#ch: julianne rosier

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

Memorio Occultae In Nubio Occultas

1: Navigating through clouds unexpected.

Wishing @dreamer-in-sleep a very happy birthday! Here’s your present, buddy, an edit and a chapter of your favourite fic by yours truly.

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TW: Yelling, character crying, character being self-castigating, mentions of dementia.

Note: Julianne is the nurse who, in the previous chapter, informed Adrian about the patient who turned out to be Alazne.

Rest of the chapter is under the cut.

Julianne frowns. Dr. Everheart can be very strange sometimes. Nevertheless, the young man is good at his job and a fast learner. He will, she decides, do just fine, fancies of thought aside. Perhaps the woman is a patient he knows.

She is puzzled when she can see the emergency waiting room, but not Dr. Everheart’s telltale curls. Before she can ponder on that further, her attention is captured by a woman’s strident tones.

“I said I refuse!” Dear God. A troublesome patient. Julianne arches a brow at one of the orderlies, who winces. “Call”- she starts, but she has no need to finish. “Dr. Everheart. I know. He’s the one who’s good at this kind of thing.” Julianne nods. “He is probably busy with a patient.” “Noted,” the orderly replies, setting off, presumably to search for him.

The agitated patient attains rather impressive heights of rage even as she’d talked to her colleague. “You want to restrain me from living my life. To think I was thinking of listening to you!” As Julianne takes a second to decide how best to intervene, scanning the surrounding area for possible ammunition that can be misused, a boyish, choked voice answers.

“I don’t…I wouldn’t ever do that…please, I want to make sure you’re fine, or if not, get you the help you need.”

Julianne finds it strange that people move away from a clearly distraught young man, obviously needing help, but that is what she sees. Nurses, her colleagues standing at a distance, their eyes averted.

She moves forward with purpose, trying to cut through the throng of onlookers, when the orderly returns, Dr. Sinclair with him. Julianne decides that she would rather face down an irate patient with help and changes her course, flagging the older man down.

“And who decides that, Dr. Everheart?” she hears the patient.

Dr. Everheart? She pauses, frowning.

The young man she’d heard didn’t sound like the gently confident neuropsychiatrist she is used to working with. He’d sounded rather close to tears instead. Who or what can affect calm Dr. Everheart so? She tries to locate him as she sees Dr. Sinclair move closer.

The woman continues to speak, obviously losing her temper by the second. “You?” she scoffs. “But of course, you do, don’t you, Dr. Everheart? You have that right. To label people incompetent, to take away their rights.”

Julianne breaks through the throng, all set to defend her colleague. She knows that Dr. Everheart does not merit such a label. One of the other nurses tugs at her hand. “Don’t,” she whispers. “I don’t think Adrian sir would want anyone to intercede.” “She can’t just”- Julianne cuts herself off when she sees Dr. Everheart.

He stands across from a woman, her back turned to him, tears pooling in his eyes, his hands reaching for her. He is speaking, too, voice choked and pleading, cutting off any thought of rebuttal Julianne had with the sheer emotion his voice holds.

“If I could…” his voice trails off, broken and quiet, “I would give each of my patients their lives as they were. I would not take away their rights, I wouldn’t still. I-” Urgent footsteps break the silence that falls for a second, and Dr. Sinclair stands between his student and the lady, who turns at the sound, her gritted jaw slackening even as the younger doctor pushes his words through tears that fall.

“You’re more than my l-life, you’re every-everything to me. The fact that you would think that I would-that I want to”- Dr. Sinclair puts a silent hand on Dr. Everheart’s shoulder, but the younger man is too distraught to notice. Julianne’s throat is choked, too.

How many times has she heard this young man laugh into his phone, the sentence “You are my everything, mama, I love you!” easily spoken? She had never thought she would hear the same as she was, and yet, here they were.

She wishes for the courage to intervene, but what could she say? She can only watch, helpless.

“I wouldn’t, mama, ever,” breathes Dr. Everheart, gasping through tears. Around her, people flinch. Some even shut their eyes, but no one moves forward. “Please.” The word is plaintive, a little boy pleading. “Just…humour me once and get cognitive testing. I’ll-I will keep away from you if you want. I’ll keep my dis-distance from you, just like you want. I didn’t know that I was-was restraining you, I just…just wanted to take care of you…” Julianne barely holds back a wince. He sounds terrified, and rightly so. Both of them know to spot the signs, he more than her.

Dr. Everheart’s mother seems to come to her senses somehow, responding to her distraught son. “Addy?” His response is still earnestly pleading. “Please. I-I won’t…” Dr. Sinclair quietly hugs the younger man, patting him on his back. “Addy…I am so sorry, dearheart. I said a lot I never should have. I just…I am scared, of what this could mean. I know you would never do anything of that sort, I was scared, I lost my temper and I took it out on you. I am sorry. I’m so sorry, kiddo.”

Dr. Adrian Everheart is immediately at his mother’s side, tears still clinging to his lashes, still wet on his cheeks. “It’s alright to be scared, mama.” His voice, gentle as he tries to be, is hoarse still. “How about we take this one step at a time?” He takes her hand. “Let me just nip into my office for my stuff, we’ll see what we can do about this, alright? I’ve got you.” His mother nods, and Julianne can only smile sadly. I’ve got you, she heard him say, and yet all she can hear instead is that Dr. Everheart is alone.

_______________________________________________

Mama is looking at him, he can feel her gaze. Adrian tries to relax his shoulders, to smile. He can feel the drying salt of tears chapping his face. He forces the smile nonetheless. Mama said she’s scared. I should be considerate.

He can no longer ignore the alarm bells in his head about her symptoms, but he can spare her premature worry. It doesn’t need to be onset of dementia, or even degenerative MCI. These symptoms can be because of social isolation, or anxiety, even electrolyte imbalances.

Dementia is a diagnosis of exclusion after all.

So Adrian smiles softly, watching mama relax at the sight of it. He keeps his touch casual. “Is this alright?” he asks. The question is a new one, but…he does not want to ignore her comfort as he may have been till now.

Mama looks down at his quiet question. “It’s fine, Addy. You don’t need to ask. Just be as you always are.” You said that I restrain you, he cannot help thinking. He forces the thought down.

Do not judge people by what they do or say when they are emotional. In his line of work, that was a hard-earned lesson. People’s thoughts are difficult to parse, especially when the observer is biased, like he is, when it comes to mama. Continuous observation is the key.

“Addy.” Adrian starts. “Where are you lost?” “Sorry, mama, I was lost in thought,” he responds. “Are you…upset?” Her question is hesitant. “No, of course not. You have the right to discipline me as you see fit. I was merely taken aback.” He laughs lightly. “We’re still going to get you tested. It’s just to rule things out, yeah? Don’t worry.” “Are you worried about it?” “I wouldn’t know, would I, unless we get the results?” “Addy”- he cuts her off.

“Give me a few minutes, mama. Please wait here, I’ll just be back.” He walks briskly into his office. He hears mama sigh. Adrian cannot help but deflect as he does. He doesn’t think he can handle the jumble of his own emotions at the moment. He knows that he has to take care of mama first.

He quickly finds his things. Files that he closes quickly to be read later, research proposals, and his beloved iPad mini. On reflex, he clicks the device on, one last run through of his most recent notes. Words and phrases jump at him.

On dementia, the title of the note. Vision:- Perception difficulties. Emotion: ?reduced range? Delay anxiety. Fear of losing control. Coping: Self-maintain; deny. Adjust for disabilities, do not dismiss concerns.

Delay anxiety. Fear of losing control. I was scared, and I took it out on you. Self-maintain; deny. I refuse!

Adrian swallows, shaking his head. I am thinking too much, too soon. He moves to the basin, washing his face. By the time he shuts the tap off, his skin is pink, small scratches on his cheeks bleeding little spots of blood.

He shakes his head, calm smile in place. Focus on mama, Adrian.

Dr. Sinclair meets them outside Adrian’s office. “I talked to Dr. Greengrass. She doesn’t see patients often, so she is free.” Adrian blinks. “Sir? I thought you”- Dr. Sinclair pats him on the shoulder. “You are my student, Adrian. The closest I have to a son. I cannot be unbiased. Though, of course, should you need any help, I am here for you.”

Adrian is at a loss for words. It is mama who answers. “Thank you,” she says sincerely. “Addy needs someone in his corner.” “See?” asks his mentor, “your mother too thinks that is for the best.” Adrian nods automatically. “Forgive me, sir. I am a little out of my depth.” To say the least. “Understandably. Shall we?” Adrian follows, mama’s hand in his.

Sitting in Dr. Greengrass’s office, Adrian has to work to keep the smile on his face reassuring every time mama looks at him, work to bite his tongue and stop himself from interfering with the test scores, to keep the tears at bay.

For mama stumbles in a test too many. Adrian calculates the scores instinctively, having administered these exact tests too often not to do so.

Concerning cognitive decline for age and expected outcomes, especially in semantic analysis and visual perception.

Dr. Greengrass does not need to spell it out for the results to resound in his mind.

“Given your test scores, ma’am,” she starts, “and the neuroimaging, we should be watching out for a diagnosis of”- “Degenerative MCI.” Adrian only whispers it, too scared to say it louder, too keyed-up to stay quiet, but the older doctor catches it.

She looks sharply at him. Adrian looks down, uncomfortable, before her expression softens. “I’d rather overlooked that you are my younger colleague. I’m afraid I am rather out of touch with the rest of the department. I’ll have to ask further to my assistant about how to proceed. Before that, however, you are right. Would you prefer to take a moment to yourself before we discuss further?”

Adrian swallows. “No, ma’am. Shouldn’t you be discussing directly with mama, though?” He gestures to his mother, sitting beside him, her eyes closed.

The doctor looks conflicted. Adrian puts an arm around mama’s shoulder. She opens her eyes. “It’s bad, isn’t it, Addy? I don’t even know what that word means.”

Adrian swallows, blinking past tears. You’ve explained this and worse to so many people, you idiot. The words still stay stuck in his throat.

“It’s a variant of age-related memory disorders,” Dr. Greengrass answers gently. “It means your brain functions are declining faster than normal, but they are intact enough for daily functioning, though you will need assistance for visual perception.” She glances at her phone. “Apparently, we offer measures to reduce further cognitive decline, though you will have to speak to my younger colleagues for”-

Adrian intercedes. “There’s no need, ma’am.” “Ah, yes,” says the older doctor. “You would know the colleague in question better.” Adrian holds back a hysterical laugh. “I run the clinical interventions we do for people with cognitive deficits,” he says softly.

Both women look at him as one. “You do?” Dr. Greengrass asks, while mama simply smiles. Adrian nods. “Well, you’re in good hands, then, ma’am,” Dr. Greengrass replies. Mama nods with a laugh. “Of course I am.”

Adrian looks back at her sharply. “I cannot take clinical decisions”- his voice rises of it’s own accord. “No, of course not. I meant the caring side of things. Clinically, I will monitor your mother’s progress. We can work through a schedule together if necessary.” “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Addy, dearheart. Could you please wait outside for a few minutes? I need to ask the doctor something.” Mama asks him. Adrian rises without hesitation. “Of course.”

He waits with his back to the door, trying not to listen. “Would I…would I forget Addy, too?” His mother asks, voice cracking, and Adrian flinches, knowing the answer, should things deteriorate further.

He makes sure to be bent over his shoelaces when mama comes out. She relaxes when he doesn’t ask any questions, smiling instead. “Usual post-appointment mom-son day?” he asks, cheer in his voice. Mama takes his hand with an enthusiastic nod. “Yes!”

They go to her favourite restaurant, talk about everything and nothing, watch the sunset together and play game after game of ludo until she tires out. Adrian hugs mama, tucking her in bed, watching until she’s deeply asleep.

Then he takes his car, driving to the staff quarters, stopping in front of a familiar house. He rings the doorbell. When Dr. Sinclair opens the door, Adrian lets both the façade and the tears fall.