Soon Dr. Stranger bids me to follow and I dutifully obey circling the hub behind him with my arms held close to my body, hugging myself, holding myself in as tightly as I can. I whisper a spontaneous conjuration to myself in my "native tongue," a form of private glossolalia designed to protect me, to shield me from the bright lights, from the world of many and uncaring others, from cruel fate at their hands, from the terror swallowing me alive. The effort fails. I am too small and worse, I am in their territory, subject to their foul domain. It is their design that I should be powerless in their world, and right now their spells are stronger. They have me bound. I am trembling in sheer terror, clutching myself, clutching my bag, and it seems the first order of business is to divest me of both, or at least, of my bag and my dignity.
"I'm your nurse, Betty. I need you to undress, dear," comes a nurse's voice full of plastic cheer.
Thinking she must be mistaken, idiotically thinking it would make a difference, I respond, "Oh, no, I don't need to do that - I'm going to psych."
I'm surprised at how normal my voice sounds, considering how difficult it is to speak human at all, but nooooooo, it is the universal rule of the E.R. - All Must Undress. Only I'm shaking so hard I cannot remember how, and I'm so confused and scared that I don't know where to begin. What am I supposed to put on, a sheet? An open drawer reveals a pile of folded blue things - one of those? I don't dare touch anything. Above all, I do not want to be seen as difficult, uncooperative, or a nuisance in any way. Through my semi-hallucinatory fog of emotional upheaval, I'm aware of my predicament to some degree, enough to be terrified into compliance, but also enough to endanger myself to be perceived as irrational. At this same level of terror, time-distortions, spatial disintegrations, and uncertainty all threaten to burst forth and undo me, revealing me for the monster I am.
The monster I am is why I am here in the first place. My whole life is being up heaved. I'm being publicly and privately humiliated before strangers and family alike, and put into this hospital, to punish me, not for being that monster but for no longer keeping it a secret. Not for acting monstrously, but for confessing to monstrous thoughts and feelings. Not for giving the monster safe harbor but for telling on it, telling the truth. Not for siding with the monster and offering myself to it, but for asking for help to get rid of it and set me free.
"Knock, knock," comes that same too-loud voice, as the hands belonging to it pull back thin, drawn curtains, my only barricade against the constant bustle and barrage of chattering people along with beeps and dongs and other weird sounds. "Are you undressed yet?"
"I ... don't know what ... to put on," I answer lamely.
"Oh, here." She lays a hospital gown on the gurney-bed.
"Can I leave on my underwear?" I ask, and she answers in the affirmative before leaving. I struggle out of my shirt, quickly fumbling to tie the gown around my neck, ready to dive for cover should anyone else enter before I am properly hidden by that gown. She enters again and, noticing my predicament and trembling hands, helps me to tie it in the back.
"Here's another so you won't be open in the back," she offers, producing a second gown. I slip it on like a robe. "Now your pants," she encourages, and I wiggle out of my Morrocan trousers with the hospital gowns determinedly covering my buttocks the entire time. As an afterthought I tie a bed sheet over my unshaved legs like a skirt. I typically don't shave during the winter months, as my legs are never bared when it's cold, but there are some sights even medical personnel should not have to see.
Another nurse comes in and introduces herself, producing a clipboard full of forms I am supposed to sign. Sign? What is a sign? Are they asking for a token of my divine favor? I can't even read the forms; the words jump about on the page because the bright light makes them bounce like balls. How am I to give my consent to their contents?
"Sign ...?" I murmur weakly, and suddenly it is all too much for me. She leaves, and I curl in a fetal position on the bed, covering my whole body with another sheet, wishing myself dead, wishing myself free, wishing myself home, and wishing myself anywhere but here.
(* - names and places in this series are changed to preserve anonymity.)
