Monday, December 17, 2012

"Sucks, Doesn't It?" A Memoir, Entry 7

Chapter 7

“Mrs. ET? My name is Dr. Kang. I am the hospital psychiatrist. How are you feeling now? I understand you were having some trouble earlier this morning. First, the nurse reports to me that you were jumping off the bed and shouting you are Superman. Then I receive also a report from Dr. Frankenstein, that you were uncooperative during the EEG test and he could not complete it. Do you recall these things?”
I eye the squat man with a gimlet eye. The flat plains of an expressionless Mack truck face screams peasant stock to me, but the expensive-looking grey suit says something else altogether. Not quite sure what, but first impression tells me the man has a huge ego. Alrighty then. Dr. King Kong he shall thereafter be known. That thought is quickly followed by, what’s with psychiatrists and grey suits? I chastise myself. Get with the program, Liz, or you’ll be in here a lot longer than you think. “Well, Dr. Kang, I told the brain doc I wasn't up for testing, but he started attaching these wires to my head anyway. I lost my temper and yanked them out. I shouldn’t have done that, I know, but it's not like I didn't warn him.”
Dr. King Kong nods his head vigorously. “It is as I thought, Mrs. ET. You are merely suffering the side-effects of this illness. Hallucinations, delusions, and hearing voices are not uncommon for someone in your condition. But you are feeling better, yes?”
I nod my head vigorously. “Oh absolutely. In fact, I would like to go home now.”
Dr. Kong chuckles. “I am sorry, but you are not yet well enough for that." He pats my arm reassuringly. “Ok, I will check on you tomorrow.”
As soon as he lumbers out of the room, I turn to my husband. “I’m leaving. This place is making me crazy.”
“You can’t, Liz! You’re still way too sick.”
“I don’t give a jumping frog from Calaveras County. Get the nurse in here before I turn into Peter Pan and fly off to Neverland on a one-way ticket.”
He leaves and comes back with Florence Nightingale. Calmly I explain, “I’m going home. Where are my clothes?"
The nurse attempts to reason with me. “That’s not advisable, Mrs. ET. The test results aren’t back yet.”
“I don’t care. I'm going home now . . . I know my rights.”
When Nurse Huffy returns, I sign the against medical advice forms she hands to me. As I leave the hospital, she parts the center of my forehead with a verbal arrow. “You’ll be back, Mrs. ET. You’re much to ill to be leaving.”
I merely look at her with eyes as empty as a dying house. But I manage a cold smile. “Thanks for all your help.”
Settling back into the van, I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. The nightmare’s over.
No, Lizzie. The nightmare’s just begun. You know like that song, “We’ve Only Just Begun.” So, fasten your seatbelt, hon. You’re in for a bumpy ride.
Shut up, Bette Davis! Oh God. I’m talking to myself again.
I’m not crazy, I’m not, I’m not!
“Out, damn’d spot! Out, I say! One; two: why, then ‘tis time to do’t. Hell is murky.”