Chapter 3 - THE WORD “BASELINE”
Claire confronted Margaret the next morning.
Margaret did not deny anything.
She sat across from Claire in the kitchen, arms folded.
“I was tracking a baseline.”
“A baseline is measured before something happens.”
“A functioning baseline.”
“You’re not a neuropsychologist.”
“No.”
“Then why are you scoring my child?”
Margaret’s jaw tightened.
“Because no one else sees her every day.”
Claire almost laughed.
“Her doctors see her.”
“For thirty minutes.”
“Her teachers?”
“She’s barely back.”
“Me?”
Margaret looked away.
That answer hurt.
Claire worked.
Margaret had spent more daytime hours with Emily during treatment recovery.
She considered that:
better data.
Then Margaret said:
“You don’t notice the changes.”
“What changes?”
“She used to know every word to that old Taylor song.”
Claire stared.
“Mom.”
“She used to hate tomato soup. Now she asks for it.”
“She’s ten.”
“She never forgot Aunt Susan’s dog’s name.”
“Aunt Susan had three dogs.”
“Exactly.”
Claire stood.
“You are turning personality into evidence.”
Margaret stood too.
“I am watching your daughter change and you are so desperate to call it normal that you won’t admit it.”
That landed because Claire was afraid too.
Every parent after cancer treatment hears:
watch for changes.
Headaches.
Balance.
Vision.
Behavior.
Claire had become hyperaware of some things.
Then she deliberately ignored others because she could not live in constant alarm.
Margaret saw that restraint as denial.
Then Claire asked:
“What happens if she gets 10 out of 20 instead of 20?”
Margaret answered:
“We repeat.”
“How long?”
“Until she can.”
“And if she never remembers?”
Silence.
That was the hole.
Margaret had no endpoint except:
return.
Return to what?
The exact child before treatment.
Then Claire asked:
“What is ‘Before Emily’?”
Margaret’s face softened.
“The child we know.”
Claire went cold.
“We know the child who is here.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes. That’s why I’m angry.”
Then Margaret explained:
the boxes were cues.
The cardigan:
Emily wore it on the first day of fourth grade.
The purple scarf:
Grandpa bought it at a Christmas market.
Vanilla lotion:
Emily used it before dance class.
Photos:
summer camp,
science fair,
beach trip.
Margaret used sensory cues to:
retrieve autobiographical memories.
This was not inherently absurd.
Memory rehabilitation can use cues.
The problem:
the goal.
Margaret was not helping Emily access memories she wanted.
She was testing whether Emily deserved to be considered unchanged.
Then Claire asked:
“Why did you tear the clothes?”
Margaret looked ashamed for the first time.
Because Dr. Patel told her to stop.
Emily had told.
The cardigan became:
proof the method was over.
Margaret snapped.
“I thought she had let them convince her the work was hurting her.”
“It was hurting her.”
“It was frustrating her.”
“She was afraid.”
Margaret said:
“Recovery is frustrating.”
Claire answered:
“Fear of disappointing you is not rehabilitation.”
Then the recorder contained another clip.
Not Emily crying.
Margaret talking to someone else.
A man.
Claire played it.
Margaret:
“She’s at fourteen out of twenty now.”
Male voice:
“Margaret, stop scoring her.”
Margaret:
“You told me retrieval matters.”
Male voice:
“I told you retrieval can help. I did not tell you to run daily examinations.”
Who was he?
Margaret’s old friend.
Dr. Samuel Price.
A retired speech-language pathologist.
May you like
Margaret had been consulting him informally.
And he had told her to stop weeks ago.
