Buffet. I had to meet all my exchanges, of course, but I got to choose what to eat! Without any EDU staff making notes or staring over my shoulder!
The food in the buffet looked like the same food as on our trays, but there was more of the good stuff, and I could avoid any disgusting things. And there was dessert, even at breakfast—a big basket of pastries and doughnuts.
No doughnuts for me, though. It wasn’t even tempting. I was determined to do everything right.
I chose Cheerios, because of the name. Maybe they would cheer me up.
And I got pineapple juice for my fruit exchange, because: yum.
And peanut butter instead of eggs! Peanut butter instead of eggs! Peanut butter instead of eggs! Peanut butter instead of eggs!
The tables reserved for EDU patients only fit two people each, but they were close enough together that we could chat between tables if we wanted.
I sat with Monica. She seemed a bit distant—not quite her usual self—but being there was still great. Amanda sat at the next table with Bronwyn, who had gotten her breakfast privileges back.
I sat there like a regular person—in a mental institution, granted, but still, a regular person! Adding a dash of milk and sugar to my coffee—grody, decaf, instant Sanka, granted, but still, coffee! I sipped it happily, acting like I was in a restaurant or something.
It was divine.
It was fabulous.
No more eggs, ever again!
Suck eggs, eggs.
Sunday, January 8, 1989
“Code Blue. Code Blue. EDU. All available nursing staff to EDU. Code Blue. EDU.”
It was 1:48 a.m. And this time, the Code Blue was on our unit.
I hurried to the bedroom door. Sophia put her glasses on and followed. We looked up and down the hall. Nothing.
Bronwyn was at her door across the hall. “What’s going on?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.
“I don’t know,” I said.
The door at the end of the hall banged open. Two male nurses rushed past us—straight toward Monica’s room. Nurse Beverly appeared and waved them in.
Monica didn’t have a roommate at the moment, so it had to be something to do with her.
“Come on,” Bronwyn said. We ran down the hall to check on Monica.
A nurse blocked the door. “Get back to your rooms. Now.”
We didn’t move.
“Now!” he yelled.
We walked back slowly. Amanda, Patty, and some other patients were standing at the doors to their rooms.
“What do you think is going on? Did she hurt herself?” I said.
Bronwyn shook her head. “I don’t know. Monica seemed pretty down earlier.”
“Seems like she’s been having a hard time ever since Christmas.”
“I wish she would talk about it.”
“Me, too. She puts on such a brave face to everyone all the time.” I knew what it was like to put on a brave face. I had done it all the time at home. I hated to think of Monica pretending to be happy when she wasn’t.
“What do you think is going on with her?” I asked again.
“The only thing I can think of is stuff about her sister.”
“Maybe going home triggered her?”
“Yeah. I have a…I don’t know…a feeling she’s starting to remember some things she repressed. Really hard stuff gets repressed sometimes.”
“God.” People talked about repressed memories in group, but it was beyond anything I’d had to deal with. “Poor Monica.”
“Get into your rooms and stay there!” the nurse shouted.
“Keep your pants on, we’re going,” Bronwyn told him. She gave me a sad little wave as we separated.
Sophe was waiting in our room. “Is it Monica? Is she okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“I hope whatever it is, it’s not too bad,” she said as we climbed back into our beds.
“Me too.”
We lay there, listening, until we heard footsteps in the hall and the voice announced, “All clear.”
Beverly hobbled in for room checks at 2:45.
“Is Monica okay?” I whispered. Sophia had been quiet a long time; I figured she’d gone back to sleep.
Beverly sighed, “Oh, hon. I probably shouldn’t talk about it with you.”
“Please, Beverly,” I whispered. “I can’t sleep, I’m so worried. Please?”
“All right. But I don’t want you to get upset.”
“I won’t.”
I heard Sophia’s sheets rustle. She sat up to listen.
“Monica cut her wrists,” Beverly said.
“No!” My stomach twisted. “Is she okay?”
“Yes. I found her before she did too much damage.”
“Did she need to go to the hospital?” The medical hospital, I meant.
“No, she was conscious and responsive, and she didn’t need stitches.”
“What did she use?” Sophia asked. “To cut herself?”
Beverly hesitated. “A staple.”
A staple. My stomach felt oily, rancid.
“You found her?” Sophia asked.
“Yes,” Beverly said.
“Are you okay?” Sophia and I asked at the same time.
Beverly took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was quiet. Our room lights were off, but the hall light was on, as always. I could see her wipe her eyes.
“Yes, girls. I’m all right. It’s upsetting, but don’t you dare worry about me, you understand?”
We nodded in the semidark.
“You girls, you just don’t realize that your problems are temporary. You have to remember that. ‘This too shall pass.’ You need to take care of yourselves. You are each a gift from God. Understand?”
“Yeah,” Sophia said quietly.
“Is Monica…did she have to go to the ICU?” I asked.
“No, hon. She’s in her room. She’s resting. And I want you to do the same. Try to get some sleep.”
Sophia and I lay back down.
“We’ll get everything sorted in the morning,” Beverly said.
We listened to her leave, shuffling on her bootie.
When she was gone, Sophia said, “Get everything sorted? What does that mean?”
“Maybe they’ll have to put Monica on one-to-ones again? Extra staff watching her all the time?”
Sophia sighed, “That girl is troubled.”
“I guess…,” I said. But Monica wasn’t any more troubled than the rest of us. Was she?
“I know you guys are close…” It sounded like Sophia was trying to be careful.
“She saved me when I first came here,” I said. “I mean, saved me. I thought I would die, literally die of sadness and homesickness. She was so kind to me. It was a lifeline.”
“Mm,” Sophia said.
“My first week, she tied a string around my finger so I wouldn’t forget that she loved me, and that I could talk to her anytime.”
Sophia was quiet for so long I thought she’d fallen asleep. But then she said, “I don’t want to dis your friendship. I’m just not sure she’s the best person to depend on.”
“She’s been having a hard time lately. You haven’t seen how she usually is.”
“I’m sorry, Jen. I’m really not trying to be mean. But a lot of these girls—most of them, actually—I just don’t want you to get hurt. I think you should be careful.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I didn’t know what else to say.
I lay there, wondering.
Did Sophe see things in Monica, in my other friends, that I didn’t? Or couldn’t? Or wouldn’t?
Were her eyes better trained to see illness, coming as she did from a truly crazy family?
Was I as blind to my friend’s pain as my parents had
been to mine?
In the morning, Monica looked tired and pale. Her wrists were wrapped in gauze bandages, secured with white tape. She sat quietly in the lounge; she didn’t want to talk.
Chuck didn’t let her out of his sight.
She would probably have to eat breakfast in the lounge now; no more dining room for her. Was she back to stage one? One-to-ones? No longer medically cleared?
As Bronwyn, Amanda, and I headed downstairs for breakfast, Ratched stopped us in the doorway. “Hold up a second.” She addressed the whole room. “I want you all to know, we’re doing a unit-wide room search.”
A ripple of alarm spread through the lounge. Trays had just arrived; everyone was here for breakfast, so people were trapped. No one could run off to hide anything.
“We’ll be collecting any stapled papers. We’re looking for sharps, contraband, you name it,” Ratched said. “We’ll be collecting earrings, too. They’ll need to stay in your baskets from now on. After breakfast, we’ll have you sign in your jewelry and double-check that we’ve accounted for everything.”
Sophia widened her eyes at me. Shit. She had a bottle of hair spray on her dresser. I had reminded her to check it back in, but she’d said she didn’t see why hair spray had to stay in baskets. The nurses hadn’t noticed. Yet.
I tried not to look at Monica, but I couldn’t help it. She was sitting at the table next to Chuck, staring at her hands in her lap, crying silently. She had created this situation. Now she was going to get Sophia in trouble. And probably other people as well.
But, I shouldn’t be mad. It was her disease. Obviously she was going through something painful.
I sat alone at breakfast. Amanda and Bronwyn were at the table next to me. All of us were pretty quiet. My thoughts kept drifting up to the unit. Would Monica be okay? How much trouble would Sophia be in? Would they take away her privileges—passes and unsupervised bathrooms? Who else was in trouble?
After breakfast, Ratched had us sign in our earrings and jewelry and watched us take staples out of handouts and homework. As soon as we were done, I found Sophia in the lounge.
“Did you get busted?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “But so many other people had mousse and hair spray in their rooms that staff let us off with a warning and a week of early bedtimes. Big wow. I need the sleep anyway.”
“Phew,” I said. “So you’re on teenager bedtime, like me.”
“Anyway, Rob should be here any minute now.”
“What are you guys going to do on pass?”
“Oh, you know…” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“Make good choices,” I teased. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Never and always.”
Monica was curled up in the corner of a couch, smoking. Bronwyn sat next to her.
“Hey,” I said. “You okay, Monica?”
She didn’t say anything. She took a drag of her cigarette.
Bronwyn looked at me and shook her head, like she hadn’t had any luck, either.
Chuck sat in a recliner next to Monica, writing notes in a file. He gave me a sad little smile.
Bronwyn and Amanda both tried to hug Monica before they left on their morning passes. Nothing.
My pass wasn’t until after lunch, so I stayed in the lounge. Chuck and I tried to get Monica to play cards with us—Bullshit or poker or anything she wanted—but she shook her head in tiny, almost imperceptible movements. So Chuck and I sat on the floor next to her and played Spit on the coffee table.
A short time later, Monica said, “I need to get something from my room.” Her voice was raspy, maybe from disuse, maybe cigarette smoke.
Chuck got up.
I followed them down the hall, an uninvited tagalong. Monica didn’t seem to want me around, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave her. She had been everything to me when I got here. I couldn’t let her go through this alone.
“I should probably get my homework,” I said. “You’re lucky you don’t have tutors, Monica. I honestly don’t know how they expect me to concentrate on schoolwork in a place like this.” I knew I sounded artificially happy.
“Would you rather get even more behind in school?” Chuck asked.
“Oh, stop talking sense,” I told him. “I’m trying to complain here. Right, Monica?”
Suddenly Monica collapsed.
Chuck caught her on the way down.
She was as white as a ghost. Her head bobbled as Chuck laid her down on the hall floor. She was out cold.
“Code blue!” Chuck yelled. “Jennifer, go to your room, please.”
I didn’t go to my room. I ran to the nurses’ station. Ratched was already out of her chair.
“I-i-it’s Monica,” I stammered. “Code blue.”
“Get to your room.” She picked up the phone and jabbed buttons.
The loudspeaker clicked on. Calm male voice: “Code blue. Code blue. EDU. All available nursing staff to EDU. Code Blue. EDU.”
“Get to your room,” Ratched repeated, pushing past me.
The door at the end of the hall opened, and nurses swarmed past.
A horrible smell burned my nostrils. It was so powerful, it felt like breathing caustic poison. It took me a moment to register: ammonia. What Mom used to clean the oven. What smelling salts were made of. They were using smelling salts to wake up Monica. Through the crowd of nurses, I saw Monica’s head wobble.
Chuck and another male nurse helped her stand, supporting her with their arms, half-carrying her to her room.
First her wrists. Now this.
What had she been doing, to faint like that out of nowhere?
Mom took me to the movies after lunch. On the drive to the theater, I told her what had happened. How worried I was. How hollow Monica seemed.
Mom just listened. Which was exactly what I needed.
We saw Twins, with Danny DeVito and Arnold Schwarzenegger. It, too, was exactly what I needed. It made me laugh, and helped me get my mind off things. Thank Hollywood for silly movies.
By the time I got back for dinner, Monica had started talking again. Soon I started to wish she hadn’t.
“I’m done with this place,” she said. “I’m signing myself out of here.”
“God, me too,” Bronwyn said.
Sophia and I exchanged a look across the table. We were both so tired of people threatening to write their 72-hour letters for self-discharge.
I wanted to shake Monica. I wanted to take her by the shoulders and scream, Hello! Earth to Monica! What do you think would happen if you were outside these walls on your own right now? You could die! You’ve had two code blues in less than 24 hours!
It had to be a record. Even Jesus Lady hadn’t managed two code blues in less than a day.
I ate my dinner—dry chicken, stringy squash, wilted salad, and bruised orange (peeled by me, not Monica)—in silence. My ears were hot. My neck was sweating. I was literally hot under the collar.
When people talked about signing themselves out, as though they could just decide this “journey” was over and they were capable of being in charge of their health and not dying, they were shitting on what this place stood for. The potential for recovery. The safety it provided while we were confused and in danger—even if it felt like a hellish prison sometimes. The benefit of having a place to belong while we figured out how to be well.
They were rejecting this program and the whole healing process. Which I took personally, because it was everything I was working hard at.
As soon as I could leave the lounge, I went to my room. Chuck’s shift was over. Sophia was on the phone. I was alone, and lonely.
I lay on my bed, squeezed Bearibubs, and covered my ears to block out everyone else.
Not my circus, I told myself. Not my monkeys.
I repeated it like a mantra:
Not my circus.
Not my monkeys.
Except it was my circus. Because, as I lay there, I noticed all my things out of place from the room search.
This was my circus. I was stuck with these monkeys.
Monday, January 9, 1989
Dr. Kanduri told me my tentative discharge date: February first! A light at the end of the tunnel!
Three weeks and two days left in this hellhole.
23 days.
Equals 552 hours.
Equals 33,120 minutes.
Equals 1,987,200 seconds.
“It’s right around the corner,” Dr. Kanduri told me.
She was nice; she wasn’t trying to take Dr. Prakash’s place. We weren’t delving deep into my past and my issues, which I appreciated, because I really didn’t feel like starting over. Our sessions were five minutes long. She seemed to just want to make sure I was staying on the right track.
Dr. Kanduri said, “The last three weeks will fly by.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever been a patient in a mental hospital,” I said.
She laughed.
Home. I would walk into my house and give Spike the biggest hug and never let him go. And choose my own snacks, and eat Mom’s noninstitutional cooking, and use the bathroom without having to collect my pee for 24 hours every Tuesday, and use the phone for longer than ten minutes at a time, and laugh at my brother’s stupid jokes, and watch Star Trek: The Next Generation with Dad, hang out with Kelly, and take Spike on long slow walks around town.
Except, would people stare at me on those walks? Would they drive by and think, There’s the girl who was in the eating disorder hospital?
Would I join the ranks of the shell-shocked man? Would I become one of the town weirdos?
“I got my tentative discharge date!” I told Sophia.
“I got breakfast downstairs,” she said.
“Yay! We can sit together!”
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