Admissions Read online

  I figure Beth is almost an adult. But without makeup, she could be sitting in the cafeteria of any junior high. Her thick bangs crowd across her thin face, large pale blue eyes sink into sallow skin, a full mouth, even teeth. The neck of her state-issue clearly shows her collarbones and every bone of her upper spine.

  One by one, our group finishes lunch and heads to the exit doors to wait for the attendant with the key.

  I turn back and watch as the dining room supervisor approaches Beth. The supervisor stops across the table, splays her hands on the tabletop, leans so that her face looms over Beth’s tray. “If you don’t eat something, we will have to force feed you again.” Beth stares down at her food. I have a brief thought about saving her. Save her how? “You cannot stay in here past one o’clock. Go line up. We’ll give Dr. Cho an update on your lunch.” The supervisor yanks away the tray.

  I’m learning the routine. Every day, patients go to the dayroom after lunch for soap operas. Today, I sit next to Beth in our little circle near the windows.

  Before I have a chance to duck, the attendants are on Beth, their elbows jabbing everywhere. One on each side, they boost her up out of her chair. She screams, digs in her heels, but she’s no match for them. Her tennis shoes squeal across the floor as they drag her from the room. In a matter of two minutes, the dayroom returns to quiet. The chronics, not realizing anything has happened, stare up at the television.

  “Beth came to Hall 5 two days before you did.” Estee turns toward me. “The Lobster told her if she didn’t eat, she’d never leave this hall. They’re probably putting a tube down her nose right now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She won’t eat, she’s losing weight. She told me yesterday she weighs seventy-two pounds.”

  Patient Name: Estee R. Weisman

  DOB: 2/27/1945

  Age: 23

  Date of Admission: 9/29/68

  Diagnosis: Schizophrenia: Undifferentiated Type. In partial remission.Date: 11/24/08

  Notes: Continues to respond to treatment. Thorazine 700m. Postpone ECT.

  “I don’t know how many times she’s been to the infirmary to be force fed,” Isabel says quietly. “She told me what happens. They hold her down, stick this brown rubber tube through her nose, into her stomach. Then they pour some kind of nutritional crap down the tube. They keep her there until they’re pretty sure she won’t puke it up.”

  “Man.”

  “When she comes back, her hair is all matted, face all blotchy and red like she’s been bobbing for French fries. They expect her to eat when her throat is so raw she can’t talk. Hell, I’m no doctor, but there must be another way to get the kid to eat.” She reaches into her pocket, takes out four cigarettes, passes them to Heidi, Autumn, Estee and me. We sit smoking, staring at the TV set. But nobody watches the Soap.

  I look down at my hands. They are becoming my mother’s hands, fingers boney, crepe paper skin crinkling across the faint blue patterns beneath. I’m fading, just like Beth. Fading away to nothing. My breasts ache for Alexander. When I sit back and run my fingers over my tummy, I think about my pregnancy. For the first time, I felt like a woman. When I close my eyes, I feel Jeff’s hands gently caress my belly. His voice cooing his admiration. He said I never looked so beautiful and, for the first time, I believed him. I felt full then, expectant. Now I’m empty.

  We sit around the dayroom after dinner watching TV when Beth comes in. She wobbles slowly across the floor, hands out in front of her to fend off spinning patients.

  She sits down next to Isabel.

  “Hi, kid.” Isabel puts her arm around the back of Beth’s chair. “How you doin’?”

  “Okay.” Her voice is raspy—obviously not okay. Her face is so pale, I can see the veins running under her skin, branching out as they disappear into her hairline. Her thinning hair hangs in greasy strings along the sides of her face, and the back is snarled up in a giant rat’s nest. Beth clears her throat and swallows, her eyes on the TV. “Is that The Brady Bunch?”

  “Yeah. Marcia’s running for class president,” Autumn says. “Welcome back.”

  “It’s Popcorn Party night,” Isabel says. “Marcus Welby at eight.”

  Chapter 6

  You met with the shrink yet?” Heidi drills up her nostril with the tip of a Kleenex.

  “Dr. Cho talked to me yesterday,” I answer. I like the calm nature of Dr. Cho, who took my hand as he asked how I was feeling. When I complained about drowsiness, how I dozed in my chair, my head bobbing onto my chest without warning, he ordered my Thorazine decreased.

  “Not Cho. He’s the pill guy. Murray,” Heidi says. “Dr. Murray’s the one you talk to.”

  “She’s really nice,” Beth says.

  “It’s a gal? The psychologist?”

  I step back as the attendant raps on Dr. Murray’s door. “Patient Kilpi, Doctor.”

  “Come in.”

  The attendant takes me by the arm and brings me into the office.

  “Please sit down, Luanne. We’ll get acquainted today. I’m Dr. Murray.” She extends her hand, and I shake it. Girls don’t shake hands where I come from. The Naugahyde chair squeaks as the doctor lowers into the seat. She crosses her ankles, smoothes her long skirt.

  Dr. Murray reminds me of my aunt, hair pulled back in a chignon. Silver streaks like lightning bolts shoot through her hair. Aunt Faith would never wear those earrings though, dangly beaded ones, like hippies wear.

  “How are you feeling?” Dr. Murray smiles, the chair squawking again as she sits back in it.

  I feel like I’m holding on to a high ledge by my fingernails. “Okay, I guess.” Doctor or not, Murray can’t make me talk, force me to say the wrong thing.

  “Can you tell me how you came to be admitted to the hospital?”

  “No money.”

  “Oh?”

  “We were broke, and I tried to kill myself, so we didn’t have many options.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t belong here.”

  “Why do you feel you don’t belong here, Luanne? You tried to take your life.”

  “I…I guess that’s kind of crazy…” I look down at the thin smock bunched up between my legs. Holy Mother of God, I’m a bona fide lunatic. “Maybe it’s Hall 5. I don’t belong in Hall 5…I haven’t seen the rest of the hospital.” I squirm in my seat. Jeez, that was dumb. What did that mean? The rest of the hospital might be like a resort in the Poconos?

  “The entire far northern wing holds the seriously disturbed and high-risk patients. You will be transferred out as soon as we evaluate you and find you are ready.”

  “I’m ready now.”

  “Do you mean you no longer want to kill yourself?”

  “That’s right.” I lie. Dr. Murray seems okay, but can she be trusted?

  “I’m happy to hear that. Now we just have to follow the hospital rules. Minimum of two weeks in Hall 5, and if you continue to do well, we’ll transfer you to Hall 9.”

  Two weeks might as well be two years. My medication has been reduced, now every day ticks by one second at a time. “Okay.” I whisper. What else can I say?

  Dr. Murray flips back a sheet of paper from a file on her lap. “Nurse’s notes indicate you’ve made some friends in Hall 5?” She looks up and smiles at me. “It sometimes can be difficult to make friends in here.”

  “Five other girls don’t belong in Hall 5 either.”

  “Do you mind me asking who?”

  “Estee …Isabel, Heidi and …Beth …and Autumn.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m just getting to know them.” Maybe I shouldn’t mention names. It’s hard to read the doctor, her voice barely changes. Neither does her face. Heidi is a smart-ass, could have made Dr. Murray mad. Beth is as skinny as a beanpole and that probably doesn’t sit well either. Damn, how can I play the game when I don’t know the rules?

  “What happened, Luanne?”

  “I…my…” I’d been taught to answer to authority, a
good Catholic girl. But now a lump sticks in my throat, blocks my words. I feel my eyes fill with tears.

  “Kleenex is right there on the table.”

  “Can we talk about something else?” The doctor bushwhacked me. I blow my nose, hiding behind the tissue.

  “Tell me about yourself. You’re from Saginaw, it says.” Dr. Murray flips another page.

  “I’ve been married for five years, to Jeff. I met him when I was a freshman in high school; he’s two years older than me.” I take a deep breath, sit back in my chair.

  “How’s your marriage?”

  “Good…I thought so…I guess it’s good. We’ve been together since I was fifteen.”

  “You two grew up together.”

  “I’ve always been his best friend. He relies on me.”

  “And you rely on him?”

  “Well …yeah, I guess so.”

  “You don’t sound sure.”

  “I usually handle our problems, try to keep on top of things. I guess it never mattered…until now.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I just wish I could lean on him. That he’d be here for me. It’s not his fault, he’s just not strong.”

  “You need him now.”

  “I don’t know how I feel about him tossing me in here.”

  “You feel tossed away?”

  “Sort of.” I wipe my eyes with a balled up tissue. “I feel lost …like I’m in a bad dream…nothing seems real to me.”

  “I know, it’s very scary.”

  “What if this is a nightmare?”

  “You think this might not be real? You ending up here?”

  I can’t think. I rub my forehead trying to mold my thoughts into something that makes sense. “No, I know it’s real …maybe it’s just me…I’m not real, not the same. I can’t seem to find myself …I can’t explain it.”

  “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out together.”

  Why did I say that part about the nightmare? Is that a delusion? It sounds crazy. The medication clouds my head. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

  “Well, Luanne, a suicide attempt is a serious matter. Suicide is a permanent solution to what is undoubtedly for you, a temporary problem.”

  Temporary problem. The doctor said it—temporary. “You mean … you think I’ll get better? Some of these women …” At this point, I just shake my head.

  “Yes. You will get better. How fast is up to you, Luanne. I’m going to put you in my therapy group. And we’ll also continue to work together one-on-one. With medication and other services, you will get a comprehensive psychiatric treatment program here at the hospital. Pretty soon you will start to feel better.”

  “So, I’ll get out of here? Go back home?”

  Chapter 7

  THE OBSERVER December 21, l968

  Page 2

  CHRISTMAS PROGRAM HUGE SUCCESS

  The annual Christmas Program, held at the auditorium, was attended by over 750 patients and staff. A nativity play, Christmas carols, and a visit from Santa Claus highlighted the evening festivities. Patients loved their gift baskets of fruit and candy.

  I lean against the wall in front of the nurses’ station waiting for the others. Heidi is the first to arrive. “Snowmen and Santa Clauses and them damn paper snowflakes on the windows don’t make it Christmas,” Heidi says. “Oh hell, what’s the difference, I never liked Christmas anyway.”

  “The tree smells good.” I try to keep it positive. Heidi can go on and on about how bad things are.

  “Yeah, we can smell it, but the barricade around it kinda’ ruins the mood.”

  “A patient pulled the tree down Tuesday.”

  “That’s what I hear.”

  “I don’t think anybody’s going home for the holidays.”

  “Nope. Never any leaves from 5. Violent hall.”

  “I’m not violent,” I say.

  “Violent, psychotic, suicidal. It’s all the same to them,” Heidi says.

  “Maybe the others don’t have family close by. You know, too far to go home for Christmas.”

  “Those gals ain’t goin’ nowhere. They can’t keep their clothes on let alone go for a family Christmas.”

  Autumn and Estee walk up together. We stand silently, waiting for the nurse.

  “My god, I can’t take this. I miss my kids.” Autumn rubs her hands up and down her folded arms.

  Beth walks quickly toward us, eyes toward the nurses’ station, whispers to Autumn. “Don’t get upset, they may hold you back from group.”

  “Ladies, ready?” The attendant unlocks the door.

  “Hold up, I’m coming.” I turn to see Isabel trotting down the hall. The attendant escorts us down a long corridor to Hall 9.

  The nurse greets us. “Right this way, ladies. Same room.”

  “Nurse Judy, have you heard about any transfers for us?” Heidi asks.

  “No, honey. Not yet.”

  This is my first group meeting. I sit between Isabel and Heidi in the circle of wooden chairs. Dr. Murray hurries in, her cheeks flushed. Wispy strands have escaped from her thick braid, hundreds of tiny freckles spatter across her face, earrings sway. She takes the empty chair in the circle.

  “Whew, I’m glad I didn’t have to go outside today. It’s sixteen degrees and windy. They say the wind chill is five below zero. The tunnels are a godsend in this weather.” She pulls a pad of paper and a pen from her briefcase and settles back in her chair. Dr. Murray’s smile presses her skin into crow’s feet. “Now, who would like to start today?”

  I will someone other than me to meet the doctor’s eyes, a silent whistle to get the ball in play. Autumn crosses her legs, shifts in her seat. Obviously, nobody wants to be first, standing blind at the end of a diving board without knowing if there is water in the pool.

  Isabel always has something to say, but not today. I keep my head bowed, pick at my cuticles, glance around from the top of my eyes. Beth looks down, Heidi, too.

  I know five of the girls and Dr. Murray, but still I’m shaking inside at the thought of talking in group. But I made a promise to myself. I will say something, anything, at least one time each group session, ease into the water, wade carefully to the deep end.

  “I’ve been feeling pretty down lately. I miss my kids,” Autumn starts. “Damn.” She reaches for a tissue. Beth picks up the box, hands it to her.

  “Go ahead,” Dr. Murray says.

  “Sometimes when I think about how I ruined their lives, it just hurts so bad.” Autumn dabs at her eyes with Kleenex.

  “You ruined their lives?” Dr. Murray asks.

  “Yeah…well, yeah. They have no parents.” She sniffs. “Thank God for my mom.”

  “He was a bastard,” Isabel says.

  “I know he was, but the kids loved him.”

  “Love shouldn’t hurt,” Dr. Murray says. “You did the wrong thing, Autumn. But you were driven by desperation, years of abuse. Something happens to women who are in marriages like yours, a kind of brainwashing. Sometimes they just snap. That’s why you’re here and not in prison.”

  “If only I could believe that,” Autumn says under her breath. “Jim and my dad, two peas in a pod.” Autumn sits straighter in her chair. “All the times my dad beat my mother, called me a wetback whore. I’m nine years old and he’s yelling at my mom, saying she’s screwing the pickle pickers on the farm next door. Ornery old drunk.”

  “Your dad called you a whore?” Beth asks.

  “I can still see him looking at me, wrinkling his nose like I smelled bad. He got it in his head I was a Mexican bastard, never let me forget it.”

  “What did your mom say?” I ask.

  “Mom was totally useless. She put up with it. Thank God she’s found a little backbone now, taking care of my kids. Now that he’s dead.”

  “He died?”

  “Drank himself to death.” Pulling at the tissue, Autumn tears it into thin strips. “I hate that old man.” She wipes away tears. “And then I go and marry somebody jus
t like him.” She shakes her head. “Jim drank right from the start. He even hit me before we got married, and I married him anyway. Can you believe it?”

  “Why’d you do it?” Isabel asks. “I don’t get it.”

  “I don’t know…stupid, I guess.”

  “Have you thought about why you married an abusive alcoholic, Autumn?” Dr. Murray asks.

  “Of course! Of course I’ve thought about it. For god’s sake.”

  “And…”

  “I know this sounds really dumb, but Jim had blond hair and blue eyes.”

  “Go ahead. ”

  “I wanted to have kids with fair features …so …so I could prove to my dad I was okay. Unbelievable …I deserve what I got.”

  “All of us have unconscious directives. We can’t change something we don’t know about,” Dr. Murray says. “When you learn why you do things, then you can change them.”

  “I guess. And …this sounds crazy, too. Jim being like my dad was comfortable. I knew what to expect, and I thought I could control it. It was my normal.”

  “Yes. I understand what you’re saying,” Dr. Murray nods.

  “Sounds weird to me.” The words are off my tongue before I know it.

  “Thanks a lot, Luanne.”

  “No, not you, Autumn. I’m sorry. I never thought about how we can do things and not really know why.”

  “Yeah, like the time I put a dead cat under somebody’s windshield wipers,” Isabel says. “Hey, Doc, can I smoke?” Dr. Murray pulls a lighter from her pocket, sends it around the group. Everybody but Autumn lights up, drags on their cigarettes as if they connect to oxygen tanks.

  “You’re a bitch.” Heidi’s voice is so soft I think I’m hearing things.

  “What?” Autumn says.

  Heads swiveled toward Heidi.

  “So worried about being called a whore. Big deal. I am a whore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m a whore. What’s so hard to understand? I screwed men for money and drugs. Just shut up. Shut up about whores.” Heidi puts her Kleenex to her face, leans over her lap, cries. Nobody speaks. Dr. Murray reaches over and touches Heidi’s arm. “Heidi, do you want to talk about this?”