Chapter 14

The next few days blurred together in a flurry of activities. Emily and Evelyn had their first rehearsal at Twilight Theater, June underwent a COVID screening in preparation for her scheduled hysterectomy the following Monday, and Elizabeth participated in her last forensics meet of the season. Emily's violin lesson and another rehearsal at the theater rounded out the week before June’s emergency call with Dr. Saeed. Despite the chaos, June managed to stay focused, balancing everything just enough to keep it all under control.

Finally, at 4:45 p.m. on Saturday night, June received the long-awaited emergency mental health call from Dr. Saeed. Relieved to finally speak with a doctor, June detailed everything that had been happening—the euphoria, the lack of appetite, the sleepless nights. The symptoms fascinated her, and she described them with vivid detail, though she emphasized that she felt good, that her only real issue was insomnia. She had already decided to stop using cannabis and promised to cut back on alcohol. Forcing herself to eat wasn't difficult.

But Dr. Saeed wasn’t convinced that would be enough.

June could almost picture her over the phone: her brightly lipsticked lips pursed in a serious expression, big tortoiseshell glasses perched on the tip of her hooked nose as she glanced over them with large, mascara-heavy brown eyes. Her long black hair would likely be swept into its usual loose bun, and June imagined her in one of those gaudy, floral dresses she often wore—probably yellow and magenta, paired with green sandals and orange socks.

The mental image suddenly struck June as absurd, making her stifle a laugh—though that probably didn’t help her case with Dr. Saeed. The doctor continued in short, clipped sentences. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You don’t like Abilify? Fine. I’ll change your prescription to a new one. A very new drug. None of the side effects of Abilify. No headaches, no hair loss, and no weight gain. It’s a very good one, called Vraylar.”

As Dr. Saeed spoke, a scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding played through June’s mind. She remembered the part where Aunt Vula, upon hearing that her niece’s fiancé was a vegetarian, dramatically exclaimed, “What do you mean, he don’t eat no meat?” before finally shrugging and declaring, “That’s okay, I make lamb.”

Was this what was happening here with Dr. Saeed? Were they speaking the same language, but something was still getting lost in translation? June was confused. She hadn’t complained about any of the symptoms Dr. Saeed mentioned. Yet, now that the doctor brought them up, she realized she had experienced most of them, except for the headaches. Maybe Dr. Saeed had noticed her thinning hair or weight gain during previous visits, but June had attributed it to aging, assuming it was just a part of growing older. And she knew full well that her weight gain was a result of overindulgence—too much food, too much alcohol. It was her own doing, wasn’t it?

Still, not wanting to contradict Dr. Saeed, June hesitantly agreed to look into Vraylar. But she was determined to figure things out without medication. She didn’t want to rely on pills. Dr. Saeed tried again to convince her, offering a free three-month trial and coupons in case her insurance didn’t cover the new drug. June reluctantly agreed to pick it up, though she made no promises about actually taking it.

“I really want to figure out how to balance myself without medication,” June insisted. “I’ll keep the Vraylar in case things get out of control, but I just need help sleeping.”

Dr. Saeed had already prescribed non-addictive medications like Trazodone and an antihistamine, but neither had worked. When she suggested Benadryl, June refused, recalling how the drug made her feel like a zombie for days.

Then, shifting the conversation, June admitted that she thought her recent anxiety had been triggered by the boundaries she’d set with Donna, her friend. June was about ready to end the conversation, convinced that Dr. Saeed had no real solutions for her. As she prepared to wrap things up, Dr. Saeed asked a strange question.

“Was your relationship with this woman sexual?” the doctor inquired, as if oblivious to something that seemed obvious after three years of treating June. She had been referred to Dr. Saeed after a psychiatric hospital stay, during which she had already spoken about her relationship with both Donna and her husband, Hadrian. June had explained her obsession with the concept of narcissism and how it had caused her to lose touch with reality.

Had she really never mentioned Donna to Dr. Saeed? June could’ve sworn she had. Even if she hadn’t, surely the referral had included all that information, right? Weren’t doctors supposed to communicate with each other? But Dr. Saeed rarely seemed interested in anything beyond June’s immediate family and work. Could it be possible that June had never mentioned Donna in the last three years?

Confused but trying to answer, June said, “Yes. Well, it was more than platonic. I don’t know if I’d say it was sexual, but we were more than just friends.”

“Was the sex consensual?” Dr. Saeed pressed further.

June paused, taken aback by the question. She had already explained that they hadn’t had sex. Why was Dr. Saeed asking if it was consensual? Frustration bubbled inside her—why didn’t anyone, not even doctors, seem to listen? Nuance was everything. Couldn’t Dr. Saeed understand that?

Finally, June quietly answered, “I don’t know. I did a lot of things I really didn’t want to do.”

As June tried more firmly to end the conversation, Dr. Saeed rushed in with one last piece of advice. “I recommend you spend more time with your therapist. Talk therapy is very powerful, you know. It can even change brain structures!”

June was already half-checked out, eager to be rid of Dr. Saeed’s solutions. Another pill was always her answer. But those last words stuck with June. Talk therapy can change brain structures. The idea planted itself in her mind, replaying in the days to come. It was good advice, she realized. June had been speaking to her therapist, Solin, only once a month. She decided then to increase her sessions to once a week for a while.

After June hung up, she found herself musing about her feelings toward Dr. Saeed. Confusion swirled in her mind. For the past three years, this same doctor had been telling her how the bipolar brain was different, how important medications were for her ability to function. Yet, whenever June questioned her bipolar diagnosis, Dr. Saeed would dismiss her concerns.

Any time June began to wonder whether she had really been psychotic or manic—thinking she could see people in ways others couldn’t, feeling how every living thing was connected, or believing she had a special role to help others reach their potential—Dr. Saeed would sit stoically, unimpressed. She would simply respond, “Those are grandiose thoughts. Questioning your disease is part of the disease.”

June’s frustration simmered. The problem with being diagnosed with bipolar disorder, she thought, was that doubting the diagnosis only served as proof that she indeed had it. At the time, she hadn’t been in touch with her feelings, but now she could see that irritation had been building toward Dr. Saeed. It wasn’t just her—June felt that way toward all the doctors who lacked the imagination and insight to see her as a whole person. They treated her like a number, a meaningless character in their medical narratives.

Pink Floyd’s lyrics echoed in her mind: All we are is just another brick in the wall.

Why hadn’t Dr. Saeed told her about the power of talk therapy from the start? June wondered. Why had she spent three years trying different combinations of medications, hoping to find the right balance to function “normally”? If talk therapy was so powerful, why did Dr. Saeed only spend less than 15 minutes with her at each appointment? And why did June need to go to her psychologist for talk therapy and then to Dr. Saeed for medication, with neither of them communicating about her care? It made no sense.

June's dissatisfaction with her treatment began to surface. She resolved to incorporate more natural methods to regain balance. Once her surgery was behind her, the next step on her list would be exercise. She used to enjoy working out, even training for triathlons, but depression had sapped her motivation. The cold weather hadn’t helped either, but spring was coming. She decided to start walking, slowly, in nature. Solin, her therapist, had spoken about the connection between nature and health, and June had read similar articles.

Currently, though, she could barely walk a few blocks without getting winded, her feet swelling more than they had when she was pregnant. June had mentioned it to her primary care doctor, who ran tests but found nothing unusual. Another dead end with the doctors. Useless.

Oh hello Mr. Man

You didn't think I'd come back

You didn't think I'd show up with my army

And this ammunition on my back

Now that I'm Miss Thing

Now that I'm a zillionaire

You scan the credits for your name

And wonder why it's not there

Right Through You by Alanis Morissette

Jagged Little Pill