Getting Used to the Asylum

Well...I had another great day today. Richard wanted to go fishing early this morning and asked if I could take Nick to school. Of course, because he is the best husband in the world, said he could meet up with the guys later if I didn't think I could do it, but I owed him this. At the very, very least. And so, I got up early to take Nick to school.  Richard has been taking Nick to school ever since my illnesses began in December. It is especially hard for me to get going in the morning - this has always been the case, but it seems even more so as I struggle to come out of this depression. It felt great to take him to school. He sits in the front seat now, and he and I sang songs off my iPod the whole way in. He was excited about a field trip to the Capitol building for Earth Day. Richard had taken him up to the store last night to get sack lunch goodies, and he had packed his whole lunch himself. This in itself is a treat, as he never gets to take a lunch to school. He said, "I brought a ham sandwich with cheese, some of those really great ranch crackers  and strawberries." Before I could comment on how good the strawberries looked, he added, "Richard said the strawberries seemed awfully high, but I wanted 'em pretty bad, so I spent my own money on them."

I almost cried, but knew he would be terribly annoyed if I did, so I choked out, "I think it will definitely be worth it!" 

When I was at the asylum, I just could gather that no one else had a child and husband like mine to go home to. While that made me extremely proud and satisfied, I also felt guilty. If I have it so damn good, why am I here? The others looked like they belonged here, which is terrible to say, but it my honest opinion. I did not feel I fit the part, whatever that means. I quickly began to fit in, however, as the following story will illustrate.

I found out that one of the morning routine included stating our goals and telling our overall feelings to the group. I enjoyed hearing about others immensely, and I found it incredibly easy just to speak my mind. The first morning I was somewhat reserved and stated that I was just trying to get used to everything. 

When lunch came that day, I noticed that others had items on their plate which were not on the menu....chocolate cake, for example. I was sitting with a gal who was probably fairly close to my age but who looked hardened by life's difficulties. I knew she would know what was going on. I also knew that if I befriended her, she would be the kind of person who would kill for you.

"So what's the deal with that cake last night and the pancakes this morning?" I questioned. 

"Oh, you can write in items on the menu," she said. "I don't suppose THEY told you that," she said nodding to the staff, who sat in an office with a huge glass window so they could see us. It was an obvious us vs. them environment. As a counselor all I could do was think of ways I could/would make this better.

"No, no one told me. Do they have chicken strips?" 

If you know me, you know that when in doubt at a restaurant or place of dining, I always, always, always choose chicken strips - with ranch.

"Yeah," she said excitedly, "and their pizza is pretty good."

Yes! This was a major move in the right direction. I was ravenously hungry, maybe from the medicine or something. My next question was about the soda. Again, if you know me, you know that I begin each day with a soda - I know it's bad; I frankly don't care. 

"Well, we'll get some soda at break time."

"Okay, I thought, I can handle this. I can wait until break. So when it came time for break, the others lined up like cattle at a watering tank. I really wasn't paying attention to the others because I was distracted by my thoughts of a delicious soda just moments away. And then it was my turn.

"What would you like to drink?" the nurses aide asked.

"What do you have?" I felt like I was in a bar.

"Diet Cola or Lemon Lime soda, orange juice, or apple juice." This was my first warning. When they don't say diet coke or pepsi or even 7up, you know it's going to be some off brand nasty shasta something or other. I quickly calmed myself down in my mind. At least it's a soda.

"Diet," please I replied.

I remember this next traumatic moment as if it were in slow motion. She took out a styrofoam cup - you know the small ones they serve coffee in at wedding receptions. She put three ice cubes in it which I am sure you can imagine left very little room in the cup. She opened a diet shasta and poured the soda into it. I practically snatched it out of her hand (although I did say thanks), and threw back the soda as if it were a shot...not that I've done many shots, just a few. And in that one swift move, it was gone, and I held out my hand for her to hand me the can.

"Oh, that's all you get," she replied nervously.

I did not go off. I did not throw a fit. I sat my cup down, proceeded to my room, put my pillow over my face and cried myself to sleep - AGAIN.

I was quiet the rest of the day. Not really angry, just sad.

I don't know what happened over night, but when I woke up the next morning I was madder than a hornet over that soda. I NEEDED a soda this morning. I am supposed to be here getting help, and how am I going to address these issues without my morning soda? HOW?

So, I trodded down the hall and saw no one was on the community phone, so I made a phone call to Richard and explained my new problem to him. He had a logical, calm answer which pissed me off even more.

"I have to go," I quickly ended the conversation. "Some group is starting or something."

"I love you," he sounded concerned.

"Thanks," I responded. "Will you bring me a soda tonight?" I cannot believe I was this awful. Unfortunately, it gets worse.

We are all sitting around eating breakfast, and I am seething mad, creating my argument in my head. Immediately after breakfast, we go into our "goals and state of mind meeting." I could not wait until it was my turn. I sat with my arms crossed over my chest, anxiously awaiting my chance to pounce.

"So, Angie," the nurse began. "How are you today?"

"Let's see," I began in an extremely sarcastic tone. "I am a counselor, and I just can't figure out why we have to live like prisoners in here when we voluntarily came here to get help!"

She was immediately defensive and nervous. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"What I mean is why we have to give up everything we love because we are sick."

"For example?" she acted like she had NO idea what I could possibly be talking about.

"Okay, I gave over my phone, and I get that. You don't want us in our rooms talking or texting or whatever. But soda? What is the problem with soda? I drank my "portion" (and I gestured the quotation marks) in one swig yesterday." I was getting louder and angrier as I went on. She started to respond, but I cut her off. "Now I know there is a cafeteria in this place, because we've all had our meals, and I've been in lots of hospital cafeterias. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND why someone can't go down there and get us each a nice fountain soda for God's sake. I'm telling you that my state of mind right now is shitty because I need a fucking soda!"

Even I cannot believe my nerve at this point. The rest of the gang is staring wide-eyed at me. Other than one woman who screams and cries all day long, the rest of us had been mild mannered up to this point.

The nurse was obviously, obviously annoyed. Not sympathetic. Annoyed. Even worse, I saw a diet coke sitting on her desk that morning when she gave me my medicine. The battle lines had been drawn between us in that instant.

"I'm sure you understand there is a reason for everything we do here."

That was her answer. Her complete answer. She might as well have said, "Because I said so." Plus, the way she said, "you," as if she was mocking the fact that I said I was a counselor and what would a counselor be doing on the other side of the desk?

"Whatever," I responded (how mature, I know), gathered my crutches and stomped out of the room....as much as a one legged person can stomp, anyway. I had a feeling I had just earned myself a few more days in the asylum. But damn it, it was worth it!