"Normally we would," He says, "But we can't."
"Why not?"
"Because of your pregnancy." He gestures to my stomach. "we don't want to do anything that could hurt the baby."
"Ok…" I place my hands on my stomach. I don't know whether to be angry at myself or happy. Maybe medication would be good for me but at the same time, I'm glad that I have an excuse to not start right away.
"So," I test the waters, "nothing happens?"
"Nothing happens."
"But I'm still schizophrenic?"
"I'm afraid you always will be, there is no cure," the doctor says, "but we can get you on a therapy schedule during your stay here and when your baby is born, we can start medications."
I feel half relieved and half more scared.
You just had to ruin it.
I bet Noah sent you here.
I breathe deeply.
"Are they talking now?" The doctor asks. He picks up the damned clipboard again.
I nod my head.
"What I want you to do is take three deep breaths."
I nod my head slowly again. I didn't even realize that I had been giving myself therapy for all of these years. If breathing is all he can teach me then I guess I'm a lost cause.
"In for four…"
I breathe in. 1, 2, 3, 4.
"Hold for six."
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6,.
"Out for eight."
1, why am I doing this, 2, what is this even helping, 3, I just want to rip off my head, 4, I've already learned this, 5, I don't have enough air to actually breathe out to eight, 6, I don't want to do this anymore, 7, ugh, 8, Ok, I'm done.
As soon the last breath passes, I feel a peace come over me. It is warmth accompanied by a stillness.
"See? One did the trick for you." The doctor says as a smile comes across his face, "Every time you feel them start to talk, just do that. It'll shut them up real quick."
I smile. I guess it did work.
"So, part of this program is group therapy, recreational therapy, and personal therapy." He says, "You are required to do both."
He turns around and reaches up to his bookshelf. It is a giant wooden monster. The top of it brushes the ceiling and hundreds of book are neatly lined on the seven shelves that go all the way to the floor. He takes out a folder filled with little pieces of paper. He opens it and flicks through them for a second before pulling out a pamphlet. He hands it to me.
The cover is ridden with more happy families. I look up at him.
"More of these pictures?" I sigh annoyed.
"Hospital mandated." He shrugs.
On the cover, below the gagtastic cover work is the words: "St. Joseph's Psychiatriatric Program." I peel open the front flap and unfold it. Behind the first fold is a giant list of sponsors; majority of them being grocery stores. This is quite ironic considering that on the next page they advertise their overeaters anonymous group. The glossy feel to the pamphlet makes me uncomfortable. I'm not sure how many people have touched this and what they had been touching before.
I hand it back to him and reach for the hand sanitizer on his desk. I pump it twice on my hand and feel the coolest on my palms. Every draft can be felt on my hands until they are dry. It is honestly the weirdest sensation.
"Well, our main programs here are for depression and bipolar so you came to the right spot." He flashes the trifold in front of me yet again, only to show a page that's header is a stock photo of a pill. How wonderful a message they are sending about their treatment plans. 'We'll just knock you out with meds until you are a zombie! You'll feel better in no time!"
"Ok, thanks." I sigh.
"That's just about all I had to talk to you about." The doctor smiles and looks at his watch. "It's about 30 minutes until recreational therapy."
I nod my head and stand when he does. He walks over to the door and opens it. It squeaks as the rusty hinges call for help. I walk out with more uncertainty than I went in with. I still don't know who sent me but I do know that my baby help me to get away from drugs.
The nurse is waiting in the closet waiting room.
"I came back to get you," she says as she stands up from her seat, "you have to be accompanied at all times during your first day. I will be around intermittently tomorrow also."
I sigh. Apparently I am a child after all.
"Usually we just have the patients all together but you didn't wake up till late because of the sleeping meds we gave you." She says, "You won't be able to sleep in like that anymore."
This just keeps getting better. I should've been cattle this morning but rather they tranquilized me and let me suffer the after effects.
"Wake up is at 7am and you will have activities all day." The nurse is starting to detected my displeasure and looks at me solemnly.
"You'll be ok, I promise."
She walks me back through the hall of doors. We turn right in the intersection and I am lead to a place where I have never ventured. We continue to walk and the doors become more and more sporadic. I don't doubt my eyes and drudge forward. At the end of the hall a living room set sits. The hard hospital tiles is replaced with shiny wooden floors in only that section. Big couches and smaller armchairs that clash are scattered across the corner. On the wall, a huge TV is mounted. Somebody must have sponsored this. Probably a furniture store. The nurse walks me up to the set.
"Everybody will be over in a moment," she smiles, pointing to the couches, "make yourself comfortable."
I awkwardly follow her command and sit on the giant white couch. I wonder how they clean this. Do they have some sort of admission process for people with lice so that they can't get on the furniture? A huge part of me hopes so.
The nurse stands facing the hallway. She looks as if she is meditating; relaxing for the few moments of peace she has. I feel bad for the staff here. I assume I can't be the worst kind of patient for them. I must have been if they sedated me in order to bring me here. I bet she had no idea what she would be dealing with. I hope how I am is the best case scenario.
I see her tense more and I look down the hallway. A gaggle of people are slowly tracing their way across the cold hospital tile. Their eyes look excited by their body's tell me otherwise. When the group reaches her, she glues the fake smile on—the same one she gave me—and greets each individual person like her best friend. I hate people so her job would be impossible for me. They all swarm around me. They start sitting on and around the couches. A skinny boy sits directly next to me. His arms are so thin, I'm afraid if I lean too far over, I'll snap it in two.
"My name is Lee." He says, his expression is not quite a smile and not quite a grimace. I have a feeling that over my three days, that I too will acquire this facade.
"Ana." I stick out my hand for him to shake it.
"No physical contact," Lee says as he puts his hands up in the air as if he is being caught by the cops.
I look at him weird. Is he a germaphobe?
"Not my rule," he says, "it's theirs."
He points to the nurses. My nurse has now been absorbed by the assemblage of scrubs.
"We can't touch people?" I ask. This is the most peculiar rule I have heard of. Once again, I feel kindergarten call back to me.
"Yeah," he sighs, "too many people would make out if we could."
I personally can't see how a mental ward would be the best place to find a relationship. Then again, I shouldn't be the spokesperson for good relationships. I have yet to find a completely fulfilling one and part me has accepted the fact that I most likely never will. Perhaps I will with my baby.
"Do you know what movie we are watching?" He asks. He pulls his legs up and crosses them. This takes up more space on the couch and the girl next to him sighs and glares. He ignores it all. I can tell that he sees her but he has decided to leave her in his peripherals and just have a conversation with me. I respect it.