It’s all very Psychiatric
By Leon Rice
“So tell me Tommy, how are you feeling? How have you been
doing?”
“Well, I suppose I’m doing alright.”
“How has your appetite been? Are you still walking everyday?“
“I’ve been eating plenty I guess. . . Still walking, yeah, still
walking.”
“Are you still feeling sad? Are you depressed?”
“I’ve been kind of depressed . . . I can’t sleep very well. I went for
four days without sleeping . . . I felt pretty bad after that. . . .”
“Well, you know that it isn’t a good idea to be on sleeping medication for
very long. It’s possible to become addicted to it, but I can give you a script
for some sleeping pills. Maybe a weeks worth . . . Would you like to try that a
while?”
“Sure that would be great . . . I get kind of get confused and can’t
function very well when I don’t get enough sleep. . . .”
“Sleep deprivation can cause your symptoms to become worse . . . . Is
there anything you would like to talk about today?”
Tommy thought about it for a moment, considering telling him about his affair
with Barb; he was feeling a fare amount of guilt about that; finally he said,
“I kind of wanted to talk about when I was little . . . You know that I told you
I had real bad depression when I was a kid . . . I wanted to talk about that . .
. . “
“Do you have vivid memories of that time in you life?”
“Yeah I’ve been thinkin’ bout that a lot . . . I remember the night
time mostly . . . I remember not being able to sleep then too. . . I remember
going for three or four days without sleeping. . . I laid awake for hours . . .
Just crying . . . Not being able to stop crying . . . I would tell my mom about
it and she would just say just stop thinking and go to sleep . . . And I‘d tell
her that I was really sad . . . I told her that I had seen a program on
television about people being depressed and that sometimes they could help them
with medication. . . I told her that I thought I needed to see a doctor. She
told me that people like us didn’t see psychiatrist . . . Psychiatrists was for
rich people . . . Not us. Besides, we couldn‘t afford it . . . We couldn‘t
afford much . . .” Tommy sat motionless for a while, not saying anything.
Dr. Wright scribbled in Tommy’s file. It always upset Tommy when he
did this, especially when Dr. Wright just looked at him and didn’t say anything.
Basically, Tommy was frightened of Dr. Wright. . . He didn’t want to see him,
but he figured he didn‘t have any choice. He was a little reluctant to tell the
truth, to tell how severe the depression was. . . . Then there were the
delusions. He certainly wasn’t going to tell him about the delusions.
Dr. Wright took off his glasses and laid them on his desk, looked at
Tommy, and solemnly said, “So why do you feel you couldn’t sleep?”
Tommy looked down at his jeans and then stared at his sneakers for a little
while. He couldn’t think of any reason why he couldn’t sleep. He just couldn’t
that’s all; no reason. He thought that surely Dr. Wright could tell by talking
to him that he was depressed. He looked not at Dr. Wright’s face, but at his
suite. He always felt inferior when he thought about the fact the Dr. Wright
always wore a suite and he always wore jeans.
“Maybe I’m just afraid to I guess.”
“Why would you be frightened to go to sleep?”
“Maybe the dreams I guess . . . .”
“Would you like to talk about the dreams?”
He considered telling him about the dreams and maybe the delusions too, but
decided it was in his best interest to not mention them right now, and said, “I
don’t think so . . . . Can we talk about them later?“
“Of course we can,” Dr. Wright paused for a moment, not understanding
why he didn’t want to talk about the dreams. He put his glasses back on and
scribbled a note in Tommy’s file to ask he again about the dreams later. Tommy
squirmed in his chair. They sat quietly for a couple of moments, staring into
each others eyes, and then Dr. Wright said, “Do you think you need to continue
seeing me?”
“Yeah, I guess I do . . . I mean the medication seems to help sometimes.
It really does seem to help, having someone to talk to about my problems.”
“I’m curious, why haven’t you mentioned the dreams before.”
Tommy knew exactly why he hadn’t mentioned the dreams; they were just too
bizarre; he was afraid to. The dreams scared him to death.
“No reason I guess; I just didn‘t”
“Well that’s OK, we can talk about them later; there’s plenty of time;
we’re not in a hurry here. I’ll write a script for more of your medication
and we can discuss them at another time. He wrote out a new script and handed
it to Tommy.
“Do you feel that you made the right decision to see me instead of your
previous doctor?”
“Yeah I do. I’m feeling much better than I was. I just hope that
you’ll be able to keep me out of the hospital. . . .”
“I’m sure I’ll be able to. . . .” There was a very long pause in
the conversation. Tommy felt awkward. He waited for Dr. Wright to continue.
“Well . . .” He looked out his office window and it seemed that he was going
to say something profound; he paused, rubbed his chin and said: “It seems to me
that the dreams might be something important that we need to discuss, but I’m
running behind in seeing patients today; we can cut it short if you like. All
and all, I think your doing well. Next time, we’ll talk about your mom and the
times when you were little. . . So if we can put this on hold for now, just make
another appointment with the receptionist for next week and I’ll see you then.”
He shook hands with Tommy as he did with all his patients and turned away from
him in a dismissive fashion. Tommy thanked him and left the office.
Tommy made an appointment for next Thursday at 11:00 AM. He left the
office, turned right, and went down the hall to the exit. Dr. Wright’s office
was in the medical building next to Missouri Baptist hospital at the
intersection of highway 270 and highway 64, in St. Louis. There was a
tremendous amount of traffic at this time of day. Tommy was glad his next
appointment was in the morning, maybe the traffic wouldn’t be so bad. It took
him 30 minutes, driving down highway 64, to get back to south St. Louis, where
he lived.
He thought about the visit with Dr. Wright. He was very reluctant to
discuss his dreams with him. The medication he was taking seemed to be helping
with his depression; He was worried though, what was going to happen when went
manic. Was it going to be as bad as it had been in the past? He scared himself
when he was manic. He had only been seeing Dr. Wright for about a year; Dr.
Wright had never seen him when he was manic. He wondered what his reaction would
be. They had him on an antipsychotic medication this time as well as an
antidepressant. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad; he‘d just have to wait for the
mood swing to happen.
Tommy’s boss had introduced him to pot. He smoked it once and a
while, but was basically scared he’d get caught by the police, so he didn’t do
that very often. The pot was no doubt adding to the complications with his
manic-depression. He was his own worst enemy some times. Destructive behavior.
He knew that the doctor could tell by his blood work that he had been drinking
and using pot. He wondered why he hadn’t said anything about it. He guessed
he’d get to that later.
* * * *
It was Thursday at 10:15 and Tommy drove up New Ballas Road toward
Missouri Baptist Hospital. He always liked to be prompt; his appointment with
Dr. Wright was at 11:00 AM. He wasn’t sure how things were going to go with Dr.
Wright; he was nervous as usual. He made a left turn into the parking lot for
the hospital, drove to the back of the lot and, after parking, entered the
medical building.
Dr. Wright’s waiting room was packed; there were only two seats
remaining. Tommy signed in and took one of the remaining seats. There were four
doctors, other that Dr. Wright, seeing patients from this office. There were
always a lot of patients in the waiting room. The receptionist seemed to take
her time calling patients; an hour passed. Tommy squirmed in his chair and
read the magazines to pass the time. He didn’t have to be at work until 5:00 so
there wasn’t any hurry.
There were prints of English hunting scenes framed and hanging on the
wall in gold embossed frames. Men on horseback in red jackets, black hats, and
knee high boots were chasing packs of dogs which in turn were chasing a fox over
a rugged landscape. He studied the paintings carefully and decided that they
had a calming affect on him. What must it have been like to have been in
England years ago, riding in a fox hunt? It was his understanding that the
British government had stopped the fox hunts in England. Oh well, he thought,
that was something that no one would ever experience again. It was, he thought,
barbaric, and he figured that they had done the right thing.
He studied the faces of the other people in the waiting room, stealing
glances at them when they weren’t looking at him. He tried to imagine what they
were like, what kind of people they were, simply by looking at their faces.
There were people of all age groups - mostly middle aged though. As he studied
each face he tried to determine why they were there; he wondered if they all had
mental illnesses, or if they simply had minor problems for which they were
seeking counseling. He wondered if they could tell by looking at him, that he
was a manic-depressive. Were they analyzing him the same way he was analyzing
them? Probably. He decided his secret was safe. . . . There was a certain
anonymity in their ignorance.
Finally, the receptionist called Tommy’s name and he followed the nurse
to Dr. Wright’s office. There were two chairs and a love seat on which to sit;
Tommy choose one of the chairs. Dr. Wright sat at his desk, intent on writing
the notes from his last patient.
“I‘ll be with you in a second,” he said.
Tommy read the diplomas that hung on Dr. Wrights office wall, as usual,
while waiting for Dr. Wright. Each time he was in Dr. Wright’s office, he read
the diplomas, with the thought that they might change from one visit to another.
There were also a number of plaques and awards, proudly displayed, and photos
of Dr. Wright with what appeared to be hospital personnel.
Dr. Wright was a man in his late fifties, with gray hair. He appeared
to be in good psychical condition and always dressed very sharply. Today he was
in a perfectly tailored gray suit, with a white oxford cloth shirt, and a
burgundy knit tie. His fingers were expertly manicured and he appeared to have
just stepped out of the shower. His hair had been trimmed with the utmost care.
Immaculate, would be the word to describe him, or perhaps, “freshly scrubbed,”
would also be appropriate.
After removing his glasses, Dr. Wright laid them on his desk, and
swiveled his chair so that he faced Tommy, looked at him intuitively, and said,
“So. . . . Tell me, how are you doing today Tommy?” Under any other circumstances,
the question would have been a normal question to ask, but now, from Dr. Wright,
Tommy felt that he was required to give a report of his progress, or lack of it,
during the week since he had last seen Dr. Wright. He was tense. Perspiration
covered his palms and he knew he had to “perform,” for Dr. Wright. He thought
about how he really felt, trying to decide if he should reveal the truth or
should he temper his response to meet the situation. How am I, he
thought. He managed a weak smile, crossed his legs, and finally replied:
“Pretty good, I guess . . . .“
There was a long pause and he felt the pressure of the situation; he was on
trial, his existence in the balance. He did feel better, but that was not the
point; if he didn‘t respond properly, he might find himself back in the
hospital. Dr. Wright had complete control of him and he knew it. His daily
life was being manipulated by the medication that he was taking, which in turn
was being monitored by Dr. Wright. If he didn’t take the medication, the
reality of his life was unbearable; he couldn’t handle the depression or the
mania; it was a no win situation, without the meds.
“Did you sleep any better this week, with the sleeping pills?”
“Oh yes . . . . Thank you so much, they really did help,” he said with
the sense of a platitude, and almost patronizingly. He would have to watch his
tone with Dr. Wright; he didn’t want to make him angry. It would not be in his
best interest to get into an intellectual cat and mouse game with Dr. Wright.
He wondered though, which one of them was more intelligent, he or Dr. Wright.
If he got into a mental joust with Dr. Wright could he be dominate. Better
not try that . . .
“So let me check my notes; where did we leave off last week?” He replaced
his glasses briefly and, checking Tommy’s file, said: “Oh yes, we were going to
discuss those times when you were a child, and your relationship with your
mother. Where should we begin?”
“I wanted to tell you about my childhood. . . . We moved to St. Louis
when I was in the fifth grade. My mom and dad both worked, so I was at home
alone a lot of the time; you know, after school for a couple of hours. And
during the summer I was home alone all day. My mom wouldn’t let me go outside
when they weren’t at home. There wasn’t much to do. The TV didn’t work, except
for the educational channel. They always ran documentaries about Hitler and the
death camps during the day, so the only thing I could do was read or draw. I
liked to draw. I was very lonely. I missed my aunts and uncles and my
grandparents . There was no one to talk to. I couldn’t have friends over when
they were gone. I didn’t really have any friends anyway. I was all alone . .
. .Hour after hour passed with no one to talk to.”
“Were you frightened, being home alone?”
“Yeah I guess I really was. . . . I used to think many times that I
heard someone in the basement; that really scared me.
Tommy thought about those days and couldn’t decide weather to tell Dr.
Wright that he had been suicidal at that time. He had tried to kill himself
several times when he was child; no one knew about that. Twice, he had tried to
hang himself in the basement; once, the pipe broke that the rope was fastened
too. The second time, the rope broke. He had tried to drown himself. After
filling the bathtub with water he got in the tub, submerged himself, and took a
deep breath. The only affect was that the water made him throw up. He choked
and coughed for over and hour after that. He thought, would it be of any
benefit to tell Dr. Wright about that. Probably not. Maybe he’d tell him about
that later, not today. Then there were the nightmares and the delusions.
As long as he talked about his childhood, Dr. Wright couldn’t get a
feeling about his current state of mind. Although he needed the doctors, his
relationship with them was usually an adversarial one. He felt that his
childhood was a safe topic . . . . After all, it happened many years ago and
wasn’t really relevant, or so he thought. Dr. Wright was very astute and had a
very good memory however; he hoped that through finding out about Tommy’s
childhood it would give him more insight into his current mental state.
“Tell me Tommy, have you ever been suicidal?”
“Here we go,” he thought. “What did I say that would make him ask me
that? How did he know I was thinking about that? He‘s more intuitive than I
thought. Maybe he is smarter that me.” He needed Dr. Wright’s help, but there
were only a certain number of things he was willing to share with him. He felt
that he was a very sick person, and he didn’t want Dr. Wright to find out just
how sick he really was. He was terrified of being institutionalized.
The depression had lessened, but he had been delusional; it was the
feeling that he had already lived his life and was reliving it; he knew what was
supposed to happen, but only just after it happened. If someone spoke to him
and whatever they said to him, he thought that was what was supposed to happen.
Everything that happened on the news was “supposed to happen.” He was certain
that God was punishing him; for what, he didn’t know. It was destiny. He had
the feeling that all hope was lost and that he was condemned and there was
nothing he could do to redeem himself. He felt that God was showing him signs
and he had images of hell in his mind - Tormented people in a lake of fire,
writhing in agony. He could feel the pain. He was in agony himself, mentally.
He felt that if he told Dr. Wright about the delusions he’d find himself
locked up in the hospital again. He knew he had to do something, but what was
he going to do? He was frightened that he would do something really stupid,
something illegal, that he might hurt someone, and he’d wind up in jail. He
really felt that he had gone insane.
“Look . . .” he said, “I guess I may have been suicidal at one time or the
other, but that’s not what’s bothering me. I want to live, to be free of this
disease, but there are some things that I don’t think I can tell you.” His
eyes welled up with tears and they streamed down his cheeks. Then he blurted
out, “I’ve been having an affair . . . I’ve been cheating on my wife. . .But
that isn’t the half of it. On two separate occasions, Barb, the women I’m
having the affair with, and I have been meeting in a couple of the parks in my
neighborhood and having sex in the back seat of my car. It seems that on the
nights when we were in these parks, there were two rapes that took place. My
car was spotted , parked in the park and they think I might be responsible for
these rapes. I can’t let my wife know about the affair; If she finds out my
marriage is over. I’m just stressed out . . . I don’t know what to do. Can you
help me . . . Is there any way that you can tell this detective that’s harassing
me, that I could not do something like this!” Tommy continued to cry.
“Just relax Tommy,” said Dr. Wright as he reached for a tissue and handed it
to Tommy. “No one is going to hurt you. Your safe here. I thought perhaps you
were not being forthright with me; I can see that I was correct in the
assumption. I think perhaps it would be beneficial for you to spend a little
time in the hospital.
We can adjust your medication and we can monitor your progress. It
seems that your depression has gotten worse. I think we may want to give you
Electro-shock therapy to relieve the depression. We don’t normally use
electroshock very much any more, but I think this would be the quickest way to
turn this around and get you to a point were you are feeling better. Can you
make arrangements with your work to be off for three to four weeks do you
think?”
He knew it; this is always how it went. He didn’t think he could stand
being in the hospital again . . . He was overcome with emotion; he was so upset
that he couldn’t speak. There was a very long pause and he continued to cry.
He felt certain that if he went into the hospital again that he would never come
out; this was his destiny: Institutionalization. Either that or he would be
convicted of rape and he would wind up in jail and his wife would leave him:
Even worse, he’d loose his child.
“Please don’t do this to me again . . . . I don’t think I can stand being in
the hospital again. . . Please. . .”
“This is really the best course of action at this point Tommy . . .“
Dr. Wright waited for a response from Tommy, but there was none. “I‘ll call the
intermediate unit over at the hospital and you can go there from my office here.
I‘ll have someone walk you over . . . . This is really the best thing to do
Tommy. . . .” Dr. Wright placed a call and made arrangements for them to take
Tommy. Dr. Wright stood, placed his hand on Tommy’s shoulder and said: “Just
relax . . . . Everything is going to be alright, you’ll see.”
* * * *
One of Dr. Wrights staff came into his
office; “I’d like you to take Tommy over to the intermediate unit over in the
hospital. They’re waiting for him to arrive. Come Tommy, go with Liz here and
we‘ll get you squared away and get some help for you - some relief. You can
make the appropriate phone calls from there. . . . Trust me Tommy, this is
best.”
Tommy got up and followed Liz out of the office; he followed her with his
head down and tears in his eyes. He tried to dry his eyes; he didn’t want
people to see him cry. He followed along like a little puppy. Totally
defeated. He felt that he just couldn’t make it in the world; maybe this was
where he belonged.
When they got to the third floor of the south hospital wing, Liz pressed
the call button to gain access to the unit. Suzy, one of the nurses came to the
door and, after recognizing Liz, unlocked the door and let them in. “This is
Tommy Staples, Suzy. Dr. Wright said you were expecting him.”
“Yes, we certainly are. Hi Tommy. Dr. Wright said you weren’t having a very
good day. Come right in and have a seat over by the day room and I’ll be right
with you. The first thing we need to do is get your blood pressure and
temperature and I have something that will make you feel much better.
Tommy sat down on the couch and waited for the nurse. She checked his
blood pressure and temperature and gave him a pill to take with a cup of water.
Tommy swallowed the pill and leaned back on the couch He was confused and
overwrought. He closed his eyes.
“Just relax there for a little bit and I‘ll have a lunch tray brought up for
you.”
Tommy sat quietly; he had been here several times over he years. Things
hadn’t changed much. The nurses and people were new to him, but he knew the lay
out of the unit. He wondered what room they would give him. Who would he
have for a roommate, he thought. He felt pressure in his muscles, the way
they felt when he was really depressed. He waited to see how he was going to
feel after taking the pill. His tray came up from the cafeteria and he sat at a
table near the window overlooking the lake and the ducks that lived there; he
remembered the ducks.
The food had something in it; it was medicated; he could taste it.
What were they giving him? It was roast beef and mashed potatoes and gravy,
with peas. He was certain the they had put medication in the food. He hated
this place deeply. The medication started to take affect almost immediately.
He felt high, but the pressure in his muscles, and the tension, began to
subside. By the time he finished his lunch, he was so high he could hardly sit
at the table, but the depression seemed to be gone. He didn‘t feel hopeless
anymore. He forgot about the tormented bodies in the lake of fire; he forgot
about the affair and he forgot about the rapes. He forgot about God; he forgot
about being persecuted; he forgot about everything. There were no more
problems for which he had no answers. He contemplated his hands as he finished
his lunch. Where was he, he wondered? Who were these people? This must be a
restaurant he thought.
“Are you finished Tommy?” asked the nurse.
“Where is this place?” he asked.
“Your in the hospital Tommy. Come with me and I’ll show you your room.
You’ll have the bed by the window. You can see the lake from your window, and
the ducks.”
“Ducks . . . . Ducks are good. I like ducks.,” he said.
“I’ll need to take your keys and wallet and your belt, and I’ll need to take
your shoelaces. If you like, you can put on these scrubs and get comfy. Just
relax, everything is going to be just fine.”
He relinquished his belongings, struggling with his shoelaces.
“That’s the last of it,” he said as he handed the laces to the nurse.
“Why don’t you take a nap,” the nurse said.
The nurse left the room and he stood silently at the window, looking at
the ducks. “Look at that,” he said, “They have ducks here. . . .”
Dr. Wright entered the unit to check on Tommy and give orders for the other
medications he wanted Tommy to take and to set up the shock treatments for in
the morning
“Did Tommy make his phone calls when he came in?” he asked the nurse.
“No, Dr. Wright, he made no phone calls.” she replied.
“Well, that’s alright, I’ll call his wife and tell her that he has been
admitted and she can contact his work and tell them his in the hospital. How is
he doing?”
“I think he’s not feeling any pain right now. He’s probably
experiencing the usual disjunctive severance with reality. I’ll watch him very
closely.”
Dr Wright left and the nurse went to check on Tommy. He was laying in bed on
his back, with his eyes shut. Tommy’s roommate came in and asked:
“Who’s this?”
“He’s your new roomy. He’ll probably sleep for a while. Try not to
wake him.”
“Sure, no problem. What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s been really depressed. Should be feeling better in a few
days.”
Tommy heard voices coming from far away; they were very faint. In his mind,
he was in a glen in the English country side. There were dogs everywhere and
horses; the horns blared and everyone mounted their horses; the dogs barked
incessantly and ran in circles; then suddenly, the fox was released and ran for
his life across an auburn meadow. The dogs followed in a hasty pursuit. The
hounds howled and barked and ran in a frenzied pack. The men on horseback
followed in the age old pursuit of the fox. Tommy’s horse was a mighty animal
that was mars black in color, with a long flowing mane.. He sat high in the
saddle and held on tightly as the horse cleared it’s first fence. His jacket was
red, his hat and boots were black.
As Tommy’s horse crossed a small brook, water splashed his face. His
heart raced and his breath increased in its’ rhythm. The day was young and the
hunt was heated. He turned and looked behind him. He was at the lead of the
other horses; they ran shoulder to shoulder and head to head, as the hunt wore
on. Their nostrils flared and he could hear his horse sucking wind. The acrid
smell of the horses sweat filled his senses. His horse’s name was Pegasus and
as he cleared another stone fence the horse became airborne. He soared high in
the sky and he rode the clouds to a far-off mountain top.
“Tommy . . . Tommy . . . Tommy . . .” a voice said. “Wake up Tommy . . .
It’s time to eat dinner . . . Wake up Tommy . . .” He drifted silently on a
billowy cloud and settled down gently to earth as Pegasus rode off into the most
magnificent sunset he had ever seen. He opened his eyes and looked up into the
nurses face.
“What did you do with Pegasus?” he asked.
“It’s time for dinner Tommy,” she said undaunted by his comment.
He sat up in bed and saw a strange man sitting in his room.
“Who are you?” Tommy asked.
“Names Will . . . .“ said his roommate.
Tommy stood up and looked out the window; far off in the distance,
in the late afternoon sky, he saw Pegasus galloping silently across the horizon.
“Look, he turned his head and looked at Will, there goes my horse.”
“I think your brain is fried,” Will said. “Come on, lets go eat
dinner. I‘ll show you.”
Tommy followed Will out the door and down the hall to the day room.
“Who are all these people?” Tommy asked.
“They’re patients, just like you and me.”
Tommy and Will sat at a table together. The nurse brought their trays to
them.
“I’m not hungry,” said Tommy.
“You better eat anyway. They don’t like it when you don’t eat. They‘ll
write it down in your chart . . . They write everything down in your chart.
Don’t fart; they’ll write that down too.” They ate in silence.
“Did you see the fox,” Tommy finally asked.
“Man your brain is really fried. There is no fox and there isn’t any horse .
. . . Just eat.”
All of Tommy’s problems were gone. Now he existed in a separate reality.
There was no more sadness. He felt content, relaxed, and he felt that all was
well with the world
“How long have you been here?” asked Tommy.
“Don’t know . . . . Seems like a long time, but I‘m not sure.”
“Is there something wrong with you?”
“I’m schizophrenic . . . . Or at least that’s what they tell me.
What‘s wrong with you?”
“Why there’s nothing wrong with me . . . .” said Tommy.
“Then why are you here?”
“Well I’m not sure . . . .This must be a mistake, me being
here.”
“Yeah right, the rest of these people are here by mistake as well.”
said Will. “Lets go tell them that and maybe they’ll let us all out.“
“You mean we can’t leave. We’re locked up in here.” Tommy said in
disbelief.
“That’s right . . ..they won’t let us out until they get done with us.“
“What are they going to do to us?”
“They’re going to help us . . . . What they’re going to help us do I
don’t know, but I know they’re serious about it. Lets go watch a little TV.
I‘ll introduce you to a couple of people.”
There were three couches arranged in a u-shape in front of the television,
with a large square coffee table in the middle. Magazines were scattered on
the table. There was a young women setting on one of the couches. She looked
glassy-eyed and her hands shook as she tried to drink her soda. She appeared to
be heavily medicated, but she wasn’t. She had been going through withdrawal;
she was a heroin addict. It was time for her methadone.
“This is Emma,” Will said. “She’s a doper. She needs her methadone. Don’t
let her scare you. She‘s harmless. No body in here will hurt you; we‘re all
safe.”
Emma smiled a painful smile and said: “Hi . . . . Nice to meet you. Don‘t
mind me, I‘ll be alright as soon as I get my methadone.” She shook violently as
she reached to shake Tommy’s hand. Tommy shook hands, reluctantly. Her hand was
wet with sweat and was hot to the touch. Her hair was greasy and she looked
dirty - like she hadn’t showered in a while - which she hadn’t. Her odor was
rank.
“Let me get this straight . . . . Everyone in here is sick . . . .“
“That’s right and you’re a sicko just like the rest of us.”
The news was on TV; it caught Tommy’s attention. They had a story about
president Obama and were talking about the economy and the auto manufacturers
money problems. Tommy remembered President Obama and the problems with the
economy, but it seemed as though that had been years ago.
His memory had been affected by the medication he was on and the drugs
caused hallucinations that would subside when they reduced the dosage of the
drugs. He couldn’t follow what the announcer was saying. Just bits and pieces of
the story made sense to him. The important thing was the depression had subsided
and he was no longer in mental anguish. It would take some time to bring him
back up to a level where he could function normally. Dr. Wright was an
excellent doctor; Tommy was in good hands; he’d be fine in a few weeks. If a
person had to be mentally undone, this was the place for it.
* * * *
A month had passed since Tommy had been admitted. It was three in the
morning when Tommy woke up. He looked over to his right to the other bed in the
room: Will was asleep. The light shown in from the crack where the door stood
open slightly. He sat up in bed and could see out the window to the parking lot
below; there were very few cars. The street lights flooded the area around the
hospital. He could see the entrance to the hospital from the window, where
several people lingered near the front door, waiting for people to pick them up.
He supposed that was why they were there - why else would they be there. He
put on his rob and opened the door slowly, as to not make any noise. Will
stirred slightly, when the light hit his face, rolled over, and appeared to
continue sleeping. He didn’t like Will; Will was really weird.
He looked down the hall and could see the night nurses locked behind
their glass enclosure. He figured he would have a problem from them for getting
up in the middle of the night, but he needed something to drink and he was
hungry, so he went out into the hall anyway. He crept slowly along the wall;
he thought he was being stealthy. They spotted him right away.
“What are you doing up Tommy? You know the kitchen facility is off limits at
night. You had just as well go back to bed. If you can’t sleep I can give you a
shot to help you. Just sit down over in the day room and I’ll bring the shot to
you.” said nurse Rosa tersely; .
“I’m just thirsty, that’s all . . .” Tommy said. “Can I have a drink of
water and something to eat. . . I don’t need a shot I don’t think.”
“Rosa,” said the nursing supervisor, “ Come in here and close the door.
This is not the lock down unit; we’re not that strict down here. The rules are
more relaxed. There’s nothing wrong with Tommy getting something to drink and a
couple of cookies or something. I’ve told you about this before.. If you
continue to treat the patients in this manner, I’m going to write you up. Don’t
let me tell you about this again.”
“Sorry. I‘m just trying make sure the patients do what they’re supposed
to do.”
“Just be more relaxed with them and try to be more congenial. This is
supposed to be a pleasant, positive, and uplifting experience. Try to be more
compassionate. Watch your tone of voice too. Don’t be so cold and detached”
Rosa unlocked the door to the kitchen. “Here Tommy,” said nurse Rosa, “The
supervisor said you could have something to eat. We have cookies and I think
there may be a carton of milk in the fridge.“ said Rosa, with sarcasm dripping
from her words. Tommy had heard, despite the door being closed, what the
nursing supervisor had to say. Even though he was heavily medicated, he could
recognize the nuance of sarcasm: “Sorry. I won’t ask again.” said Tommy, with
an equal amount of mockery and taunting in his voice. “What a bitch she is!”
thought Tommy. “Thank you sooo much,” he said.
Tommy got several cookies and a carton of milk and sat down at a table
in the dayroom near the windows. He was the only patient up at this early hour.
He ate quietly, staring out the window into the darkness. After a bit, Emma
came out of her room and sat down at Tommy’s table.
“Morning . . .” she said, shaking badly. “How are you this morning?”
“You don’t look like your doing all that well,” said Tommy. “What’s
the matter, do you need your drugs?” Which was a surprising comment coming
from Tommy: Tommy was so heavily medicated that it was remarkable that he
remembered that Emma had a drug problem.
“Yeah, that’s right. I just need my shot.” she said.
Emma had showered and was dressed in pajamas and a robe. Her hair was
wet. She had just got out of the shower. She smelled of soap and shampoo - a
stark contrast to the way she had been when she was admitted.
“What are you doing up so early?” asked Tommy. “It is early isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s early. . . I have to get ready for work. I’m on a work
release program and I have to be there at 7:00 this morning.”
“What do you do?” They had had this conversion several times before.
“I’m the second chair cellist for the St. Louis Symphony. We have rehearsal
this morning.”
“Wow . . . That’s something!”
The nursing supervisor was listening to the conversation; she thought that
they were both doing well this morning - especially Tommy. She made a note in
Tommy’s chart that he was very coherent this morning and that his interaction
with others was quite good.
Emma shook badly. Without the methadone, she couldn’t function.
“Come on in to the exam room Emma. I have your medication for you.”, said
Rosa. She gave Emma her shot and almost instantaneously, Emma’s shaking
stopped. Her body relaxed and she returned to Tommy’s table, after getting a
container of orange juice from the kitchen.
“So, what are you going to do here all day?” Emma asked Tommy.
“They told me that I can go for a ride outside the hospital today.“
Tommy had finally told Dr. Wright about the dreams and the delusions.
Dr. Wright had determined that Tommy was possibly a danger to himself or
others. Today, Tommy was going to Raven Hurst Psychiatric Hospital in southern
Missouri. Tommy’s worst nightmares were coming true, but he was so medicated
that he was unaware of what was happening to him. He was being admitted for an
indeterminate stay at the institution. Tommy would be safe from the world and
the world would be safe from Tommy.
They sat quietly for an extended period of time, having a conversation
that they had had many times during the month they were there. Emma and Tommy
both dressed: Emma was waiting to speak with her doctor, before leaving for
rehearsal and Tommy sat quietly, waiting for his ride to begin.
“I hope you enjoy your ride today, Tommy.“ said Emma, as she left for work.
Finally, they came for Tommy. He was escorted through the hospital to
the waiting van. He enjoyed the ride through the suburbs of St. Louis and they
drove silently through the country side past the rolling hills and pastures of
Missouri, to Raven Hurst. They entered the facility and drove up the long
lane, stopping briefly at the security check point to the hospital.
Tommy looked out the window to his left and saw a large lake stretching
out vastly before him. People milled about on the grounds, lounged in the
chairs and sat at the tables in front of the hospital.
With a tentative look on his face, he smiled a tiny little smile and
said to the driver, unthinkingly, “Look, they have ducks here . . . Ducks are
good. . . . I like ducks . . . “