The Unbalancing Act (18 page)

I
t nears ten o’clock. I get ready to go meet up with Rita in a counseling room. I pull my hair back and dab on some lip gloss. Even though I am sore, especially my leg and butt, I push through with just a little limp. It’s not that bad, but I still probably look like an idiot hobbling around. I wish I had a cane. Not because I need one, but because I’ve always wanted to carry a cane. I would lean on it and twirl it and maybe decorate it up a bit. I’d feel like Master Yoda walking through the halls. But no one at Rivergate Memorial Hospital or this hell hole has offered me a cane. They are probably afraid I’ll beat someone with it. They are probably right.

I round the corner and see Jeremiah. He looks at me and shakes his head, but doesn’t say a word. Then, he takes off in the other direction. Gee, I wonder if he was trying to avoid me.  That idiot couldn’t have made it more obvious. Oh well, I’m done with him. I just need to go down about twenty more feet and I should be there. I finally make it and I see Rita sitting at an empty table. Her face lights up when I stagger in.

“Vada dear, how are you?”

“I’m great, Rita, really. I’m just inching along here.”

“I heard about your accident. I was so worried. These injuries can happen in the strangest ways. I heard a story about sleepwalking. Oh dear!” she says with a tight little grin.

“Yes, I always thought it was the sheep that were supposed to jump the fence, not the people who are counting them,” I say, trying to be funny, but I realize that it was a lame joke.

Rita chuckles and then her face turns more serious. She is wearing a blazer and one of the lapels is crooked and I really want to fix it. I would want someone to fix it for me. Should I do it? 

“Tell me. Have you been keeping track of your meals? What are you weighing in at dear?” she asks.

I haven’t kept track of anything and I have not been weighing myself. They just assume you do that here if you have an eating disorder. We are supposed to journal it. But to be honest my weight is just not on my mind right now. In fact, I have probably lost weight in the last week being here because I haven’t been snacking and I’ve been on so many meds. My pants are feeling a bit looser.

“Yes Rita, I have. I am doing great. I feel great, aside from all the stitches and welts and bruises. I feel like a million bucks. I haven’t been doing any purging and I haven’t even thought about it.”

“Well, darling, I would love to believe that is true. I see so much potential in you Vada. You know though dear-heart, we recently found vomit on your clothing.”

Oh freaking bloody hell. I was on opiates! Pain medication! Who doesn’t puke on pain medicine?

“Well, Rita,” I say, “my medicine made me sick. Wait a minute, how on earth did you find that out?

“I don’t think that is important.”

“Just tell me...How do you know there was puke on my clothes?”

“Well, if you must know, one of the staff members found a sweatshirt with vomit on it in your room and felt it was something I needed to know about. I believe this person was correct. All of our staff looks out for our patients.”

That dirty, sneaky, redneck asshole Jeremiah! What the hell is his problem?  He may be mad about me not coming out when he was there to pick me up, but he didn’t have to go and do something like that. What a turd. He must have just found it right after I left my room and ran this info to Rita. Unless...he was in my room while I was sleeping! Eww...that creeps me out!

“Rita, I can promise you that I was not making myself throw up. I don’t tolerate pain meds well. As for Jeremiah, he can stay away from me. I have a feeling he was in my room last night, and that is a violation...a security....”

“Who is Jeremiah?  Vada, you are not making sense. I don’t know anyone with that name.” Her face is truly concerned.

“Oh, he’s the janitor. I’m sorry, I just thought...”

“Vada, I don’t know who this is or why you are fraternizing with the janitorial staff, but let’s be clear. The person who shared this information was looking out for your best interests.”

“Oh freaking spare me this crap Rita! Let’s knock off the bullshit and tell me who it was.”

“Fine, it was Sheila, the new day nurse we have added to our staff. “

“That bitch!” I am almost yelling and realize I need to calm down.

“Oh my, Vada. You are so angry, dear. We need to address this.”

“No! No. I am not angry, see I am happy. I’m just defending myself from false accusations.”

“Vada, at this time I would like you to do some breathing exercises. Just calm down...in and out...in and out.”

I’m sorry. But my mother is not paying an arm and a leg for this bitch to tell me how to breathe. For heaven sake it’s already cost her two toes. In fact, I believe people start practicing breathing in utero, so this is some really messed up shit. I don’t know why I am so angry, but these people are so bass-akwards. Instead of providing a calming and healthy environment, they are just continually pissing me off. I need a Xanax. But I breathe like an idiot and do my best to swallow my craziness.

Rita looks at me and smiles. “I feel like you are letting anger get in the way of your treatment. Let’s try the breathing when you start to feel rage. Now Vada, I am going to have to ask you to step on the scale. We are focused on health, not numbers, but you have not been tracking this information and I know that because I have seen no documentation of this since you were first admitted. Let’s just hop up on the square in the corner over here, alright?”

“Sure,” I say. I walk over to the white floor scale. The digital numbers pop up and to my surprise there they are—105. Oh holy hell. For the first time in my life I am not happy that I have lost weight.

“Vada, clearly you can understand my concern.”

“Rita, look, I totally get it, okay?  But you have to understand I was getting ready to start my period when I came here. I always gain water weight around that time. I’m done now and I’m sure that explains it, plus the medicine I’ve been on hasn’t made me quite as hungry. Please believe me when I tell you this. I am not throwing up! Not on purpose!”

“Darling...”

“Don’t ‘darling’ me Rita, I am fine. I haven’t puked since that night in the bathroom, (which never happened anyways) so get over it and get my husband here to pick me up now!”

Rita throws her hands up and shakes her head. She starts writing on a clipboard and I almost lose it. Breathe, Vadie, fucking breathe. Maybe this bitch was on to something with the breathing after all.

“Vada, I want you to know where we stand. I am giving you an
opportunity
to tell me the truth right here and now. Do you realize what I am saying to you? Here is your
opportunity
.”

She says the word
opportunity
like it’s a word from a 40’s musical number.

“Well Rita, thank you for the
opportunity,
but since you don’t believe anything that I say, I am evoking my Fifth Amendment right. I can’t quite remember exactly what that means. However, I do know that it has something to do with the fact that I don’t have to talk to you anymore. So shoo fly! Don’t bother me! Go find some other troubled girl to save.”

“I think we are done for now, Vada. You may return to your room. We will see you for your evaluation at eleven thirty. Just remember, I was trying to give you a chance.”

I get up and walk out. No, I don’t walk out. I hobble out like Igor. What is Rita talking about anyways?   I’m so confused, but too pissed to think about it. I’m mad and grumpy and have an expression on my face that probably looks like I just ate a bag of shit. As I make my way down the hall, I see her coming at me. I think she’s going to charge me like a bull. She has those crazy eyes and her stringy hair is in her face. Her gray matching sweat suit has pit stains, and looks like a 70’s high school gym uniform. I close my eyes and brace myself as Bath Salts Mary comes leaping and pummels me like a linebacker. I fall to the ground and my head hits the marble floor. Oh my God ouch. The pain in my head makes my eyes hurt and I am totally disoriented. Water fills my eyes. The cut on my back feels like it’s been torn open, but I don’t feel any blood coming out. What the hell is wrong with this person?  I think she may have just tried to kill me. I’m going to play dead. If I move I could possibly get it again. I’m just going to lay here and hope someone comes to help before my face gets eaten. I bet she’s going to eat my eyes out first. So I keep them shut tight. Bath Salts Mary says nothing, but I can hear several people pulling her off of me. I know one voice is Rita, the other one Jeremiah. They have taken her off into a room and hopefully shot her crazy ass with a syringe full of chill-the-fuck-out. I open my eyes and to my surprise I see my sandwich friend; the pretty one from the group meeting, standing over me. I also see several nurses and some stunned patients staring as if they’ve never seen a girl get tackled before. The next thing I know I am in an office lying on what seems to be a hospital bed, one with the side rails and a tray.

I’m shocked to discover that my sandwich friend is holding an ice pack on my head.

“Hey you,” she says.

“What just happened?”

“It appears you may have an enemy. You were attacked by another patient and you have a pretty bad bump on your head. You are going to be fine. You don’t have any signs of a concussion, just a nasty bump.”

“Well, isn’t that just dandy!” I say. “You look familiar; I thought you were a patient.”

“Oh no. Although sometimes I feel like I could be. I’ve got four kids at home and I swear sometimes I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Oh, well, I know how that feels. Do you mind telling me what the hell that crazy bitch’s problem is?”

“Oh Vada, I think she’s protecting her territory. You see, I am a nurse practitioner. I am here for medical treatment, not mental health purposes. Most of the patients don’t know that and I tend to get an earful of gossip whether I want to hear it or not.”

“What are you saying?  Are you saying there are rumors going around?”

“Not necessarily, but I do know that Mary Weaverton has a crush on the janitor and I think she may have an inkling that he likes you.”

“That’s ridiculous!  I am married and I wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole! Eww...not only is it him, but do you know where that thing has been?  And who it has been in? Yuck.” Mary must know that he gave me a ride to the country club the other night.

“Oh I know that, and you know that. But that lady for some reason does not know that.”

“Lady, my ass!  I bet her mother was an elephant and her father was the Hunchback of Notre Dame. She is not a lady. She’s a garbage truck with legs! You seem like a normal person. I think everyone else here is nuttier than a bunch of fruitcakes. Can you please try and tell them to let me out of here?”

“I’m going to get your evaluation team. They are the ones you should be speaking with about this. I am just here to fix the boo-boos.”

She leaves the room and I sit and wait. This whole thing is absurd. Several minutes pass and she comes back in with her pretty face and tells me that I am free to head to Dr. Lipton’s office. I feel like I should be wearing a damn helmet and possibly a bullet proof vest at this point but my sandwich friend assures me that they’ve got “Miss Weaverton” in isolation. Walking down the hall, a sense of total anxiety washes over me like a torrential downpour. I am sweaty and tense and want to jump out of my skin. I know I am about to face the panel. It’s like the first day of high school. I can’t even think I am so nervous. I take my stupid deep breaths and try to fake the fear that I can feel from my head to my ass and down to my toes. I turn the corner into the big room that is set up like a dinner party. Dr. Lipton, Dr. Ames, Rita, and Amelia Peters, hospital administrator, are all seated and waiting for me, the late guest, to arrive. Everyone has a drink in front of them, coffee or water, and they all look as cozy and comfortable as if they were getting ready for their appetizers to arrive. I stumble in and take a seat in an empty chair. They are all looking very serious. Ms. Peters has on a red silk button down shirt and a charcoal pencil skirt. Her red lipstick is glistening in the recess lighting.