Psych Ward Stories
Gross Food and Phone Calls
I was assigned to room 4. The room had a bed and a chair. I was given linens sleep on. “Can I have visitors?” I asked. “No,” a nurse said, “but you can have phone calls.”
As if being in a cell wasn't bad enough, I had to be there alone.
I covered the plastic mattress with a thin sheet and put a pillowcase on the plastic pillow. I was not comfortable and I did not sleep well the first night. I kept waking up from a terrible itch. I peeled off at least three stickers from the heart monitor.
In the morning, breakfast was served. It was gross hospital food and I didn't want to eat it. I didn't go far from my room. Eventually, another social worker met with me. She looked like a mean driving instructor that never lets you pass a driving test on the first try. She introduced herself and asked me a lot of the same questions the other social worker asked. “Can I go home today?” I asked. “I will meet with you again tomorrow,” the social worker replied.
I noticed a room toward the end of the hall during lunch time. There was a light coming from it and voices inside. I knew there were other patients in the dungeon with me, but I didn't want to talk to them. “That's the TV room,” a nurse said when he noticed I was staring, “You can go in anytime before 10pm.” I nodded and went back to my room to eat.
After eating, I felt slightly better. I was still afraid of being alone, but I did have that phone call. I remembered his phone number from the last time I was in a hospital. I checked myself into that one and was much less afraid. This time, I had to ask for the phone. I dialed his number and nearly cried when I heard his voice.
“How are you feeling?” He asked.
“Better,” I said.
“I wish I could see you.”
“Me too.”
He told me that he loved me and I told him that I loved him too. He told me about how our dog was doing and I wanted to cry because I missed them both. Our conversation lasted about ten minutes. I let him go back to work and I went back to my room to sleep.
Maybe taking that nap was where I made my mistake. I was too scared to do anything else.
As if being in a cell wasn't bad enough, I had to be there alone.
I covered the plastic mattress with a thin sheet and put a pillowcase on the plastic pillow. I was not comfortable and I did not sleep well the first night. I kept waking up from a terrible itch. I peeled off at least three stickers from the heart monitor.
In the morning, breakfast was served. It was gross hospital food and I didn't want to eat it. I didn't go far from my room. Eventually, another social worker met with me. She looked like a mean driving instructor that never lets you pass a driving test on the first try. She introduced herself and asked me a lot of the same questions the other social worker asked. “Can I go home today?” I asked. “I will meet with you again tomorrow,” the social worker replied.
I noticed a room toward the end of the hall during lunch time. There was a light coming from it and voices inside. I knew there were other patients in the dungeon with me, but I didn't want to talk to them. “That's the TV room,” a nurse said when he noticed I was staring, “You can go in anytime before 10pm.” I nodded and went back to my room to eat.
After eating, I felt slightly better. I was still afraid of being alone, but I did have that phone call. I remembered his phone number from the last time I was in a hospital. I checked myself into that one and was much less afraid. This time, I had to ask for the phone. I dialed his number and nearly cried when I heard his voice.
“How are you feeling?” He asked.
“Better,” I said.
“I wish I could see you.”
“Me too.”
He told me that he loved me and I told him that I loved him too. He told me about how our dog was doing and I wanted to cry because I missed them both. Our conversation lasted about ten minutes. I let him go back to work and I went back to my room to sleep.
Maybe taking that nap was where I made my mistake. I was too scared to do anything else.