Chapter Four: Hospital Mum
TW: All things psych ward. Names have been changed for anonymity.
Lucky is not a word I would usually use when in a psychiatric ward, but I really did hit the fucking jackpot with my new room mate. Lisa, a 40-something year old Mother of 3. Suicide attempt. Kidneys in a horrible state from said attempt.
Upon her arrival, I was half asleep and drugged to the nines. I had the blinds closed, murmured a “hi, lovely” and fell back asleep, despite my efforts to stay awake and make her feel safe and welcome.
We woke up at the same time and looked at each other, obviously forgetting that we were both in a room together.
“Hi, I’m Ruby” I say, softly, knowingly, wanting to cry from seeing another obviously beautiful soul battling this absolutely fucking debilitating illness.
“Hi, I’m Lisa” she croaks with all the energy she can muster.
It’s not long before we are getting changed in front of each other, high-fiving each other for being able to poo (meds and constipation…a heady elixir) and sharing all of our secrets, lollies and shampoo.
She is so new to the game. Her eyes are filled with worry and confusion, and, whilst everybody tells me not to and to focus on myself, I focus on putting her mind at ease. I ask her what’s going on. I ask her about her thoughts. She opens up completely and shows me photos of her 3 beautiful children, one the same age as me.
“You have so much to look forward to, Lisa. I know that means nothing when in this frame of mind, trust me, if someone said something like that to me right now I’d scoff, but look at those beautiful creatures you made…you’ve gotta be around to see them grow!” I say, attempting to encourage her.
“I don’t know if I want to be”.
Now isn’t the time for pep talks. Hell, I can dish out the goods but I can never practise what I preach. My inner (is it even inner at this point?) empath can’t cope with the sadness and hopelessness in her eyes and asks her if she wants a hug. She begins to cry and nods like a bobble-headed car decoration. I can practically see the inky cloud dancing around her salt and pepper hair, depleting her of, well, everything. That’s a feeling I understand.
I go over to her bed and embrace her. It’s odd – we were strangers, and then we weren’t…in a matter of hours. She begins to cry onto my shoulder, hugging me tight like someone I have known for years, thanking me. She tells me I am beautiful, inside and out. We sarcastically laugh about how incredibly not-allowed this is and proceed to rearrange her equally as lumpy bed for a proper cuddle. I scooch in next to her and put my head on her shoulder. She pats my head and tells me that we will be okay. It was at this moment I deemed her “Hospital Mum”.
About the Creator
Ru Delacovias
But a thousand year old, potty mouthed witch trapped in a 22 year old body. I write about mental illness, the things I wish would step on a piece of lego and the things that all of us can feel fuzzy about.
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