All the Things We Never Knew by Sheila Hamilton

Author:Sheila Hamilton [Hamilton, Sheila]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781580055857
Publisher: Seal Press

David was transferred to a psychiatric care facility two days after his suicide attempt. Robert Stellar, the caseworker, had obviously pulled strings to get David to a facility so quickly, and one that was so close to my work. He called me whenever there was a new piece of information, anything for me to hang on to. David would be transferred while I was at work. His sister could stay with him during the transition. I could visit when I got off. I signed off wondering if listeners had any idea how much stress I was under, whether my voice sounded broken and scared, or whether the years of training really could mask my anxiety.

I parked in a space in front of the hospital. Outside, three young skateboarders dressed in baggy shorts and T-shirts loitered around the entrance, skating, stopping, starting over. There were good stairs, handrails, and smooth cement here: A skater’s paradise, I thought to myself. The worlds outside and inside a hospital could not be more different.

The receptionist gave me directions to the psychiatric center. It took up one wing of Good Samaritan hospital. Robert had prepared me on the phone for what I’d encounter once I got to the psychiatric center: A small box on the wall with a button. You push it, and the people inside look at you through a camera to determine if you are safe. Two sets of heavily locked doors open. Then you surrender your purse, your shoes, and your belt. Only then can you see the patient.

The communal room was bare of windows, no pictures, no art anywhere. (Glass is considered dangerous.) Four tables were set up on one side of the room leading to a kitchen. There were small seating areas for families to visit, the kind of furniture you see in group homes that haven’t been updated in a decade. The room was full of the stink of Brussels sprouts just cooked, the clank of people cleaning up from dinner.

The muted, bland colors on the couches would make anyone depressed. A couple of families sat with patients—you could tell which ones were the patients because they were dressed in cotton scrubs. One man shuffled past, disoriented and mumbling. He took tiny steps, a couple of inches at a time, as if he were recovering from a stroke.

My throat tightened. I couldn’t swallow. What kind of place was this? How could someone possibly get better here? The lighting was horrible, artificial, dim. The staffers sat behind heavy shatterproof glass laced with wire. They were completely walled off from the patients. After they’d taken my purse, no one had even attempted to show me where to go, or let me see David’s bedroom, or even tell him I was here. My palms were sweating.

Breathe, breathe, and breathe, I told myself.

A young woman, who looked like she weighed about eighty-five pounds, eyed me from the corner. She was curled in a fetal position, her mouth slack-jawed when she looked my way. The scrubs hung on her emaciated body, and her feet showed bones covered by thin, dry skin.

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