by J. R. Tate
Dr. Clint adjusts his glasses and is quiet for a few seconds. I love stumping him and am probably having way too much fun. “Nathan, I know you’re a firefighter for the city. I know how important mental health is for your job and how important it is to keep your job. Being hospitalized here won’t end your career, but if you don’t improve and we don’t get to the bottom of what’s happening, you’re gonna retire long before I know you’re ready to.”
“Is that a threat?” My voice is low, but he hears me.
“No. My job is to get you treated and better. How can I do that if you don’t work with me?”
“And how do I convince you people that this is all real? It’s not some hallucination that my brain is causing from an imbalance of chemicals. You just said that there are issues with mental health, yeah?”
“More than I’d like to admit.”
“Wanna know another problem that I’ve seen?” Dr. Clint nods and I continue. “Quick diagnoses of disorders and mental health issues just so doctors can pad their wallets with multiple counseling sessions and prescriptions to keep people drugged up like fucking zombies. Whatever happened to natural remedies? Whatever happened to actually listening to a person and believing their story?”
Again, I’ve stumped the doctor. The room falls silent and I know that he’s probably documenting my resistance to treatment, even during this initial assessment. I don’t care. I’m not in the mood. I want my bed. I want my wife. I want to go out in the backyard and shoot some hoops with my son. I want things the way they were just a few short weeks ago.
“You’re a lieutenant?” Dr. Clint asks, not looking up from the paperwork.
“You asking me or just stating it, cause I know it’s all wrote out right there in front of you.”
He looks up, right into my eyes. “Some believe sarcasm is a character flaw, Nathan. I kind of like it. You’re quick witted. You’ve got a fast comeback for everything I’ve said. You always like this with everyone?”
I scoff and let out a sarcastic laugh. “Is this your way of politely saying I’m a dick? I know you gotta keep it professional, Doc, but call it like you see it. Don’t sugar coat it.”
Again, his smile returns. “Your assumption of me was that I’m an asshole because I’m a doctor. Wanna know my assumption of you?”
“Is that a trick question?”
“Well, this was my first assessment of you. I’m taking you on as a patient. Would you like to know?”
I shrug again and I’m quickly reminded of the damn straightjacket I want to rip out of. “Do tell.”
“There’s something going on inside that head of yours, Nathan. You’re highly intelligent and you certainly know the right things to say to keep me guessing. I don’t think you’re a bad guy and I certainly don’t think you’re a dick.” He stands up and adjusts his lab coat. “I really do wanna help you. I’m not here to torture you or turn you into a zombie. Next time we meet, let’s talk about some of your experiences. That’ll be a step in the right direction.”
I bite my bottom lip. “You didn’t really tell me anything I already didn’t know. And Doc, I guarantee, with one hundred percent certainty that you will not believe a word I say. I know you’ve seen the cuts and wounds on me. I know you’ve jotted down that I’ve done this to myself. If I tell you what really happened, you’d write down words like denial in all caps. So, how about this? How about we skip all of the therapy bullshit and just deem me as a lost cause and move on, because my problem is far beyond anything a doctor or a hospital can fix. If you think you have that kind of power, you’d be labeled the anti-Christ.”
Dr. Clint is caught off guard again. I’m sure he’s seen people like me before, but I can tell I’ve got his mind reeling with everything. “Get some rest, Nathan. You need anything, just let us know.”
“You can start with getting this damn straightjacket off of me.”
He takes one last glance at me and shuts the door behind him, leaving me alone in the padded room. There’s something about him that makes me feel like he might actually care, but who am I kidding? If I start thinking the hospital staff is on my side, then what they’re thinking about me is true – I am crazy.
I’m not sure how much time passes before a male nurse comes in. He’s much bigger than me – they probably sent him because I’m labeled a problem patient. He doesn’t speak to me, but helps me get to a standing position. He unfastens the leather strap, freeing me from the restraint. I let out a deep breath at the freedom.
“What’s next?” I ask.
“I’m showing you to your room. You gonna make me need to put that back on you?”
“No, not right now.” I can’t straight up promise anything to them, but my arms are so sore from being in the same position, that I’ll behave just for the comfort right now.
He leads me out and I’m met by two other nurses who help escort me. I feel like a convicted felon, and I guess in their eyes, I’m as big of a risk. They take me down a long hallway and through an area where several people are watching TV and playing games. There are several rooms, and they open the door to a single room with a bed in it. At least I won’t be sleeping on the floor with rats and roaches crawling all over me.
“You won’t have a roommate for right now. This floor is high risk,” the nurse says. “Three nurses to one patient.”
“High risk? Why am I high risk?”
“They don’t give me those reasons. I just put you where I’m told. After some therapy and treatments, you could be downgraded, but right now, this is where they have you. Where we just walked through is the common area – you can watch TV, play games, and there are phones. It’s also where medication pick up is. When it’s time for therapy with Dr. Clint, you will be escorted. Lights are out at eleven PM and there are half hour checks to make sure you’re where you need to be. Breakfast is served at seven thirty. If you sleep through it, we usually save you a plate. I’m the charge nurse on this floor and my name is Riley. You need anything, you come to me first.”
I stare out into the hallway, where another man walks past. He’s just like I described to the doctor. He’s in a catatonic state and that’s precisely how I don’t want to become. What kind of life is this man living? What is the point?
Riley slaps me on the shoulder. “You know, it’s crazy how mental illness can target anyone.”
I stare at him. “I’m not sure I’m understanding you.”
“You look like you should be in the movies. You don’t seem to be the type of guy that’d be here, but here you are. Just goes to show that none of us are safe from it. It doesn’t choose a certain demographic or race. We’re all susceptible.”
I don’t say anything back. How in the hell am I supposed to respond? Instead, I sit on the edge of the bed and feel my stomach growl. I’m starving, and I dread to see what kind of food they’ll give us. I think about what Riley said – I don’t seem like the type to be here. Probably because I shouldn’t be here. This is all one big, giant mistake and hopefully, just a quick detour. A quick detour that has been a nightmare I can’t wake up from.
I feel dirty. I don’t even know what day it is or what time it is, and the fact that Riley the nurse is still standing in my room, staring at me, makes my skin crawl even more.
“Any chance I can get a shower?” I don’t have much energy, but maybe a shower will make me feel better.
“Yeah, there’s time before supper. Follow me.”
He grabs a pair of sweats and a white shirt – I’m assuming that’s what I’ll be wearing since it matches what I have on now. I don’t even remember them taking my other clothes away, and it suddenly dawns on me that I don’t have any of my personal belongings.
“Where’s my stuff?” I ask as we walk farther down the same hallway, past tons of other rooms and people who stare at me as if I’m an alien.
“Your stuff?” Riley repeats as he opens the door to the bathroom.
“You know, my cell phone, my wallet, my clothes. Where
is it?”
He takes me toward the back where there are several showers lined up like in a locker room. He sets two towels and a washrag on a bench and folds his arms over his chest. “You didn’t come in with a cell phone. As for your other stuff, we have lock boxes that they store those things in until a family member gets them or until you leave.”
I stand and stare at him. He gives no hint that he’s going to leave, and I feel vulnerable all over again. “You’re gonna stay here?”
He nods. “Believe me, it’s not a job perk, but you seem to forget those two little words I mentioned back in your room. High risk. You can’t be left alone in the bathroom. Now get on with your shower. I’ve got a schedule to keep.”
I strip down and try to tell myself that it’s just like back in the days when I played football or it’s after a fire and all of us are cleaning up at the station. Only I’m being watched like a hawk and they are just waiting for me to hurt myself.
The hot water pours over me and it feels good. My body is still very sore and the scratches on my arms and face sting. I feel the stubble on my face and Riley catches on before I ask.
“You can shave, but I have to bring another nurse in for that. Now you understand why there’s so many men walking around with beards.”
I go back to washing up, and scrub the shampoo down into my scalp. A shower used to be the one place I could relax and now I can’t even have enjoy it. I shut the water off and quickly dry myself. At least the sweats are comfortable as I slip into them.
“You mean you don’t give us fancy uniforms?” Again, my sarcasm is thick. I don’t think I’m ever going to tone it down here. It just pours out without even trying.
“We are state funded. You’re lucky you have a bed,” Riley replies as he takes me back out into the hallway. The two other nurses are waiting. At least all three of them weren’t in the shower with me.
“We’re about to escort you guys down to the cafeteria to eat, but it’ll still be a bit. How about you go into your room and get it situated? It’s about the only place you’ll be free from us, but the door stays open so we can still check on you.” Again, Riley pats me on the shoulder. I can’t tell if he wants to be friendly or if he wants to be hard to prove his authority, but there’s compassion in his eyes. “Don’t be a lifer here, Nathan. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I rake my hand through my damp hair and look back at him. “I think so.”
“Do your treatment and get on with your life. I’ve been doing this a long time. You don’t need to be here.”
With his last comment, he leaves the room and as promised, the door stays open. There’s a clear view right in, so there will no longer be a thing called privacy for me.
I lay back on the bed. The blanket isn’t very soft, but like Riley said, I do have a bed at least. I close my eyes and realize I now have a legitimate fear of doing it. I’m so scared of what I’ll see or what will happen to me. How will they handle things here in the hospital when I get attacked again? I’m sure I’ll get nice and familiar with the padded room.
Letting out a deep breath, my body relaxes into the twin-sized mattress. I think about Rusty and my dad. I think about Rose and try to shove the anger aside. Most of all, I think about my future and how I’m going to come back from something like this. Normal as I know it is long gone. I hope to God this isn’t going to be my new normal.
Just as I’m about to doze off, Riley’s voice calls from the hallway. “Nathan, time to eat. Let’s go.”
Chapter Eleven
Rose
I stare out of mine and Nathan’s bedroom window. Night is settling in and the darkness heightens my horrible mood. The first day of his hospitalization is coming to a close and it’s been the longest day of my life. I can only imagine what he’s going through. I try not to think about it, but how can I not? I know it seems like betrayal, and I’m sure Nathan is reeling at the fact, but I can’t stand idle as he wastes away.
Rusty hasn’t spoken to me much since I told him. I still have to wonder if he really is seeing things too. Mental illness runs in families, and I hope that he’s not developing whatever Nathan has.
I draw the curtains and pull the covers back. A part of me wants to sleep on the couch. There’s so much Nathan around that it doesn’t matter where I am – there’s a constant reminder of him everywhere. His work duffel bag is by the closet door, ready to go for the next time he has a tour. If he has another tour. I try not to be so negative, but why is he being so resistant to everything? I’ve read that a lot of times people go into psych hospitals and come out better than ever. Can that please be Nathan? Can he come out the man he was before this?
I turn the lamp off on the nightstand and pull the covers around me. I avoid his side of the bed, but his scent is still around me. Just like before, I almost can feel him next to me. I wish my mind would shut off so I can get some sleep.
The house is so quiet. Maybe the TV will help. Reaching for the remote, I flip it on to some late night infomercial. I just need it as white noise. Burying my head back into the pillow, I focus on what they are trying to sell. But then the voice changes. What the heck? Propping up on my elbow, I squint at the TV. The same people aren’t on there. Instead, it’s some creepy image of a woman with stringy hair and long nails. Was there a scary movie scheduled after the sales pitch? Did I fall asleep?
This is not what I want on, so I go to change the channel, but the woman turns and looks at me, her eyes black. “Nathan…” she whispers and it sounds full of static. Did she just say Nathan? “Your husband isn’t crazy…” she trails off again and I’m so freaked out that I turn the TV off and bolt down the stairs into the living room.
I flip on every light, trying hard to shove the image from my mind. No, I am dreaming. I’ve had all of this weighing on me for a while, and dreams reflect our subconscious. It is my head playing tricks on me, but it feels so real. I take a long drink of water and sit at the kitchen table, replaying it all. Your husband isn’t crazy. Dreams are our subconscious. I keep telling myself that, but why would it say he’s not crazy?
I can’t over analyze it. I’m physically and emotionally exhausted. I feel guilty for having Nathan taken in against his will. I’m worried about Rusty. How much longer before I get sick like my husband? I can’t let that happen. I can’t get freaked out by a dream.
I grab a blanket from the hall closet and decide to stay downstairs on the couch. I turn off a few lights, but leave some on for safe measure. I remember that this is how Nathan started to act with it all too – he always kept the lights on, even at night.
I can’t do this. I need sleep. It was a dream. The scary woman was just a dream.
***
Nathan
“Nathan Gallagher, come get your meds.” A nurse is standing in the common area with a clipboard and a medicine cup. I look around the corner from my door and don’t go. Aside from supper, I haven’t left the bed. Sleep hasn’t happened, but I still can’t face the other people in the ward.
When I don’t respond, he comes in my room and extends the cup. “Here’s your meds. Did you hear me calling? We do this about the same time every night.”
I shake my head no. “I’m not taking any meds.”
“It’s Dr. Clint’s orders. You have a problem with it, you can take it up tomorrow when you have your session.”
“Good, until then, I will not be taking it.”
The nurse lets out a deep sigh. “Look, Nathan, I know you’re new here and all, but believe me when I say you’re gonna want to at least take the sleep aid.”
I scoff and stare at the cup that has to have at least four pills in it. I’m the type of guy that tries not to take ibuprofen if I can fight it, much less four unknown pills. “Why is that?” I arch my eyebrow. “Is that when this place really comes to life? Is that when you whisk us away to do your torture on us? The more drugged up, the better it is for you?”
The nurse jots something down on the clipboard. “S
uit yourself, Nathan. I can’t force you to take this, but Dr. Clint needs to know about your refusal.”
“What’s in that cup isn’t what I need.”
The nurse chews on the end of his pen and smiles. “And what exactly is it, that you think you need?”
Without hesitation, I answer him. “A priest.”
“If I had a penny for every time a patient tells me that, I wouldn’t be working night shift and dealing with a hard ass like you, Nathan.”
“Maybe you oughta think about that. Maybe we are onto something that people around here just don’t want to admit.”
The nurse walks to the door. “Maybe so. Get some rest. Your session with Dr. Clint is right after breakfast.”
He turns the light off and leaves me alone. It’s not completely dark. With the door open, the light from the hallway cascades in, to the point where it’s just enough to frustrate me. I pull the thin blanket up to my neck. I’m tired, but with so much on my mind, sleep is an unknown dimension. I toss and turn, and suddenly I understand why the nurse suggested the sleep aid. The beds aren’t comfortable and there’s screaming, crying, and conversation coming from other rooms not too far from mine.
At first it’s hard to decipher if it’s things I’m hearing or if it is other patients, but I’m almost certain that it’s the others, dealing with whatever demons they have been facing.
I close my eyes and put the pillow over my head. It doesn’t block any of it out. When I open my eyes again, there is a face right in mine, and I jump back so fast that I knock myself off of the bed and crash to the floor. Blinking, I scoot back, hitting the wall as the image follows me and is almost nose-to-nose with me. I can’t make out who it is at first, but when I finally grasp my bearings, I see it is the woman with the long hair and nails. She reaches her hand out and it is soiled as she motions toward me, almost beckoning me to follow her.