when we moved house a few years ago. And next time we go to a hospital I’ll be driving to the next county.
Judges Comments
The winner of our competition for short stories with an unreliable narrator, Jill McKenzie's Never Mind Me is a disturbing insight into the mind of a sufferer of Munchausen syndrome by proxy, a form of mental illness/child abuse where the child's caregiver invents fake symptoms of illness so that the child appears to be ailing.
The first person narrator of the story paints, or tries to, a convincing picture of herself as a concerned, caring parent and the reader is left to interpret what is actually happening rather than accepting the narrator's point of view. The writer's skill is to simultaneously convey both the internal thoughts of the narrator and their (skewed) logic and the actuality of the situation being depicted. Jill has achieved this to a high degree.
Her first-person narrative takes us inside the mind of a character whose derangement is subtly hinted at from the first – 'I don't like to go that far', she says. As the reader moves through the account of a hospital admittance that raises suspicion in the attending doctor, a chilling awareness is created of what the narrator is doing to her daughter.
Much of the success of this kind of story depends on creating the voice of the unreliable narrator, who is strongly invested in presenting the story they are telling as the fact of the matter. The mother in Jill's story works very well: she is jittery, worrying, aware (as the reader becomes aware) that her cover may have been blown and her construct close to unravelling, and yet she sticks to her deranged logic and the storyline it creates in a way that is eminently believable. It's a very good read: the subject matter is disturbing and the way it's handled forces the reader to confront something truly alarming.
Runner-up in the Unreliable Narrator Competition was Iain Andrews, Norwich, whose story is published on www.writers-online.co.uk. Also shortlisted were: Dominic Bell, Hull; Claire Buckle, Hornchurch, Essex; Sumana Khan, Reading, Berkshire; Jonathan Last, Croydon; Pauline Massey, Oxford; Lesley Middleton, Retford, Nottinghamshire; Deborah Miles, Salisbury, Wiltshire; EJ More, Leeds, West Yorkshire; Kev Neylon, Crawley, West Sussex; Rachel Peck, Tetbury, Gloucestershire.