Baby's first trip to the Psych Ward
I got a frantic call about a week and a half ago from my friend. She seemed panicked and breathless. She told me she was going to check herself into the Fifth Floor of Cooley Dickinson. I was not shocked, and I was glad she was getting some help. But when she called me from the ward a few days later, she was still very agitated. She was talking frantically about how the people at the ward were talking about her and how at night the staff would move her stuff around. "It is making me paranoid" she said. "I don't know who or where I am when I wake up" she said. Then she asked me to come visit her.
I do not deal well with awkward or uncomfortable situations. I never know what to say when someone dies. The other day, someone at work told me his daughter was in a mental hospital (she is only 9). I honestly did not know how to respond. I mean, what do you say to that?
But although I knew it was going to be Too Much Reality for me, I went anyway. Because that is the kind of friend I am. She asked me to bring her the book "No god but God", so I had to run over to Barnes and Noble to buy her a copy. So, clutching a copy of No god but God, I walked through the halls of Cooley Dickinson and took the elevator up to the Fifth Floor.
To enter the Psych Ward you have to announce your presence through an intercom and then a nurse comes out and lets in you in through two sets of locked doors. This entrance was entirely too ceremonious for me, making it very clear that I was leaving The Real World and entering somewhere different and not entirely pleasant. The first thing I noticed was that ward smelled like BO and old food. After the nurse signed me in and inspected the book I had brought, I was able to see my friend. She wasn't wearing any makeup and her eyebrows were growing out. She looked tired. She was very excited to see me though, and was eager to introduce me to the staff and patients.
It was feeding time and everyone had congregated in the dining area, eating cottage cheese and wilted salads off of gigantic industrial trays. She led me in, and as I looked around I realized that I recognized someone. He was a CVS regular, he bought protein bars in mass quantities and would always be eating one when he came up to pay. He turned around, and with a mouthful of turkey sandwich he yelled, "I know you! You work at CVS!" With my cover blown, I sat gingerly on the bench and said, "Yeah, I recognize you. You buy the protein bars." My friend introduced me to everyone and then we just sat and talked quietly in the corner.
It was a weird feeling being in that room. I mean, I've never considered myself the most well-adjusted person. But compared to Protein Bar guy talking to some girl wearing pajamas in a winter hat about how he needs massive amounts of protein to survive. And the schizophrenic with Tardive dyskinesia (I assume, that's what it appeared to be to my untrained eye). And the detoxing crack addicted mumbling to herself. Compared to these people, I felt completely sane and together and completely vulnerable. Being the minority of one is uncomfortable in any setting. My friend didn't seem any less distraught than she had on the phone. She was still very upset about the staff moving her things and talking about her with the other patients. She also was writing everything down because she was having a hard time remembering the days. I wanted to explain to her that in an isolated setting, especially a Psych Ward, it is easy to forget where you are and what you have been doing. I wanted to tell her she isn't crazy and she doesn't need to be here. I wanted to tell her that she is just freaking out over nothing because she is surrounded by people with real problems and real psychosis. But I didn't say anything.
When I left she told me to come back and visit real soon. I told her I would. She said she wasn't planning on being there much longer. I hope she leaves before I have to go back.
I do not deal well with awkward or uncomfortable situations. I never know what to say when someone dies. The other day, someone at work told me his daughter was in a mental hospital (she is only 9). I honestly did not know how to respond. I mean, what do you say to that?
But although I knew it was going to be Too Much Reality for me, I went anyway. Because that is the kind of friend I am. She asked me to bring her the book "No god but God", so I had to run over to Barnes and Noble to buy her a copy. So, clutching a copy of No god but God, I walked through the halls of Cooley Dickinson and took the elevator up to the Fifth Floor.
To enter the Psych Ward you have to announce your presence through an intercom and then a nurse comes out and lets in you in through two sets of locked doors. This entrance was entirely too ceremonious for me, making it very clear that I was leaving The Real World and entering somewhere different and not entirely pleasant. The first thing I noticed was that ward smelled like BO and old food. After the nurse signed me in and inspected the book I had brought, I was able to see my friend. She wasn't wearing any makeup and her eyebrows were growing out. She looked tired. She was very excited to see me though, and was eager to introduce me to the staff and patients.
It was feeding time and everyone had congregated in the dining area, eating cottage cheese and wilted salads off of gigantic industrial trays. She led me in, and as I looked around I realized that I recognized someone. He was a CVS regular, he bought protein bars in mass quantities and would always be eating one when he came up to pay. He turned around, and with a mouthful of turkey sandwich he yelled, "I know you! You work at CVS!" With my cover blown, I sat gingerly on the bench and said, "Yeah, I recognize you. You buy the protein bars." My friend introduced me to everyone and then we just sat and talked quietly in the corner.
It was a weird feeling being in that room. I mean, I've never considered myself the most well-adjusted person. But compared to Protein Bar guy talking to some girl wearing pajamas in a winter hat about how he needs massive amounts of protein to survive. And the schizophrenic with Tardive dyskinesia (I assume, that's what it appeared to be to my untrained eye). And the detoxing crack addicted mumbling to herself. Compared to these people, I felt completely sane and together and completely vulnerable. Being the minority of one is uncomfortable in any setting. My friend didn't seem any less distraught than she had on the phone. She was still very upset about the staff moving her things and talking about her with the other patients. She also was writing everything down because she was having a hard time remembering the days. I wanted to explain to her that in an isolated setting, especially a Psych Ward, it is easy to forget where you are and what you have been doing. I wanted to tell her she isn't crazy and she doesn't need to be here. I wanted to tell her that she is just freaking out over nothing because she is surrounded by people with real problems and real psychosis. But I didn't say anything.
When I left she told me to come back and visit real soon. I told her I would. She said she wasn't planning on being there much longer. I hope she leaves before I have to go back.