Hurricane Acer. Sydney Blondell
“I believe he will probably be prescribed a mood stabilizer or anti-depressants, but I cannot say for sure until we can evaluate him and diagnosis him if applicable,” the therapist responded.
“I don’t know if this affects what you would like to discuss with us tonight, but Paul and I are in the beginning stages of a divorce, and this suicide attempt has not changed anything,” I said.
“Well, Mrs. Acer if this event does not change anything you are free to go home for the evening if you would like. I’m sure you’re tired, and I can finish this conversation with Paul’s parents.”
“This is ridiculous; you need to stay and listen to what his aftercare needs are going to be,” Carole barked at me.
“No, Carole, I don’t. I am divorcing your son, which means I don’t have to take care of him when he leaves this hospital,” I said.
I decided to stop talking while I was ahead and go back to where Renee was sitting to tell her we could finally leave for the night. She followed me out to my car and told me she would meet me back at my townhouse because she was going to stay the night with Alison and me. Before driving straight home, I drove to Alison’s babysitter’s house to pick her up. It was nearly two in the morning when I arrived home, and we all were fast asleep within five minutes of walking through the door.
Over the next forty-eight hours, I started learning more about what was left behind at the house the day of the incident, which led me to take immediate legal action against Paul. The day after the incident, my brother-in-law (who helped clean the house the previous day) filled me in on the drawings he discovered. Initially, he was only going to tell me necessary information about the drawings, but I made the point that if I made copies and presented them to family court I would have a compelling case against Paul in earning custody of Alison. My brother-in-law agreed and handed the drawings over to me.
I looked down at a legal pad and saw the drawings done in red pen. Two stick figures whose bodies appeared to be on fire were staring back at me, and those who have viewed the drawings agree that the two figures are most likely Alison and me. Once my eyes stopped focusing on the stick figures, I noticed a row of townhouses with one in flames. I sat silently with the drawings for nearly an hour in complete shock that the man I am married to was fantasizing about setting his wife and child on fire.
Realizing the reality I was facing, I immediately walked to my home office to make copies of the drawings then drove straight to the courthouse, with the disturbing art in hand. Naturally, there was a line at the courthouse, so I took a seat in one of the red corduroy chairs and waited for my number to be called. After a long forty minute wait, I heard my name and proceeded back to a woman named Lisa’s cubical. Lisa asked what she could help me with and I presented her with the drawings.
“I need a protective order placed against my husband for my daughter and me.” I started.
“Okay, ma’am. I can certainly look at your evidence and determine if your request is warranted,” Lisa responded.
“My husband attempted suicide yesterday, and my brother-in-law originally discovered these drawings that I have with me. I know that I cannot earn a protective order solely based on the fact that he tried to commit suicide, but I hope that after you look at these drawings he drew the day of the incident you will consider granting the order.”
“I will look over the evidence you brought with you, and I will make my ruling within the next half-hour. You can wait here, or you can go back to the lobby and wait for me to call you back.”
“I will wait here if that is okay,” I said with disparity in my eyes. Twenty minutes later, Lisa opened her cubicle window and told me she was ready to make her decision.
“I have reviewed the drawings thoroughly and am going to grant your daughter a three-month protective order against your husband. I have set an emergency hearing with the judge for this Monday where he will more than likely grant you full physical and legal custody of your child.” Lisa told me.
“Thank you so much for your help, Lisa. Have a great rest of your day.”
I did not go back to the hospital until I received a phone call three days after the initial incident informing me that Paul was out of his unconscious state. I was warned that when I arrived and saw him, he may not have any memory of what happened nor what had happened in the weeks leading up to the incident. I hoped that Paul did not know he may have amnesia because I knew he would pretend to have it to avoid facing reality. Worst-case scenarios started circling my head for the majority of the ride to the hospital, but I knew I was getting ahead of myself. I knew I needed to calm down and wait until I arrived at the hospital to assess the situation.
The traffic was unbearable as I drove over to the hospital. The day had barely started, but for me, it had already gone to shit. I received the call I was dreading, I am stuck in traffic trying to go somewhere that is of no interest to me, and worst of all, I have to deal with his bullshit. The hospital is a twenty-minute drive from our house, but with all the traffic it took about an hour and fifteen minutes to arrive. Paul was still in the ICU, but he was going to be transferred to the psych ward later in the day. When I walked into his room, he was sitting up staring at me. I knew to tread lightly because I did not know if he was aware of everything or not yet.
At first, we talked about how Alison was doing, and I told Paul what I told her to steer her away from asking questions. Paul started asking more questions about what she was asking, but I couldn’t go deeper without saying something about the day of the incident because Alison asked about the marks on the wall near the steps. I told Paul to wait a second and I would be back. I went out to find his doctor to ask how I should go about answering Paul’s questions. The doctor informed me that after some more testing from the time of their phone call early in the morning and the time I arrived at the hospital, the doctor could confidently say Paul was not suffering from amnesia.
With the “okay” to talk about the event with Paul, I went back into his room and told him what she was asking. I said I told Alison that Daddy fell down the stairs and hit his head, so he has to be in the hospital for a little while. Paul thanked me for taking care of the situation, and he did not realize the EMTs left marks on the wall. Talking about what I told Alison was the only civil conversation we had during my visit. The fight began when Paul asked when he would be able to see Alison.
“Paul, I had an emergency protection order placed against you yesterday morning.” I started.
“Are you kidding me? We are getting divorced! That doesn’t give you the right to keep her from me! I have never done anything to put her in harm's way.” Paul continued.
“I know getting divorced doesn’t give me the right to keep your daughter from you. I know about the drawings that you did the day you tried to kill yourself, and I would be a horrible mother if I were to let you near her until this is investigated,” I explained.
“What drawings? I didn’t draw anything! Maybe it was something Alison drew, and you didn’t see her draw it.” He said trying to push the blame onto a defenseless child.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You are seriously going to tell me that our three-year-old child drew a picture of her and her Mommy on fire outside of her home. I don’t think so, Paul. That statement proves how unstable you are!”
Before Paul could rebut my comeback to his awful and despicable defense, his doctor and a few nurses came in, ready to transport him to the psych ward. As they wheeled him out in a wheelchair, he turned to me and said, “You are coming so we can finish this discussion, right?” With a look of disgust, I looked at him dead in the eyes and replied, “No.” I did not give him the chance to fire back. I picked up my purse, slid past the group of medical professionals, and away I went. Incredibly, my day ended up a lot better the minute I left the hospital. There was zero traffic on the ride home, and I knew that I would not have to see Paul again until he came to remove his belongings from our home.
Although I did not physically go to the hospital the rest of the ten days Paul was there, I did receive calls from his doctor informing me of his mental state. The