Take Care of Maya takes viewers through the journey of Maya Kawalski and her seemingly incurable illness. From her vibrant childhood days in Florida, Maya Kowalski's life took an unexpected turn when she was 10. Suddenly, she was seized by alarming symptoms such as crippling foot cramps, relentless coughing, incapacitating headaches, and lesions on her skin. Her parents, Jack and Beata, were fraught with worry, seeking not a miracle but a straightforward diagnosis of their daughter's enigmatic condition. For Beata, an unyielding Polish immigrant and nurse, it was another perplexing medical riddle that she had to solve.

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The subsequent years unfolded a dreadful nightmare that no one, even the ever-resilient Beata, could anticipate. A multifaceted, heartrending saga that remains unresolved, and the horrifying implications of which should unsettle all. Filmmaker Henry Roosevelt, in his first feature documentary, "Take Care of Maya," tries to decipher the Kowalski family's tragedy. He makes claims about the similar misfortunes that other American families might have suffered.

Perhaps you're familiar with the contours of this narrative. An ailing child, a steadfast mother, a family narrative with broader implications. From Dyan Neary's 2022 article in The Cut or some of Daphne Chen's pieces from the Sarasota Herald-Tribune. Despite knowing the tragic ending, Roosevelt's commitment to a linear narrative and search for truth makes for an astute narrative choice.

Roosevelt's varied approaches to telling the story fall short at times. The saga of Maya and Beata is fraught with controversies. They range from Maya's eventual diagnosis and the treatment method pursued by the Kowalskis to the conduct of a local hospital and Pinellas County's child protection team. However, the documentary's stance on these issues remains indistinct.

While it's not imperative for a documentary to pick a side — given the importance of impartiality — Roosevelt attempts a balancing act. He deeply explores the Kowalskis' lives, yet uses surveillance footage from Maya's multiple hospital stays that subtly contradicts the family's own experiences. Thus, the film leaves the audience to form their own opinions, although it doesn't offer ample information to facilitate that.

The film does provide, however, a deeply distressing account of a strange tragedy that seems fated to remain unresolved. The circumstances, though slippery, are neatly present in the film. When Maya's troubling symptoms began, it was only Dr. Anthony Kirkpatrick who diagnosed her with Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS). CRPS is a rare chronic pain condition that often affects young girls and is often misunderstood. To treat Maya, Kirkpatrick initiated a ketamine regimen that culminated in a five-day coma.

Post-coma, Maya's health improved briefly before deteriorating again. A few months later, her parents admitted her to a local hospital. There the medical staff eventually diagnosed Maya as healthy and Beata as suffering from Munchausen syndrome by proxy. For nearly three months, Maya stayed in the hospital — ironically covered by her insurance for CRPS treatment — while her family was investigated by the Florida state authorities.

Thanks to Beata's comprehensive notes, audio recordings, interviews, and lawsuit deposition material, Roosevelt has a rich trove of content to navigate this complex narrative. However, the film, at times, feels overly intrusive, showing the viewers the shattered fragments of a once-united family.

The inherent incompleteness of the Kowalski story, the elusive answers, forms the core of this narrative. However, Roosevelt's film grapples to reconcile this with the expectations of a feature-length documentary. As one heartbreaking chapter concludes, others spin out, leading to more questions, more anguish, but no resolution.