Conditional Voluntary
Page 37
Simon Herbst was feeling wonderful that Thursday morning. It was a warm April day for one thing, and he was happy about going in to work. The hospital had been looking better these past couple of weeks, almost as if it had been painted and otherwise refurbished. But no, it was the same little cracker box of a building it had been the first time he’d seen it a little more than three years before.
Exactly sixteen calendar days left, Simon thought as he pushed open the glass door to the lobby. And twelve work days. Be counting the hours in another week.
He would have a nice dinner with Lisa to celebrate. No champagne, of course. Having quit drinking before New Year’s Day, Simon had shed thirty pounds of beer bloating. It was hard to imagine a better positive reinforcement than that.
About six months earlier, Simon had been feeling impatient and depressed. Then good fortune had come in three strokes, like fairy tale wishes. First, he’d found a sweet, voluptuous young girlfriend from among the band of nursing school students doing their psychiatric rotations; next, he’d made the decision to abstain from alcohol and kept to it; finally, he’d submitted his letter of resignation to the director of nursing.
Simon rode up to the third floor in the service elevator, as usual. He then entered through the fire door down by the washing machine and dryer. The strong sunlight was pouring through the smoking room window. It was about ten minutes before seven and no one was up to smoke a cigarette yet.
No sleepless manics? Simon wondered with a smile.
He walked briskly to the staff office. Rachel was already sitting at the table, a mug of coffee alongside the order book in front of her. No one else was in the office at the moment.
“Well, good morning,” Simon told her. “This is the first time you’ve gotten to work before me in quite a while.”
“You’re a short-timer now,” Rachel replied. “Must be getting lax.”
“I guess so,” the counselor said, approaching the coffee machine. “When I was a security guard, I was supposed to report to my post fifteen minutes before the shift so that I could debrief the guard I was relieving. Working here, I figured that it would be best to continue that policy for myself. I don’t like coming in late and missing something important in the shift report.”
“Speaking of which,” Rachel said as Simon filled his own mug, “I have something to tell you. Have a seat.”
“Uh-oh,” Simon replied, grimacing. “What did I do?”
“It’s nothing like that,” Rachel assured him. “It’s more about what you will be doing.”
Rachel hesitated a moment before saying: “Simon, you’re good at remembering patients’ names. Remember that young guy, about your age, from last summer?”
“Which one?” Simon asked, his stomach already guessing the answer.
“The one who thought he was being persecuted by the Drug Enforcement Agency.”
Patrick woke up in a familiar place that morning. Right away he realized he wasn’t in his own bed. Patrick scowled up at the ceiling.
His admission last evening hadn’t been another one of those bad dreams, after all. Here he was, in a home away from home. Not quite starting all over again, at least. This time, Patrick had walked in lucid and signed the conditional voluntary without hesitation. He was no virgin.
“Least I got the place to myself,” Patrick muttered.
He sat up and kicked off the sheet. It was important that he get dressed before some counselor came into the room. Patrick pulled up his jeans, he a drink of tap water from a Styrofoam cup and found his cigarettes.
Minutes later, he was down in the smoking room, lighting the first cigarette of the day. There were a couple of other patients who had already settled in for a smoke. Patrick knew them only from being introduced the night before.
Actually, only the staff had been familiar to Patrick so far. No Charley, no Linda, no Albert, no Anthony. Not even Justine. On the other hand, Patrick felt sure that everyone on the ward had seen the inside of a psychiatric hospital before. He crossed his legs and waited for the inevitable staff contact. That is, contact with one staff member in particular.
“Sorry to see me?” Patrick asked as soon as Simon appeared in the doorway.
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am.”
Patrick’s eyebrows twitched upward in response.
“That sounded like an honest answer,” Patrick said, laughing.
“Why not? I have nothing to lose.”
“You’ve… uh, changed,” Patrick observed as Simon sat down in a plastic chair across from him.
“Yeah, I suppose so. Contact lenses, this beard, my weight loss. I wondered if you might have trouble recognizing me.”
“No way,” Patrick told him. “Besides, I asked yesterday if you still work here.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be. I… I wasn’t sure I wanted you to see me again. When they said yes, you still work here, I was a little disappointed.”
“I read your admission intake,” Simon said. “Simple medication adjustment, nothing you did wrong. I’m just sorry it was necessary.”
“Was it?”
“That’s not up to us to decide, is it?”
“Yeah, too bad.”
“Well, you won’t be in here for long,” Simon asserted. “You should get privileges soon, too. You’ll be out of here before I am.”
Patrick stared and flicked some ashes from his cigarette.
“What d’you mean by that?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Simon replied, looking at his wristwatch. “Breakfast trays will be up any time now. You know the routine.”
Patrick guessed what Simon was hinting at but was unable to find out for sure until after a long wait through breakfast, the ward assembly, and a session with his doctor. During all that, Patrick looked around and still saw no familiar faces among the patients and just a couple new ones among the staff members. Yet many of the patients did seem familiar as types, people that reminded him of other people. Patrick wondered if he resembled anyone they had met in another hospital someplace.
He was supposed to see Dr. Kearney shortly after the assembly. The kindly old man would explain the new pills, their benefits and potential side effects. All very ethical, of course.
They’d better work this time, Patrick thought. It wasn’t worth it to come back here.
“It was that stupid-ass psychologist,” he complained to Dr. Kearney later on. “If it wasn’t for him, I could’ve done this as an outpatient. I think I need a new psychologist after I get out.”
“What about your suicidal ideation?” Dr. Kearney asked, glancing down at the three-ring binder in his lap.
“I was only talking about death in general,” Patrick insisted heatedly. “That suicide idea, that’s a crock of shit! That was just that idiot’s misinterpretation of what I was telling him. A little honesty and where does it get me? It was almost like this dream I had?”
“Dream, Patrick?”
“Oh, I had this dream about being put on trial for a trumped-up drug charge. Now I’m in here for a trumped-up depression diagnosis.”
“But you signed in voluntarily, even though you think it’s an injustice.”
“What was I supposed to do, let them commit me to a state hospital? I was lucky you guys were willing to take me back!”
Patrick repeated that statement to Simon a couple of hours later in Patrick’s room. He was able to express himself more calmly this time.
“No problem,” Simon told him, sitting down on the bare mattress opposite Patrick’s bed.
“Did it make you mad that I, uh, eloped last time?”
“Hell, no. I liked your sense of initiative. Believe me, no one here got their feelings hurt over it. Sometimes, certain patients have escaped and I’ve breathed a sigh of relief. But we don’t re-admit those kinds of patients so readily.”
Patrick blushed as a notion came to him.
“People find me
likeable, don’t they, Simon?”
“Sure.”
“Including you.”
“Yes, maybe even especially me.”
“I… I like the way you seem to be so honest with me,” Patrick said, uncomfortable with what he still felt compelled to say. “I should’ve listened to you about Justine.”
Simon waved the suggestion away.
“Don’t be silly! You never were going to listen to me over her. I know how it is when you’re lonely and a woman gives you attention. There’s no need for you to feel guilty about it now.”
“I promise I’ll listen to you this time.”
“Unless I tell you something you don’t want to hear.”
“No, I mean it! I really trust you.”
“You’re embarrassing me,” Simon protested. “Anyway, I will promise to do whatever I can to see that you get out of here before I do.”
“You said that before,” Patrick reminded him. “What, are you quitting this place?”
“That’s right, I am. Two weeks from tomorrow will be my last day.”
“Wow! What are you doing, going back to school? You’d make a good psychologist, Simon. Better than that fuckhead I’ve been seeing.”
“I’m not going to school,” Simon replied, stretching his arms. “I just need a change of pace, that’s all.”
“Like what?”
“The entertainment business.”
“Entertainment?”
Simon laughed softly.
“I’ll be working at a video store, this place in the South End called The Video Vault.”
Patrick was puzzled. The big counselor seemed to have the compassion that was needed in psychiatric care. What a waste for him to be checking out video cassettes! The selfish prick… Patrick had once thought Simon was within forty years of becoming another Dr. Kearney.
“Looking for something less stressful?”
“That’s part of it.”
“H’mm. Well, I hope you like it working there. I guess I really don’t want to come back here a third time if you won’t be around.”
“Don’t let that be your reason!” Simon told him with a grin. “Do it for yourself. Fight for your own health…”
“Well, okay, I promise. Next time my clinic tries to have me admitted to a hospital, I’ll sue ’em like Anthony did. Hey, do you know how that turned out?”
“I’m fuzzy on the details,” Simon replied, “but the story I heard is that the clinic settled out of court for some large amount.”
“How large?”
Simon shrugged.
“Six figures,” he said. “Maybe even seven.”
Patrick burst out laughing, swatting his mattress with both hands.
“Somebody get me a cheap lawyer!”
Damn, I wish I’d remembered to say that when they introduced me at that stupid assembly today, Patrick thought. Son of a bitch! It would’ve been perfect!