you to go through the appropriate legal channels.”
Danielle’s voice is lacquered lava. “I certainly will.”
So they want to play hardball—fine. She’ll file suit and obtain Max’s documents—and more—through discovery. “Then what, if anything, will you and your ‘team’ now reveal to me that explains this extraordinary diagnosis of my son?”
“We are here to answer any questions relating to Max’s medication protocol, future treatment possibilities or the nature of schizoaffective disorder.” She gives Danielle a sharp look. “Frankly, we are very concerned about your reaction to Max’s diagnosis. We want to help you accept it so that Max can begin long-term residential treatment. To that end, I would like to schedule a few sessions with you this week.”
Danielle frowns. “With me? Why?”
Reyes-Moreno gives her those calm, green eyes again. “To ensure that before you go, you can help Max deal with his illness within the context of your relationship.”
Danielle ignores the intimation of her imminent departure.
“Do you have a specific question about my relationship with Max?”
“It is something we believe requires further exploration.”
“But you won’t tell me why.”
Reyes-Moreno shows the first break in her demeanor—a slight fissure in her countenance. “Not at this time. We candiscuss it further when we present Max’s treatment protocol in a few weeks.”
Like hell we will, thinks Danielle. It is clear that she won’t get anything more out of this tribe, not that she expected them to reveal their outrageous observations to her. She doesn’t give a damn about Maitland’s sterling reputation. It isn’t enough. She will make a graceful departure so she can get Max out of this place. “Doctors, I want you to know that I am grateful for all you have done.” Danielle nods at Reyes-Moreno and the others. All nod back, happy china dolls.
There, she’s laid the groundwork. She is reasonable. She is grateful.
“I mean no disrespect when I tell you that I simply cannot agree with your conclusions,” she says. “As such, Max and I will be leaving this afternoon.” She places both palms on the table in front of her and stands. This indicates that the meeting is over and, although they have not reached a viable settlement, they will part on friendly terms.
“Danielle.” Reyes-Moreno’s voice is curt. “We know that you disagree with our diagnosis. What you do not seem to understand is that you are in denial of the gravity of Max’s condition.” Her unwavering gaze locks upon Danielle. “I simply cannot permit you to take Max out of this facility when we have concluded that he may well commit suicide the moment he walks out of these doors—not to mention his increasing psychosis and demonstration of serious violence with others. I will not expose this hospital to legal claims—which would be well-founded—arising out of the release of your son.” She pauses. “Nor will I jeopardize Max’s mental health and his life, or someone else’s, by releasing him into your custody.”
Danielle’s eyes widen. “What are you saying—that I’m the one to blame here? That Max isn’t safe with me?” Her voice is an invitation to battle, steely and removed. “Or maybe it’sjust that no one has had the mettle to question a diagnosis rendered by the superlative doctors of Maitland—” she looks pointedly at each face around the table “—even when no basis for such a diagnosis exists.”
There is silence. The eyes of the brain trust are glued to their folders. Cowards, she thinks. One of the interns starts to say something, but Reyes-Moreno inclines her head ever so slightly. He stops, a well-trained puppy.
“Ms. Parkman.” Reyes-Moreno’s green eyes are unrelenting; the voice a soft hammer. “We invite you to obtain a second opinion; however, I urge you to do so immediately. It is your refusal to accept what we are trying to tell you that is causing your son
Danielle’s voice is lacquered lava. “I certainly will.”
So they want to play hardball—fine. She’ll file suit and obtain Max’s documents—and more—through discovery. “Then what, if anything, will you and your ‘team’ now reveal to me that explains this extraordinary diagnosis of my son?”
“We are here to answer any questions relating to Max’s medication protocol, future treatment possibilities or the nature of schizoaffective disorder.” She gives Danielle a sharp look. “Frankly, we are very concerned about your reaction to Max’s diagnosis. We want to help you accept it so that Max can begin long-term residential treatment. To that end, I would like to schedule a few sessions with you this week.”
Danielle frowns. “With me? Why?”
Reyes-Moreno gives her those calm, green eyes again. “To ensure that before you go, you can help Max deal with his illness within the context of your relationship.”
Danielle ignores the intimation of her imminent departure.
“Do you have a specific question about my relationship with Max?”
“It is something we believe requires further exploration.”
“But you won’t tell me why.”
Reyes-Moreno shows the first break in her demeanor—a slight fissure in her countenance. “Not at this time. We candiscuss it further when we present Max’s treatment protocol in a few weeks.”
Like hell we will, thinks Danielle. It is clear that she won’t get anything more out of this tribe, not that she expected them to reveal their outrageous observations to her. She doesn’t give a damn about Maitland’s sterling reputation. It isn’t enough. She will make a graceful departure so she can get Max out of this place. “Doctors, I want you to know that I am grateful for all you have done.” Danielle nods at Reyes-Moreno and the others. All nod back, happy china dolls.
There, she’s laid the groundwork. She is reasonable. She is grateful.
“I mean no disrespect when I tell you that I simply cannot agree with your conclusions,” she says. “As such, Max and I will be leaving this afternoon.” She places both palms on the table in front of her and stands. This indicates that the meeting is over and, although they have not reached a viable settlement, they will part on friendly terms.
“Danielle.” Reyes-Moreno’s voice is curt. “We know that you disagree with our diagnosis. What you do not seem to understand is that you are in denial of the gravity of Max’s condition.” Her unwavering gaze locks upon Danielle. “I simply cannot permit you to take Max out of this facility when we have concluded that he may well commit suicide the moment he walks out of these doors—not to mention his increasing psychosis and demonstration of serious violence with others. I will not expose this hospital to legal claims—which would be well-founded—arising out of the release of your son.” She pauses. “Nor will I jeopardize Max’s mental health and his life, or someone else’s, by releasing him into your custody.”
Danielle’s eyes widen. “What are you saying—that I’m the one to blame here? That Max isn’t safe with me?” Her voice is an invitation to battle, steely and removed. “Or maybe it’sjust that no one has had the mettle to question a diagnosis rendered by the superlative doctors of Maitland—” she looks pointedly at each face around the table “—even when no basis for such a diagnosis exists.”
There is silence. The eyes of the brain trust are glued to their folders. Cowards, she thinks. One of the interns starts to say something, but Reyes-Moreno inclines her head ever so slightly. He stops, a well-trained puppy.
“Ms. Parkman.” Reyes-Moreno’s green eyes are unrelenting; the voice a soft hammer. “We invite you to obtain a second opinion; however, I urge you to do so immediately. It is your refusal to accept what we are trying to tell you that is causing your son
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