One converted bedroom reads "Recreational Therapy" with a gorgeous image of a redbird, but remains permanently locked. No occupational therapy is offered and there are no facilities for physical activity of any kind. No individual therapy with a psychiatrist is scheduled, nor is there even any group therapy beyond the utterly pointless "Goals Group" held first thing in the morning. Existing purely for patients on the ward to share their therapy goals for the day, "Goals Group" is utterly superfluous on a ward where no therapy takes place whatsoever.
There is only the tiny dayroom with its pathetic 15-inch television and a VCR accompanied by six or seven of the least enticing films available in any format. On the shelf behind the television and VCR stand are games like Pictionary and Scrabble, along with a few thousand-piece puzzles. These, too, are superfluous. With the dayroom doubling as the dining room, any puzzle would have to be assembled between meals; the table needs to be cleared of pieces to make room for eating. As for the games, one would have to fully understand the dynamics of a clearly transient setting full of diverse mentally ill people to fully comprehend why these would never be played. The permutations of these reasons are almost inexhaustible in scope. Therefore, I am fortunate to find that my new medication knocks me out completely and forces me to spend the hours between meals in a groggy, fitful slumber.
They are saying I will have to be here until at least Monday to get stabilized on my new medication. The treatment team -- two doctors and two medical students who know nothing about my case -- have decided to switch me from Abilify to Geodon and add Lamictal to offset the depressive side effects of the Depakote. Now I will have to take medication twice per day.
All this just to be normal. Will it be worth it when I get there? Will I ever get there? I feel so unreal already, like some walking ghost character. Monday ... will they really let me out Monday?
My first morning, I arrive late for Goals Group. Nikki smiles at me and pats the seat next to her on the three-seater couch. I met her that first evening when I got onto the ward. It turns out she is, in fact, the woman I saw downstairs in the E.R. She and I have already shared a bit with each other about what brings us here. We seemed to forge a swift rapport though I had to keep talking myself through the steps of being present and there for another. Look at her face. Make eye contact. Listen to what she is saying. Show an appropriate response. I felt so awful saying, "Oh, I'm so sorry," at the news of her father's passing, so certain she would see through me as a fake and despise me. Inside I do feel natural empathy and compassion for others; it's just that when it comes to attempting to express it, I freeze completely and have to manufacture a stand-in variety instead.
I take the seat Nikki offers and a minor explosion ensues. Leah, seated at the other end of the couch, leaps up suddenly as if I had smacked her and moves to an empty chair across the room where she shoots invisible daggers at me with her eyes. Uh-oh, I think to myself. Proximity issues. I know them well because I have them myself. I file the incident away as something not personally about me, which is actually a vast improvement over my usual interpretations of human behavior. Nevertheless, I make a mental note to apologize later. I know what it's like to not want people in general, especially strangers, that close.
I am new to both the ward and Goals Group so I have no goal formulated. When I state this, I hear an audible sigh from Leah as though I alone am wasting her precious time. I ignore her and muddle through as best as possible until the nurse, Cathy, leading the group, decides to move on to someone else. Eventually the group disperses and morning meds are distributed. I take my new meds marveling at the brilliant blue hue. The pill is exactly the same color as my car. Unlike my car, it puts me to sleep for the rest of the morning.
(* - names and places in this series are changed to preserve anonymity.)
