Cutting Roast Beef With A Plastic Spoon…

I remember the day I was told I was going to be committed into a mental health facility. I’ll spare you the torrid details which prompted my commitment because in hindsight they are ridiculous 🙄.

However, not only was I distraught because of the incident that transpired but my healing had to be put “on hold” for roughly two and a half days because there weren’t any beds available in any mental health facility

So, I sat in the emergency room of a local hospital without ANY of my belongings. (They took everything I came in with and locked it away for safe keeping.)

That means I did not have my cell 📱 and because I don’t have anyone’s phone number memorized, I couldn’t get in touch with anyone.

The doctors and nurses were nice enough, but trust me there’s a BIG difference in how one is treated when one is a recovering Neurological ICU patient, and how someone is treated who is on the “second” floor.

Sidebar: The number of the floor is arbitrary and pretty much unimportant, but from what I was told, every hospital has a designated psychiatric “floor or wing”. If I’m not mistaken this particular hospital’s psychiatric unit was on floor two.

Anyway; anywho, there I was on floor two 🤭wearing some sort of pajamas-like ensemble with tears streaming down my face constantly.

Background:

November 2012, I suffered a cerebral artery aneurysm rupture which left me without peripheral vision, memory deficits and because the rupture occurred on the hippocampus (emotional center) of my brain 🧠 , I suffer from major depression.

During this time, I hadn’t yet been accepted by Social Security and/or Medicare, so I was in between health insurance. I was unable to afford any of my medication including the cocktail I was prescribed for my depression, and after being triggered, I attempted to harm myself. This is how I ended up taking up space in an Emergency Room waiting for a bed to become available at a mental health facility, so that I could get better.

I can’t prove it, but something told me once a patient is put on “floor two awaiting transport” you’re essentially forgotten about. After a while, nurses stopped coming by to take your vitals, and you are left alone on the gurney with the crinkly paper you’re forced to sit on.

At least that’s how I felt.

Then I heard the clicking of high heels and saw the hospital curtain in front of me jiggle like a breeze disturbed it. First, I saw her blazer, then I saw her. A rather pleasant looking woman, who if I had to guess, was in her middle to late fifties? Maybe? I dunno. But she wasn’t a nurse or a doctor and for the life of me I don’t remember what her name was or what her role was at the hospital.

She had a clipboard, took a look at that, then her watch, then my face.

“Have you eaten?” She asked with sincerity and slight alarm.

I shook my head no, but then added that I wasn’t hungry.

The woman, who I’m gonna call Betty because she looked like a Betty, had the kindest eyes with the warmest smile. She rubbed my shoulder which caused me to start crying again.

“Don’t worry,” Betty explained, “I read your file and where you’re going, they’re the best; but I wanna get you fed before you get there because I don’t think they’ll allow you to eat until morning”.

I nodded, but I didn’t care because I really wasn’t hungry. But Betty was determined to get me to eat 🤷🏻‍♀️. She grabbed the first nurse she saw, then found someone from the kitchen and this whole scene was making me more upset, because all I wanted to do was go home and go to bed -not eat. 🤦🏻‍♀️

Honest to God, I regretted trying to harm myself, and as bad my depression gets sometimes, I haven’t thought about harming myself since. And I’ll never try it again.

That is until Betty came back with my supper 🤣 And I lie to you not, it smelled AMAZING!!! It was roast beef, mashed potatoes and green beans. However, because I was a patient on “floor two”, for my safety, I was only given a spoon to eat with.

Has anyone ever tried to cut roast beef with a 🤬spoon !?

And before somma y’all go off on tangents about how tender big mama’s roast beef is, 🛑 I get it, MiMi makes a bangin pot roast too, HOWEVER we’re in a hospital 🏥& it wasn’t no where near big mama’s pot roast. Nuff said.

Back to Betty & the roast beef.

🤣 As I mentioned, the food SMELLED AMAZING, thereby stimulating my hunger, so I ate the mashed potatoes and gravy and was attempting to cut the meat with the handle of the spoon with tears streaming down my face when Betty returned, gasped, and started rubbing my back again.

“This is some bull 💩” I muttered through my tears, which made Betty laugh, then she gasped and tried to apologize which made ME laugh, so now were laughing our 🍑’s off, and I’m still trying to cut meat with a plastic spoon handle.

Nevertheless, I did eventually get to the facility and oh my I have some stories. Like who in the entire hell gets recognized by a patient in a mental health facility…???

You guessed it, -MiMi, and you’ll read that story next time 🤣🤣🤣 but for now

✌🏼💜💨

Peace, Love, & Exhale