Getting Help

So, I would like to write tonight about how afraid I am that I've completely screwed up my son by my recent "illness," but I don't have my thoughts together on that, and it would probably come out as complete and utter complaining, self-pitying, irrational babble. And, alas, I must continue with the "adventure" I began describing yesterday.

I'm not sure what time it was when I arrived at the hospital. I did manage to sleep most of the way, which was good, because the man sitting in the back of the ambulance kept giving me this really sad, desperate, surprised look. As if to say, "You don't look like most of the crazies we haul around, but please don't freak out on my watch."

When we arrived at the hospital, I kept my eyes closed, partly because it makes me sick to ride on a gurney with my eyes open, and partially because I was scared to see what was ahead. The hospital was deadly quiet, as it was the middle of the night. In a few short hours it would be bustling again.

Since my eyes were closed, the driver of the ambulance must have thought he was sleeping. When we approached "THE WARD," the doors were locked, and they had to be buzzed in. "Wow! Locked doors, even," the driver exclaimed, laughing. If I wasn't at rock bottom, I probably would have told him where to go, but as it was I just sighed, opened my eyes, and stared directly at him. I think he got the message.

A nurse quickly approached and was obviously awaiting my arrival. They were all helpful and amazed when I sat up, hopped off the gurney, and stood there with one leg.

"Well, you get around well," said the nurse. People are always surprised at my mobility.

No reply from me. Not even the usual smile and canned response, "Yeah, I'm pretty used to it."

"You must be really tired. We aren't going to do the normal check in tonight. I'm just going to give you your meds, get your clothes changed, and hopefully you can get some sleep."

Still not a word from me. Just a nod.

She proceeded to give me my medicine with a tiny cup of water. Was there a danger in giving me a larger cup of water? Could I drown myself in a cup? These were my sarcastic, bitter thoughts. I couldn't stop them from filling my head.

Just then my iPhone signaled a new e-mail from my pocket.

"Oh," she cheerily replied as she held her hand out. "I'll take that phone, put your name on it, and leave it right here where we put all patient valuables."

I could feel the lump forming in my throat. How would I get to sleep without playing text twist on my phone?

She handed me a set of scrubs and said I could sleep in them and wear them during the day if I wanted to.

"I'll have to keep those," she said pointing to my sweats. "They have a drawstring."

Holy shit. What have I done? I am sure she could see the fear in my eyes and notice the reddening of my face as I tried to keep the tears from forming in my eyes. My throat was killing me, as I tried to swallow the huge lump that was stuck there.

She showed me a restroom where I could change. I did, still trying not to cry.

When I came out, she smiled, as if I was the most beautiful looking one-legged suicidal girl she had ever seen. I didn't buy it. "Get real," I wanted to scream, but if I let one single word out, in fact even a tiny sound, the flood gates would open. I just kept my mouth shut and my head down.

She led me down a dismal hallway - mint green on the walls, grey carpet on the floors. We entered a room that looked more like a dorm room than a hospital room. The only light coming in the room was from the hallway.

"We don't want to wake your roommate," she whispered cheerily.

That was all it took. The tears started coming, but it was dark enough, that I don't think she could see them. A roommate? I had to share this experience with a stranger? The bed was a wooden structure that went all the way to the floor, and it had a mattress on top.

I did bring my favorite pillow. It is one I don't lay on. I hold it. It is an old feather pillow, and it is my "blankie," my "binkie."

I quickly laid down on the bed, turned on my side, and pulled the pillow to my chest. The tears were burning my eyes, and my throat was aching from trying not to sob.

"Is there anything else you need?" she asked.

Is there anything else I need? Hell yes. I need my mom, my husband's back rub, the sound of my TV lulling me to sleep, my sanity. I need my sanity.

But instead of spewing my thought I simply choked out a "no thanks." As soon as she left the room, I let out a sob and cried and cried.

"This is getting help?" I thought desperately. "I want to go home."