Monday

For the first time in my life, I was thankful for it to be Monday! I was guaranteed to see the doctor, and I was hopeful that today was the day I said goodbye to this place, once and for all. I had even created a script in my head of all the right things to say to convince this doctor that I was sane. I walked down the hall, curled up into a ball inside my baggy sweatshirt on the couch as always, and waited to get my vitals done. One after another, my small group of friends made their way to the couch, took their seats next to me, and we talked. We were all running on hope, and high anxiety. All four of us ready to go home, and get out of this place.

As I was sitting there, the man I had feared decided that out of all the seats available, directly next to me was the only available option. He tried to create a conversation, but I ignored him.

Eventually, he asked me a question, that for some reason flipped an interior switch inside of me. He said, “Why are you here? Did you try to kill your husband? You’re a crazy one aren’t you?” I do not like the word “crazy," never have and I can’t even tell you why. After hearing that, I sat there, staring at him, suddenly unafraid of the look in his eyes.

It was as if I had the same look of anger and insanity, and I told him simply to “get the hell away from me." I know it was not that dramatic of a threat, but apparently, I spoke it loud enough for the nurses to hear me. When he heard me speak back, all he did was throw his hands in the air, as if to surrender, and stood up. He began to bang on walls, tables, and doors, screaming to see the doctor. The nursing staff asked him to sit, and calm down but he refused. After he had failed to throw one of the metal tables, he was removed from Psych 1. We all rejoiced, enjoyed the quiet, and then before we knew it, it was time for breakfast.

After breakfast, we all waited in the common room for the doctors to arrive. Some of us showered, others colored and watched television. I spoke to my husband, and told him I didn’t know when my doctor would be in, but I would keep him up to date. My anxiety was skyrocketing, and I told him to keep his phone on, and be ready to come to get me at a moment’s notice! I glanced at the nurse, and she was motioning me over, so I ended my conversation, and power walked to the nurses' station. She told me my doctor was running late and wouldn’t be in until after 1:30 p.m. All I could feel at that point was fear, and hopelessness. That was so late, the odds of me being sent home were going down the later she saw me. At least that's how my mind was processing the information. I called my husband back, told him the news, and we both sighed. That’s all we could do.

Out of all my friends, I was the only one who wouldn’t be seen until the afternoon. My friend, the elderly woman who tried to commit suicide, was the first to see the doctor. She was gone for five minutes and came back with tears in her eyes. When she sat down next to me, she could barely catch her breath enough to speak.

She told me, “I’m stuck here another two days, they don’t think I am ready to go home." I didn’t know what to do, my stomach sank, and my heart was aching for her. I was also being selfish, I was scared that would be my fate as well.

Another friend went back, the teenager with depression, and she got the all clear to go home, but she refused to go home. She didn’t feel safe there. The homeless man, with the magic tricks, he got the news to go home, but he didn’t have a home. Back to the streets, he would go, which broke my heart into pieces but there was nothing I could do. My heart wanted to bring him to my home, and help him get on his feet. My logical mind wouldn’t allow that, because of my children, and the circumstances of how we met. That sounds cruel, but it is the truth.

We had our lunch, which we all knew would be our last lunch together, and it was a bittersweet moment. We laughed, talked, and shared even more stories about our lives. I was an anxious mess, basically sitting there playing with my food. I was grateful they decided to keep the conversation light and didn’t mention doctors, knowing I still didn’t know my fate at that moment, and wouldn’t for another hour at the earliest. After lunch ended, I asked the nurse if by chance the doctor was in, and she was. Patient after a patient was getting taken back to the doctors' office, while I anxiously paced the hallway, unable to sit still. I saw the tech come back, and he called my name. I followed behind him and was escorted into the doctors' office. She asked how I was feeling, and if I felt good enough to go home. I said yes, and waited. Waited for her to finish typing.

She said, “You're discharged, and you’ll be going home today," and that was it. I was going home.