The Aftermath....August 27, 1999

The Aftermath....August 27, 1999

I am back, safe and relatively sound. I must apologise for Maude's wordiness yesterday. When I asked her to explain the situation, I did not think she would go so overboard. Nothing like a few decades of haunting to bring out the verbal diarrhea. I like her style, though. Perhaps I will invite her to be a guest writer again. I would prefer happier circumstances, though.

I made it up to the Emergency Room well before sunrise this morning, patting myself on the back for being able to at least drive myself there. In checking in, I did not really know what to tell the duty nurse. I knew that she would not be interested in hearing the diatribe that Maude laid out. I satisfied myself with being brief and to the point. I stated that I thought I was going insane, and asked to see the on-duty psychiatrist.

She must have been a pop shrink, for she asked what gave me that impression.

Given the fact that I sat across from her in Superman pj's, my hair dishevelled, my eyes bloodshot, my fingers tap tap tapping on the desk, my legs twitching perpetually, drool seeping from the corners of my mouth, I thought it was pretty obvious.

I decided to use a more direct approach.

"I hear voices," I stated.

"Well, so do I," she stated, adding, "the waiting room's rather full this evening. There was a car accident just..."

"No," I interjected more insistently, "I hear voices of children in my head, and they are singing".

With a roll of her eyes, she says,

"I'll bite, what are they singing?"

"Jesus loves the little nurses," I said. "He loves all the little nurses of the world."

I went on to tell her that the voices say to me that Jesus loves the little nurses SO much, that he wants me to round them all up and...

She picked up the phone, paged Dr. So and So, and immediately rushed me into an unoccupied room, closing and locking the door.

I waited.

And I waited.

I waited a long time. Such are the benefits of pubically funded health care in the hands of government officials who cannot even count the number of their illegitimate children.

After a few hours, Dr. So and So finally unlocks the door and saunters in. He is actually a psych intern, he states, but the only doctor in the hospital at these wee hours of the morning with any psychiatry credentials.

Great, I thought. My mental well being is in the hands of Doogie.

He begins by asking me standard medical history questions, and then gets into the heart of the matter for which I am there. He asks me if I am feeling suicidal.

"No," I reply.

"Self injurous?"

"No."

"You say you are hearing voices?"

"Nah, I just told the nurse that because she was not taking me seriously. I am having a breakdown, Doc. I just know it. Admit me for seventy-two hours, please. I need the break from life. I am begging you. I am cracking right down the middle."

"And just what is the source of this breakdown?"

"I am getting married," I say earnestly, hoping that he would fall for my citation of Hammer Vs. Downe, where a groom, committed to phychiatric treatment for thirty days, later sues his fiance for causing his breakdown, lost wages, legal fees, and punitive damages. The case, I tell him, put marital engagement in the books as a legitimate psychosis.

It seems like it took only seconds for the orderlies to usher me to the hospital exit, with Dr. So and So following behind to make sure I was out. Hearing the whoosh of the automatic doors behind me, I hear him mumbling something like,

"Fucking psychos, who does he think I am to...."

I drive home to the rising sun, and just in time for my client, totally unaware of the nocturnal happenings, to awaken. After sucking back some coffee and his eating breakfast, I drive him back to his foster home.

Drifting off here and there on the way back, I was glad to be finally home. I was elated at having some space, at being alone, and at the prospect of drifting off to sleep for a few hours. I was thankful I had no clients scheduled for the day. After letting the hounds out, I snuggled under the covers of my waterbed, and let the sandman do his thing.

I awoke later in the afternoon, made a pot of coffee, let the insistent hounds out yet again, and then turned on the computer...

....Blessed Be