First Day on the Psych Ward

It’s 3:15 a.m., and I have been sitting inside an ER room for several hours. It was time enough to sign the paperwork, say goodbye to my husband, and sit with my wretched thoughts. A kind nurse in light blue shrubs enters my room to say they found a bed for me in the psych unit. I don’t know whether to be relieved or afraid. I am a little of both. The nurse insists that I sit in a wheelchair, which I think is strange. It’s my brain that is broken, not my legs. They wheel me down the hall, and I peek at other patients in the ER. These people really need help. I feel like an imposter. I think we entered an elevator, but I can’t recall. The hospital staff gave me some medicine, and my mind was fuzzy. Outside the psych ward, the nurse rings a bell. We are buzzed in and welcomed by two female nurses. The nurses joke with each other, and they are obviously feeling more comfortable than me. Their laughter makes me feel paranoid. The new nurses take me to a private room and inform me they must strip search me. I feel violated as they check every crevice for contraband. Soon, the torture is over, and one of the nurses shows me to my room. She says I’m lucky to get a room to myself. I note that I am in room 77, and I believe it is significant because it is the year I was born. More medicine is distributed in a little white paper cup, and I fall asleep on the hospital bed within a few minutes.

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