Dreaming a Reality (12 page)

Later that morning, half of the people admitted in the psyche ward were awake. Some of them were sitting in the day room watching T.V. and others were in the kitchen down the hall. The rest were still sleeping while the nurses did their room checks.

I stayed in the hallway, pacing around the pay-phone, checking the time nearly every five minutes. It was a grueling two-hour wait.

* * * *

Once the clock turned 8:00 a.m., I ran to the nurse’s station.

“Can I please make my phone call now?” I said in a hurried voice as I stood there clutching my hands together.

“Not until after breakfast,” said the snotty little nurse with long nails, pointing her finger to the kitchen and inferring for me to go there.

“But the other nurse said?”

“The phone lines will be open after breakfast!” she said again.

I went to the kitchen, and the nurses passed out our breakfast trays. I took a seat at the only available table.

“Can I sit with you?” Nancy asked, all jittery as her hospital gown swayed back and forth.

“Sure.” Although I wanted to be alone, I didn’t want to seem rude. I didn’t want anyone turning on me and lashing out; I had to protect myself.

There were all different types of people there in the psyche ward—some that kept to themselves, others that fought the nurses’ requests to behave, and some that seemed invisible, like me.

I sat there, listening to Nancy babble about her life, as I played around with the watered-down scrambled eggs. I still tried to glue the pieces together as to what had truly happened.

I tried to retrace my steps, but everything felt like a dream. Some parts I couldn’t remember, whether I wanted to or not. I remembered the girl—the one that always came to me in my dreams―and her floating outside the balcony. Then the chanting in my head started again.
Come on Katherine, you can do it.

After breakfast, the nurses announced that the pay-phone lines were open. I was finally able to make the call to Jeremy.

Chapter Twenty-One

Once we all finished eating, and breakfast was officially over, I headed down the hall to the nurse’s station. “Can I make that phone call now?”

“Yes,” said the heavy-set nurse, “but you are limited to two calls per nurse’s shift, unless you have quarters of your own.”

“No, I don’t have any money.”

“What’s the number?”

I gave the number to her and waited for her to transfer the call to one of the pay phones just outside the nurse’s station. On the first ring, it went through.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Jeremy?”

“Mom!”

“How are you, baby? I missed you.” I clung to the phone, cupping it close to my face.

“I’m okay, Mom. I told you about that guy, and to be careful.” I could hear the frustration in his voice. Right away, by the scolding tone, I knew he was upset with me.

“I know, honey. I should have listened to you.”

“What really happened out there?”

“That’s just it. I don’t really know.”

“Dad is taking care of everything.”

“John? Oh, no. He must hate me right now.”

“Look, Mom, no one hates you. We’re just trying to help you. You were lucky that Dad was able to.”

“But how?” I was puzzled by the whole traumatic event.

“When Mitch called him, he…”

“Mitch called your father? Dear God.” I nearly dropped the phone out of my hands.

John didn’t know anything about Mitch, nor did he know I was dating again. Instantly I felt that pulsating shock again, as if someone had come from behind and scared me to death.

“Yes, Dad knows all about it. We do talk ya know, Mom. It shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

“You mean you told your Dad?”

“He’s known for a while. Besides, we are your emergency numbers, remember? I told you to do that for me. Mitch got them from your cell phone. We had you flown back home. Don’t you remember that?”

“No, I don’t. I don’t remember. Jeremy, I’m scared.” My voice trembled, and I felt ashamed about what transpired. I should have listened. The regret poured through me like hot liquid, and that rushing feeling was coming back again.

“Listen, Mom. You’re safe now. Just concentrate on getting better, and take your meds!”

“Yes, and from now on too.”

“Not just when you feel like it.”

“How did you…”

“I know, Mom. I live with it every day.”

“I’m so sorry, Jeremy. Will you ever forgive me?”

* * * *

That day and the following days, I was to go to group therapy. If I didn’t, I would have to stay longer, so I had to participate, and if I didn’t adhere to the rules, I might never see the outside world again.

Group therapy started in the dayroom, and the majority of people were sitting down in the center of the room. The carpet had dizzy designs of browns and burnt oranges and gave me an uneasy feeling. The thick glass windows with heavily screened-in frames made it difficult to see outside, yet I could see everything and yearned to be out there. I wanted to feel the cool brush of air against my face, and I missed the pine smells and the lake near my home. Just knowing I had to stay for days, maybe weeks, gave me a feeling of despair. I didn’t want to be there.

I was curious, however, to see why everyone was there. In my own little way, I wanted to relate to someone. Had anyone else gone through what I had? Who had it worse than everybody else and, most importantly, how long was I going to stay there?

Everyone was to introduce themselves and explain briefly why or how they came into the hospital.

After the social worker and counselor on duty informed us what to do, the session began around the room with a fortyish, tall, gray-haired man.

“Hi, I’m Dave. I have O.C.D. and tried to kill myself.” He was straightforward and clear in his speech and seemed calm, like he’d been there a while and was stable again. “I have two days left before discharge, and I am looking forward to getting back on my feet.”

The counselor mentioned that if anyone did not want to stay then they certainly didn’t have to, but it was mandatory to at least state your name and try to listen in on the groups.

“Hi, I’m Sherry.” The woman hesitated a little as she shifted in her seat. She had street clothes on and must have been a resident for a while.

“Sherry, would you like to say more?” the counselor asked.

She glared out the window at first, and then turned to him. “No.”

After a long silence, the counselor motioned to the next person to speak. He was a short, middle-aged Mexican man. “Hi, I’m Juan. I am clinically depressed and have thoughts of suicide.”

I thought of Dean again and how he told me he was diagnosed clinically depressed. Had Dean felt that way recently? Was that why he was acting so horribly odd that day he came to visit me?

The awkwardly thin lady with hair chopped short was next, but she feverishly shook her head, so the counselor held his hand up in my direction. Before I could introduce myself, the thin girl shouted, “I need my insulin!”

“No worries, Mary, all right?” the counselor said to her. “Just ask one of the nurses.”

The counselor went on. “Just as a reminder to everyone, the nurses will be giving out your medications shortly after group. You will be assured that if you need anything, the nurses and staff on duty will be glad to help. Okay, may we continue?” He gestured to me again.

I nervously started to stumble out words. “Umm…I’m Katherine. Well, Kat is fine. It’s my nickname.” I stopped to think how awful I sounded. All the thoughts in my mind were scattered pieces of dream and reality, and I didn’t know which was which. I didn’t know why I was there and could only think of one possible answer—the most important of all. “I stopped taking my meds.”

“Good, thank you for sharing that with us,” the counselor said. “Nancy? Would you like to go next?” She nodded.

“I pray to God everyday, and everyday He blesses us,” Nancy said.

I tuned her out like I did at breakfast. As she rambled on about what she was thankful for, I looked out the windows. I thought how thankful I was to have John. It was a miracle I was still alive.

I vaguely remembered the balcony incident, but sparks kept flashing in my mind. The haunting mental pictures caused me to block a lot of it out. After Mitch pulled me inside, I lost my memory. My fleeting thoughts of being in the airplane back home and the sounds of cheering voices were all mixed in with everything else. I didn’t remember ever seeing John during all this time at all; was he there for the flight? Where was Mitch during all this?

I still had so many unanswered questions.

Nancy kept talking about God as my thoughts were skipping around. Then the group was able to talk freely after the introductions and listening to Nancy’s long God-rant.

I listened to the other patients and what they had to say. Dave rambled on about his O.C.D. habits after Juan explained how he’d tried to commit suicide. They all wanted to hurt themselves in some way or another, just like I did.

I, too, felt misplaced and alone—mainly due to the same thing; caring for others, so much so to the point you don’t take care of yourself. You fall off track on a daily and regular basis, and you begin to skip showers, meals and most of all, medications. Everyone seemed to fall into the same predicament. I wasn’t the only one.

That was what the hospital had to offer—healthy, scheduled habits. We had to relearn how to be good to ourselves and maintain a hearty balance in our daily lifestyle.

After breakfast and morning group therapy, lunch was at noon and dinner at 5:00 p.m., with more group therapy in between. Visiting hours were from 6:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m., and then one last wrap-up meeting at night before bedtime. Most importantly, medications were every day, two and three times a day. Each of us lined up like we were little school kids again, and this process would occur after all meals. Everyone had their own nurse.

I complied with every rule, including seeing the doctor every day.

I ranted away to him about why I desperately needed to get out, how I needed to see Jeremy again, how I needed to see my mom. I told him Jeremy was unable to visit because he was underage.

One day, as we lined up for our meds, the payphone in the hall rang.

“Katherine, it’s for you.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Hello?”

“Hello, Kat, it’s me; John. How are you?”

I was so glad to hear from him but ashamed at the same time. I didn’t know what to say at first, so I let him do the talking.

“Still here? We need to sort some things out.”

“Yeah, I’m still here…unfortunately.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be, if you were taking your meds every day. How many times do we have to go through this?” The sternness in his voice cut like knives.

“Can I see you?”

“I’m sorry I can’t visit you right now, Kat. I’m not in Wisconsin at the moment. I’m away on business.”

“Away on business? God, what horrible timing.”

“So, I talked to the doctor. Do you remember anything at all?”

“Yes, here and there.”

“Who’s this Mitch guy?”

“Just a friend.”

“Seems more than a friend if you’re willing to go to the Bahamas with him.”

Instantly, I got defensive. I didn’t like to be interrogated, especially since we now had lives of our own, so I changed the conversation. “How’s Natalie?”

“Natalie is not important right now. What’s important is that you get better.”

All I heard was “Natalie is not important right now.” In my mind, I saw a glimmer of hope.

“Natalie’s not important to you, John? She’s only your fiancée.”

“No, so how did you get those bruises on your arms?”

A flash of Mitch throwing me onto the floor and trying to wake me entered my mind. I don’t know how, but I just thought of it. Some things were finally coming back to me.

“I’m not sure. I haven’t heard from Mitch since the episode occurred.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Good old Mitch, who is married too by the way. How could you let yourself get involved with that?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Of course, like he doesn’t want this to leak out to his wife either. You can forget about him now. From how it sounds, he wants nothing to do with this at all. You’re lucky he even called me. Christ, he could have left you there. Katherine, listen to me…” his voice trailed off.

Before John could go on, the nurse called out, “Group meeting in five minutes.”

“John, I have to go. I do want to listen to you, I really do. We’ll talk about this later. I can explain. Please call me again, okay?”

“Well you’re not always around, or I can’t always get through to the receptionist.” After a slight pause, he went on to say, “However, I will keep in contact. I’ll make sure of that. I’m taking care of everything, just relax. Jeremy is fine, so get some rest. I talked to Mr. Ming too. We all just want you to get better.”