Abruption (39 page)

4 months later...

“H
ow does that make you feel, Jules?”

I fought back the urge to chuckle, because laughing at my therapist in the middle of a session seemed, well, inappropriate. Especially when he was asking how I felt about Guy’s decision to discontinue his solo sessions. I wasn’t laughing because I thought Guy discontinuing was the best idea. I was laughing because Guy couldn’t stand that quintessential line,
how does that make you feel?
It drove him crazy (no pun intended).

He did agreed to continue with our family sessions though, and not only because it was more
us
time, which we couldn’t seem to get enough of after everything that had happened, but also because it was in the best interest of Max and Finn. He’d literally walk through fire to lessen their misfortune.

Misfortune.

The word didn’t even come close to describing the damage Maya inflicted. It was torture. But Dr. Fitzsimond discouraged us from using vocabulary with strong negative connotations. He felt the emotional associations might keep us focused on the past, stuck in resentments, and could hinder our family’s healing. Obviously I wasn’t exactly there yet, but I was trying. For Finn and Max, there was nothing I wouldn’t do either.

Even though Finn suffered the brunt of Maya’s psychosis, Maxie was still witness to it all, and Guy and I feared what that could mean for them in the long term. However, multiple specialists assured us that with time and appropriate guidance, they were young enough that they would most likely not remember what Maya did to Finn.

Thank God for small miracles.

The focus of Finn’s therapy was two-fold. It was normal for sickly children to associate being ill with gaining attention, so most importantly, he needed to re-identify himself. He needed to understand that he was a healthy little boy, despite being told otherwise for essentially a third of his young life. And was he ever thriving.

A specialized drug screen did, in fact, confirm what I suspected. Finn had toxic levels of camphor in his system. And given that the only
natural
source of the aromatic chemical was found in the bark of Asian trees, while the
synthetic
turpentine derivative was the main ingredient in Vicks, there was no question how Finn was exposed. When his liver functions returned to normal and the doctors were confident that all traces of the poison were gone from his system, they tapered him off anti-epileptic medication and sent him home with a
sparkly
bill of health. But we didn’t need lab results to confirm how healthy Finn was—his boundless energy and newfound spunk were proof enough. So we focused loads of attention on all the things Finn loved to do and reminded him daily that his possibilities were endless. Identity crisis averted.

The second goal of therapy was to help him adjust to yet another major transition. Since Maya’s abrupt disappearance coincided shortly after I moved in, Dr. Fitzsimond worried Finn’s little mind might subconsciously blame me and cause him to act out or regress. Luckily, we were four months out with no signs of either. If there was a grading system for therapy, Finn was acing it.

Maxie, on the other hand, was a year older and definitely a year wiser. She understood more than we hoped and her
whys
were endless. Deservingly so. But how did you explain mental illness to a four-year-old when you could barely come to terms with it yourself? She wholeheartedly loved Maya and trusted her to take care of her and her baby brother. Maya destroyed her trust, but thank God, from what we could tell, Maxie was not physically abused. So most of Maxie’s therapy concentrated on what it meant to feel safe. With Dr. Fitzsimond’s help, we continually assured her that Daddy and Mommy JuJu would always be here to protect both of them. To make healthy decisions for them.
Why didn’t Maya do that? She loves us
. Every time she asked, it felt like a knife twisting in my gut. We were cautious with our choice of words when we tried to explain the unexplainable. We told her something in Maya’s brain was hurt, and because of it, she was not able to tell the difference between wrong and right. We never said sick. Maxie had heard her brother being called sick more times than her little brain could count.

When Finn returned home from the hospital, Maxie became even more protective and vigilant. She rarely left her brother’s side, and more mornings than not, we found her asleep on the floor in his room. But luckily, with each passing day that Finn woke up healthy and happy, you could see her worry slip away.

More evidence to support the plural ‘s’ in
miracles.

We thanked God every day for their resilience.

Our family sessions were based around fun and laughter. We wanted Max and Finn to be in an environment where they felt safe and comfortable. Dr. Fitzsimond would often meet us at a park or for ice cream or come to our home. He always encouraged us to pick an activity that we could do as a family.
Us
time. He’d mostly observe our interactions and watch for any signs that Finn and Max might be struggling because of something Maya may have done.

In the beginning, both kids were clingy and very hesitant to try anything new, and we were concerned that we may have been pushing them too hard or too soon. Dr. Fitzsimond reminded us how perceptive children are, implying that their changes in behavior might have more to do with Guy and me, and less to do with Maya. We were both distraught with unfathomable guilt. It was suffocating at times. And obviously hard to keep hidden. We started our individual sessions soon after.

Over the last six weeks though, we had all made significant strides. Guy and I were working hard to let the resentment go, and we could see the kids rediscovering their individuality and confidence. Maxie decided (since Finn no longer needed them) she wanted her fairy heart sheets back, and well, Finn, he decided Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were way cooler than Power Rangers. Each day was a little easier than the last.

“I’m not upset with Guy, if that’s what you’re asking,” I started to answer Dr. Fitzsimond’s favorite question. “I’m just concerned that we’ve all come so far, and it feels like we’re all finally bouncing back. I guess I’m afraid of anything jeopardizing that. I know we both still have that gnawing guilt and residual anger that I think will never completely go away.”

“You know what I’m going to say next, Jules. What I’ve been saying for the last four months and will continue to say to you for as long as you sit in that chair.”

“I know. I know.” I knew. But I was inherently stubborn. And that was a hard trait to change.

“Then you need to believe it. Say it for me.”

“None of Maya’s actions were our fault. She has a personality disorder, and what she did to Finn was insidious and nearly imperceptible. Virtually impossible to diagnose without hard physical evidence. Which by the grace of God stumbled into my lap.” I recited in rote like he insisted I do almost every visit. “I get it, Dr. Fitzsimond, I do. It’s just so difficult to accept we missed it.”

“You caught it, Jules. And Finn is thriving and beautiful and healthy. Be thankful for that.” God, I was so thankful for that. “Munchausen by proxy is a psychiatric illness that flourishes on its secrecy; it’s never meant to be unveiled, and sadly, that’s why the victims’ mortality is so high.”

I cringed at his words and could only think about how many other children were defenseless to the hands of a person they loved and trusted unconditionally. It made me physically sick.

Dr. Fitzsimond continued, “I know you’ve struggled with the added guilt of Maya’s actions escalating when you came into the kids’ lives, but it’s important to keep in mind most things related to MBP remain an inconclusive mystery. Like which illnesses she fabricated versus which ones she induced. It’s fair to assume the majority of Finn’s fevers were fabricated since she was the only one who witnessed them, but we’ll never know for sure. And Maxie’s description of her holding hand warmers to Finn’s face is just another strange piece to a puzzle we will never solve. The camphor is more clear-cut. Tangible proof always is. Whether Maya stepped up her game because she felt threatened by you or because she got some deranged satisfaction when her fabrication unexpectedly resulted in an invasive procedure … again, we’ll never know. It’s a personality disorder fueled by attention-seeking.”

I knew all of that too, but how could I not feel responsible or not seek out answers? In the past month and a half I’d read hundreds of articles and case studies written on Munchausen by proxy (Guy had read twice that). And they all said the same thing. MBP perpetrators craved the compassion and recognition that was brought forth by medical staff, family, and friends when dealing with a sick child. It was as sadistic as it sounded.

When falsifying history was no longer enough, deliberate harm often followed.

Guy and I had lain awake a dozen nights trying to piece together some semblance of a chronology that fit with Finn’s symptoms. We were pretty confident that his spinal tap marked a critical changing point. From there, it was all assumptions.

Assumptions and frustrating questions were all Maya’s deceptions left us with.

I looked to Dr. Fitzsimond who was quietly watching me. One question plagued me more than any other. I never wanted the answer and I wasn’t even sure there was one, but I needed to ask. “Was that her goal? Did she want him to die?”

“We don’t know. It may have been her end goal, but most likely she had no idea herself. Much like a drug addict, the high is the only thing that matters. And they will do anything to get it back.”

That was a blade that was impossible to swallow.

Much like the unanswered questions of why I lost my baby girl.

The thought that her end goal could’ve been death brought me to a place that would always be too much.

That would never change.

To this day, Maya had never admitted to one of her crimes. Munchausen by proxy was not only a severe form of child abuse, but also a criminal offense, and Maya was currently undergoing extensive psychotherapy mandated by the court. With a very long road ahead of her and many years of therapy.

Dr. Fitzsimond pointed out that the primary task for the therapist working with a MBP sufferer was to uncover the patient’s fantasies and help them interpret their behaviors. However, this was often impossible because even though the perpetrator was aware of their actions, they were reluctant to
ever
acknowledge them.

Therefore, the real world for Maya would most likely never be.

For now, that brought us some peace of mind. She was locked up in a maximum-security psychiatric ward and could never harm another child.

“Let’s get back to Guy. Last we spoke, he was reaching out to Brittany’s family. How did that go?” Dr. Fitzsimond redirected.

“It was a very eye-opening experience that I think we all learned from,” I answered truthfully.

Guy and I had lunch with the Goldmans two weeks ago. A very enlightening meeting, to say the least. Other than brief exchanges revolving around Finn and Max, Guy had very little interaction with his in-laws since Brittany’s death. He had chosen to avoid the animosity and let Maya be the go-between.

Darla was surprisingly forthcoming and shared that she had been estranged from her sister, Maya’s mother, since she took off when Maya was about five years old. She hadn’t spoken to her in nearly twenty years but suspected her fleeing was due to mental instability and that there may have been a question of abuse, as well. “I’m embarrassed and sad to say, it was a different time back then. We just didn’t talk about those kinds of things.”

I wondered if Darla’s choice of words,
those kinds of things,
was her way of explaining to Guy why she had never shared her own medical history with her daughter. Guy and I never discussed it, but I knew there was no way he could have missed the guilt in her voice.

She went on to say that she believed Maya’s father, although he remarried several years later, had blamed his daughter for his wife’s disappearance. Supposedly, the new wife was an attention-seeker and not interested in raising children, which did not bode well for Maya. When she was sixteen, Maya reached out to Darla, looking for an alternative. The walls in Washington were closing in on her, so Darla suggested her niece visit the East. What started as a vacation quickly turned to a permanent change. Legal documents were exchanged, and Darla accepted custody of Maya.