They Left for the Day

After seeing the abuse and the mistreatment of other patients in my hall, I had to remain alert. I was not going to speak unless spoken to, and I was going to keep to myself. I did not want to give the techs a reason to notice me. I was beginning to feel tired, but there was no way I was going to be able to sleep, not even for five minutes. I decided to just sit in my recliner and watch television.

I hadn't yet heard anything about when I would see my counselor, so I decided to call my husband. The social worker from this morning had mentioned that my husband was allowed full access to information about my care. I knew he would call every hour or so to get updates. At first, we rambled to one another, with no real point to the conversation. I just wanted a familiar voice of someone I trusted. When I asked him the time, I was blown away when he told me it was after five o'clock. I asked him, "Are you sure? Have they said anything to you about when I would see someone? Did my counselor leave?" He replied, "They said you're next to be seen, so I guess they didn't leave." I began to wonder, maybe my counselor did in fact leave for the day. My anxiety was back, running at full force. I ended the conversation with my husband, and out of sheer panic, I asked the tech, “When will I see my counselor?” She replied, “Oh, they’re gone for the day, you’ll see one tomorrow.” At this point I couldn't believe this place. Every time I asked, "When will I be seen?" the response was always, "You're next in the queue." Not only were they telling me that, but my husband as well. We were being lied to at every corner of this process, stuck in a web of little white lies.

From that moment on, I was filled with an array of emotions. Anger, fear, anxiety, and sadness, just to name a few. I realized I wasn’t going to be going home that night. I wanted to cry, but I was so numb that the tears just wouldn't come. I needed a shower, but I had no change of clothes, so I stayed dirty and unkempt. I couldn't speak, I couldn't think. All I could do was sit in my chair, staring into space, and praying this would all be over tomorrow. Praying that by this time tomorrow, I would be home with my family.

They announced that it was dinner time. I didn't know the time, but had assumed it was close to six. I wasn’t hungry, but I knew I needed an actual meal. I figured eating would make it easier to gather my thoughts, and it would help me stop shaking. I didn't know I if I was shaking due to low blood sugar or nerves, but either way, it was annoying. I walked into the activities room where dinner was being served, and I looked over at to have a glance at what we were having. We were being served a Country Fried Steak T.V. dinner, with a small glass of Lemonade, and a choice of a Banana or an Apple for dessert. We were only given a white plastic spoon. No forks. No knives. Just a small, flimsy spoon that made a cracking sound when you pushed too hard into your food. I begrudgingly sat down at the cold metal table, with my hospital blanket wrapped around my shoulders, and began eating. After eating half of my food, I decided that I was full enough. Plus I was tired of fighting with my spoon since it would not cut through my meat, no matter how hard I tried.

It was time for a shift change. The new tech we got was actually professional. She treated us well and saw us as human beings. She let us have free access to the Snack cart, which was loaded up with Chex Mix, and Grandmas Chocolate Chip Cookies. She finally changed the channel on the television, as we had been watching the same one since I arrived. She would give us extra blankets if we were cold, and took care of us. She was the only one, out of the handful of Techs I had dealt with that day, that did so. One of the patients they brought back however, was a talker and very obnoxious. She was proud to be there. She announced to the room with a smile, “It was either here or jail, so here I am!” This place felt like a prison to me, so was there really any difference? I called my husband later that evening, to say goodnight to one another, and I got to talk to my boys for a second or two. I wanted to go home. We ended our conversation, and I walked back to my chair. I began watching a show about treehouses and started to drift off to sleep.

Out of pure emotional exhaustion, I fell asleep. In the brown, uncomfortable recliner that I loathed entirely. After only sleeping for what seemed like five minutes I was awaken by the tech. She told me I was being admitted, and being sent to what they call “The Other Side.” I asked her what time it was, and she told me it was 1 AM. It was twelve hours later. I followed the Tech down the hall to a set of double doors. When we walked through, we were outside on a wooden bridge. It was lightly lit by what appeared to be Christmas lights. We reached a set of doors, and she was buzzed in. We were at "The Other Side," and faced with yet another set of doors. These doors were labeled Psych 1. With my blanket wrapped around my shoulders, and my slides in my hands, I was told to wait at the nursing station for further instruction.