Next up I have the pleasure of hearing about a post-partum mom who is also anxiety-ridden and has “germ” issues. Well, welcome to the club lady. I hear a few more. One burns herself with a lighter because she is lonely, and the poor girl has scars all over her body. Another rises and tells her story about being bullied her whole life and now she is afraid to leave her house. The real dandy is the girl who thinks she can speak in tongues. I shit you not she starts off saying she’s been in here for two months and her new medications are hard to get used to. Then BAM! All of a sudden she breaks out into what sounds like she’s speaking Arabic but in Pig-Latin. Awkward. I pass on my turn. I’m too busy eating.
Oh, this is fun. What a real treat. I get to come here and listen to all of this and eat sandwiches. Now this is what I’m talking about. Then, in walks the woman I saw today in the yard. This is the birthday girl who had the psychosis. She has her arm in a loop with Gerri the plastic faced nurse and she sits in a chair and just listens. Now I feel like crap. Surely, she won’t talk. Why are they bringing her in here after what happened earlier? Much to my surprise, she raises her hand. She stands.
“My name is Lauren Sanders. Today is my birthday.” She looks a mess. Her eyes look empty and it’s almost like she’s a mannequin, but one that is talking.
Why is she doing this?
“I was born in a shack in Kentucky and I barely survived my birth. My mother delivered me herself without a doctor. Doctors are shitheads. She reached right inside her gigantic vagina after fifteen hours of labor and pulled me out with her bare hands. My mother had to chew the chord off with her teeth. She wrapped me in newspaper because we had no blankets. They were hanging on the line to dry. There was no food in the house and so she had to eat the placenta for nourishment and then fed me from her large and lactating bosoms.”
Some of the women are laughing and Nurse Gerri immediately raises her hand to shush them. I realize my mouth is hanging open. I have to force myself to shut it. Oh my goodness, she’s not done with the story.
“I know I am a miracle. I am the product of a natural childbirth. We lived in the woods, you know. We lived off the land.” She looks down at the floor and sways back and forth. “I ate a squirrel once. I ate beaver too.”
I can’t take it. I try to hold back, but I blow a huge gust of laughter from my mouth that sounds like a chicken sneeze. I try my best to play it off like it allergies. I itch my nose and say, “Excuse me, must be the ragweed in the air.”
Lauren keeps going, “My doctors here are shitheads. Today is my birthday. Did anyone hear me?” She’s getting louder. “I said today is MY BIRTHDAY! I was born in Kentucky! I’m a miracle!”
Oh shit, she’s yelling. Gerri takes her by the hand and leads her out of the room. I can hear her singing Happy Birthday to herself as she is calmly escorted out the door. Wow. That was awesome. And yet, I feel really sorry for her, she is so sad. I wonder if that story is true, but mostly I wonder why she uses the word, bosom.
A Plan for Katelyn
After group, I decide to eat dinner in my room. They bring me a tray of lasagna and garlic bread and a banana. I hate red sauce and I am allergic to bananas. They make my lips swell up like a vagina with an infection. I’m not hungry anyway since I ate all those sandwiches. But I do need dessert and I see that Jeremiah, aka, Romeo the Janitor has fulfilled my request with a King Size Caramello. It is truly the only thing that helps me during that time of the month. I sit in my quiet room and have an intimate encounter with my candy bar. Almost naughty...if you consider naughty to be biting softly on the tip and then sucking it until it explodes in my mouth. That totally hits the spot...every time.
I hear a knock on my door and in walks Katelyn. She has my little white cup. There is a new pill in there, but I don’t even bother asking what it’s for. Dr. Lipton probably thinks I need it and that’s good enough for me.
“Katelyn, where have you been all day?” I ask like it’s any of my business.
“I’ve been having ex-issues and I just don’t know what to do anymore. He wants me back.”
“Hahaha! Well I hope you told him where to stick it...and I hope it wasn’t in you! You aren’t taking him back, are you? Tell me you are not taking him back.”
“No...I umm…I am not taking him back. I just don’t know what to do. I’m so screwed, so broke...and so depressed. What am I going to do, Vada?”
Here it comes again. I am now the caregiver and this poor girl needs to be cared for. Once again, I invite yet another of my “patients” to sit in my floral patterned chairs.
“Listen to my face, Katelyn! I think I have an answer for you. So the guy took your money? He has ruined your credit and your life?”
She looks at me, nodding, and there is a smudge on the right eye and a tiny one on the left. Her hair is still perfect, in a braided bun at the top of her head. Not one fly-away.
“He took me for everything. Everything I worked so hard for is gone. He’s living in my damn apartment! I put myself through nursing school for pity sake. I thought I was actually making something of myself. I promised myself I would never be in the abusive relationships that my mother was in all of those years I was growing up.”
I feel my inner counselor coming out. I ask, “What happened to your mom, Katelyn?”
“Well, I don’t know who my father is, for one thing. The first guy she dated was a total jerk. He was always drunk with his shirt off. He’d come home from work and start drinking and after about six or seven beers he’d start his rages. He used to throw her around and bruise her up pretty bad. She finally got rid of him, only because he left her. I think he had his fill and went on to the next woman he could bully. The next guy was a real winner too.”
“Well, what happened to him?”
“He’s my step-dad I guess. They are still married. He still hurts her, but she allows it. I’ve tried to get her to leave like a hundred times, but she thinks he needs her. How messed up is that? But you know what? I never wanted to be like that and now I’m in the same situation. Except Michael, my ex, has only hit me a couple of times”
“Katelyn, he hits you too? What are you thinking?”
“I know. I know, okay? Why do you think my make-up is so thick? I don’t need a lecture from you. No offense, Vada, but you are the one in a mental institution.”
“Good point. But Katelyn...I know how to get back at him. Just write down your apartment address and leave the rest to me.”
“Oh no. Vada, this is not okay. I am your nurse. Don’t get involved in my messes.”
“Would you shut up and just trust me? I know what I’m doing, for crying out loud, Katelyn. Let someone help you. You take care of people every day.”
“Technically, Vada, so do you. You have three little boys.”
“I know this, so trust me. Now write it down and go take care of the rest of your patients.”
She reluctantly jots down her address and tells me goodnight. Out the big creaky door she goes.
I immediately get on the phone with my brother Heath. I tell Heath I need a huge favor and it involves that hot nurse, Katelyn from my looney bin. He is more than happy to oblige.
March 6th
I wake up and have meds and breakfast, which is cereal and that makes me miss my kids. My kids do eat cereal. I totally lied to Dr. Lipton about that. He bought it. I call Eric and check on things. He is missing me and I can hear in his voice that the pressure of me not being there is tough on him. He’s only had to miss a day of work here and there since my mother is staying with them, so I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt that it is hard. Really, though, at least he has help.
“You feeling better baby? Any word on when you will be released?”
“Soon, kid. I have a couple things I still need to take care of here and then I will be home.”
“You take as long as you need. We just want you better. But what is it exactly that you have to take care of?”
“Oh...” I catch myself, “Just a few
more therapists want to check me for ligature marks and things.”
“Haha, very funny. You wanna talk to the boys?”
“Of course, I do!” I say.
A sweet little voice comes on the line; it’s Ben, “Hi, Mommy. Did you know that Lebron James is the best dunker in the NBA?”
“Oh really!” I say. “Did you know that you are the sweetest six year-old that I’ve ever known?”
“Mom, that was so nice. You are a princess. When are you coming home because Daddy doesn’t make my waffles right. They are too crunchy and...I...I...try to tell him but he just doesn’t listen, see, he’s not a good listener.”
“I know baby. He is not a good listener. I’ll talk to him about that okay? How’s everything at school? Are you doing okay?”
“Yeah, Mommy, I’m great except I just have trouble listening sometimes and I have to walk laps at recess. I think I’m like that because I get it from my dad. He’s not a good listener too. I think God should have made our ears bigger.”
“Your ears are just fine. Try your best okay? Just do what your teacher says. I’ll be so proud of you! Try to be the best listener in the whole wide world, like even better than the man with the biggest ears on the Earth!”
“Okay Mommy, Max wants to talk to you. Love you. Bye.”
Before I can even say anything, he hands the phone off and Max says, “Mommy! Please come home because Ben told me is going to tape my butt cheeks together!”
“Max, he will not do that.”
“Yes he will, and then I won’t be able to go poop and I’ll have poop stuck in my butt for the rest of my life! What if it gets so full it comes out my nose?”
“Max, listen to me...I will tell Daddy to make sure that doesn’t happen. Okay? Forget about it. How are you, baby?”
“Just great, Mommy. I’m just freaking great.”
Oh my, Max is just like me! “Max, don’t say freaking. Is school okay?”
“Yeah, but I’m getting sick of going every day. I think it’s freaking weird that it takes up the whole day!”
“Max, I said don’t say freaking. Well, honey, I love your face. I miss you and go kiss yourself for me, okay?”
“How am I supposed to do that? You are so crazy, Mommy.”
He’s right. “I love you buddy, now let me talk to Jordan.”
He hands the phone to Jordan and I catch a few “mamas” in there. He makes my heart melt. Then Eric takes back the phone.
“Alright, VadieGirl. The kids all ran off and I need to go find them, but I love you and call me tonight before bed, okay?”
“Okay, love you too, kid. Hey, don’t let Ben tape Max’s butt cheeks together, okay? And quit making Ben’s waffles so crunchy.”
“Oh, I heard all about it. I won’t. You should have seen them earlier. They played rock paper scissors to see who the biggest loser was. I played with them and I won.”
“Well, that seems pretty accurate, but you know that’s encouraging them to use words like “loser”. You shouldn’t fucking do that!”
“I know. Sorry baby. Love you.”
“Love you too. Bye.”
Bring on the tears. I miss the smell of my laundry. I miss the smell of Eric when he gets out of the shower. I miss the smell of my babies’ sweet faces when they snuggle with me in the morning. But I know it won’t be long before I am home. This whole thing is turning out very different than I had planned, but it is what it is. I just have to go with it.
Looking over my quack schedule I have nothing until noon, which is a session with Dr. Ames. Yippee. I shower and slip on my yoga pants and a tank top in case I can get in on a yoga class with all my free time this morning. I leave my hair down today and wavy. Why not change it up a bit? Feeling good and relaxed from whatever benzo I got, I open my door and lo and behold, guess what I find? A note. Oh great, who’s on to me now?
-Vada Bower-
Jeremiah told me everything. But I forgive you. I wanted you to know that his loving arms held onto me like an Eskimo baby in a snow storm, so safe and so warm all through the night. And I want to thank you for not harming me. He told me about the blood and that he convinced you to let him have me. I knew you were in love with me the moment you looked at me. That day when I came out of the hot tub and I saw the way you lusted after my body, was painful to watch. I felt so sorry for you. I know it must have been hard to let me go to a man, especially as mentally ill as you are. Jeremiah told me that you wish I was fonder of you, but you are simply not my type. I’m not attracted to you. But I’d like to thank you for being unselfish. I’d still like to ask that you keep your distance. I wouldn’t want him to see you looking at me and get the wrong idea. Maybe once this blows over, we could be friends. Maybe not. We will see. But be warned, I’ll be keeping an eye on you.
Good day, Mary Weaverton
Well, isn’t that just great...just freaking great? So she thinks I’m in love with her. I will never give my pudding cup away again. Clearly, it sends the wrong message. At least I may get to be a bridesmaid. I must admit, I’m a little bruised on my ego that she’s not attracted to me. If I can’t even land Bath Salts Mary, I must be a real dog. Sheesh, I feel like I must be in a goddam looney bin.
Ducks and Quacks
I head off in search of a morning adventure. Actually, I head off in search of some peace and quiet. I could do the yoga but from the looks of the participants, I really don’t to be close to them if they are bending over. I’m just going to take a walk. The clouds are rolling in and I can smell the raindrops forming in the sky. It’s only a few sprinkles, and for some reason, it makes me want to keep walking. I head down a path and watch a mother duck and her five little ducklings hop into the lake. The mother looks incredibly nervous and her head is moving back and forth, and I believe she is doing a headcount. They stay close to their mother and this little gal reminds me very much of myself. She is freaking out, worrying about them. Out here, she has to protect her babies from the weather. She has to make sure they have enough to eat, and of course protect them from other animals. I begin to think that mother ducks are actually lucky. They don’t have the pressures we human mothers do. Yes, we have to keep them alive, but we also have to keep our babies safe from every possible evil in this world; child molesters, germs, bullies, senseless acts of violence, social media, media in general, wars, and every other terrifying thing that humans have to be afraid of. I wonder if the mother duck needs a Xanax. I imagine she made her home in this mental ward for a reason. I personally prefer these quacks over the ones inside.
The rain begins to fall harder. I say farewell to my new duck friends. Instead of walking back to the building, I walk further down the trail. The rain continues to fall. Big drops, not little ones and I am getting soaking wet. In true classic Vadie luck, the one day I leave my hair down and it actually looks cute, it gets soaking wet. I really don’t care. It feels so good not to care. There is no one I feel I need to impress. There is no one looking at me, judging how I am disciplining or not disciplining my children. I feel no guilt for not folding laundry or not unloading the dishwasher. I feel no pressure to be attending every function we are invited to and having to have something cute to wear to it. All I feel is this awesome spring rain. I look up to the sky and throw my hands up in the air. The rain feels like it is washing my guilt away, washing my pressure away, washing away the feelings that overwhelm me. I feel like this is the reason I am here, this is where I need to be right now in this moment...I think I am finding peace...
“Miss...excuse me...miss, umm...there is lightning in the area and we are under a severe thunderstorm warning, so I’m going to have to ask you to please come indoors immediately.” A scrawny male security guard with a black umbrella is hollering at me. “The outdoor area is being closed down until the warnings are lifted.” I tell him to fuck off and then I beat him with the umbrella. Not really, I didn’t say or do that. But sonofabitch! Are you kidding me? I put my rejoicing arms back down by my side and walk all hunched
over and pissed off back to the building, where I am now left with a rat’s nest of wet hair and coincidentally, no hair tie on my wrist.
After my one and only “zen” moment being interrupted by the storm and the weather cop, I go back to my room and change into dry clothes. I choose a snuggly KU sweatshirt and running shorts. I grab a hair tie and throw my hair up in a ball. I pick a book from the Social Room, a book about witches and wizards. I’m ordinarily not into those kinds of books, but today I just want to try something different. I take it to the Solarium and curl up with a cup of coffee. The storm is really beating down and I think about my boys. I know they are not afraid of storms, but I just hope they are safe. Sometimes I take them to the basement anyways “to play” just in case. Hey, when you live in the Midwest, tornadoes happen. I hope that Eric has them playing downstairs.
The Unbalancing Act Page 10