Day Five: Sexually Acting Out
Shocked that I actually slept last night, I walk into the dayroom and DJ and Melissa are already in a sour mood. They point out two new nurses who have made the morning absolute hell so far: one is built like a linebacker and wearing an orange jersey, and another in gray scrubs who looks like a college track athlete. DJ says that Orange Nurse woke him up today by saying she has over 20 years of experience and knows how patients need to start their morning routines. Gray Nurse made a joke about Melissa’s eating disorder and the amount of meds she needs to take. Everyone stares down at their watery oatmeal. No one is smiling. Everyone is on edge.
When Jon sits down at our table and says he’s excited to leave tomorrow, DJ snaps back. “We don’t want to hear about that. We don’t know when we’re leaving and we have enough shit to deal with, so shut the fuck up about your release date.”
Jon is clearly distressed, so after breakfast I sit next to him on the hallway floor and listen to his story. He says he feels different all the time, like he doesn’t belong; he doesn’t know how to talk to people and no one accepts him. DJ’s comments are clearly triggering feelings of isolation and rejection. I explain that DJ is in a really tough spot, and that his outburst isn’t personal. I tell Jon that he’s going to be ok and put my hand on his shin to comfort him and let him know I’m there for him.
Almost immediately, Orange Nurse is standing over us yelling, “No touching patients!”
I say, “Sorry, Jon is having a difficult morning and I’m trying to just listen and give support because he had a little argument with DJ.”
“You don’t talk to patients about other patients!” she yells.
“What are we supposed to do? No one talks to us, no one helps us. I haven’t had a therapy session, neither has Jon.”
We argue back and forth. Jon tells me to go because he doesn’t want me to get in trouble. Orange Nurse continues yelling, the veins popping out of her neck, and I attempt to appeal to the professional experience she’s been touting all morning.
“You know as a mental health professional that human touch is important to nervous system regulation. And there is no one here to listen to him.”
Orange Nurse yells, “You don’t know what’s triggering to him!”
Calvin, lingering nearby, sighs in exasperation. “This whole place is triggering to everyone!”
The nurse tells me to get up and go to my room. I say “No, I’m going to talk to my friend so he feels better.” Now she’s towering over me screaming. “GO TO YOUR ROOM!”
At this point, DJ overhears our exchange and starts striding down the hallway waving his arms. “Shut the fuck up you fat stupid bitch! You don’t know anything about us! You come in here acting like you own the place. Fuck you! Irene is a mental health professional, (I am not, but DJ’s pointing right at me and everyone is looking at me) and she’s been listening to us for the past four days. Jon has autism and I said some shit to him this morning and now he’s just venting. You can’t come in here and not know anything about us and then punish us for being people, you fucking bitch!”
Orange Nurse glowers down at me. I finally stand up. “Do you see what’s happened here? It’s reached an inflection point and it’s because of you. We were doing fine for the past four days before you came in. Everything that’s happening right now is your fault.”
Gray Nurse attempts to put an end to the situation and screams at everyone. “YOU ALL GO BACK TO YOUR ROOMS. THERE WILL BE NO MORE DISRESPECT!”
I return to my room and try to read my book but the adrenaline rush keeps me from concentrating. I hear Cathy whispering outside my door. “Irene, Irene, they’re talking about moving you and DJ!” I leave my room and huddle near the dayroom door with Peaches, Nick, DJ, Melissa, and Taylor. I ask them, “Hasn’t the vibe shifted entirely since these two new nurses came in?” Peaches says, “Hell yeah, they’re fucking bitches.” Nick nods in agreement. A BHA comes up to me and says they are moving me to the third floor and I need to grab my things.
Before getting into the elevator, I gather everyone to sing a loud, proud Happy Birthday to Brian. DJ even included the “and many more!” with jazz hands at the end.
I follow Nurse Nicole to the third floor, and before she takes me to my room she tells me, “We had to move you because you can’t be touching other patients. The nurses also said you were being sexual with DJ.” I laugh. “But wasn’t I touching Jon? You guys need to get your stories straight.”
The third floor is the exact same layout and decor as the fourth floor – nondescript nature photography on the walls, sticky stains in the hallway, sound-proof and vision-proof windows – but there’s much more kinetic energy here.
The majority of the patients on the third floor are in constant motion and seem to be experiencing delusions or hallucinations. One young lady (I later find out her name is Kayla) – gorgeous, tall, with almond-shaped eyes and curly hair – paces up and down the hallway with her fist pumping in the air, repeating the phrase, “Fuck homophobia, fuck racism and imperialism, fuck hypocrisy. Vote for me!” She looks like a model. Kennon, a tall gangly kid in a gray sweatsuit, smiles broadly and repeats “Kung Fu, Kung Fu” as he punches the air and lunges around the nurses station. Another lady (I’ll call her Trinity) contorts her body as she bounces down the hallway – hips thrust forward, knees spread in a sumo squat position, arms swaying side to side, head bobbing. She’s screaming something unintelligible about visiting hours. According to the Census on the Nurses Station whiteboard, there are 13 patients on this floor.
Some patients who are actively hallucinating prefer to stay in their rooms. One older lady in the first room nearest the Nurses Station wears blue scrubs and a yellow, almost transparent duster, like the ones surgeons wear. She’s made a head wrap out of the white boy-short underwear we’re given on our first day. She stands against a dresser, staring at the wall and writing or drawing in a composition book. Every so often she hovers in her doorway, holding the notebook open in her hand, as though she wants to show everyone what she’s written. To me it looks like a word cloud in blue crayon. The word “FAMILY” is scrawled in cursive in the center, with other illegible words and symbols around it.
Standing on the empty bed in my room, I see that the window is facing the opposite direction of my room on the fourth floor. A clear view of only the top of a gray building with bare branches scraping the roof, but no traffic from LSD. There is a lone puffy cloud in the blue sky.
A most satisfying difference is that the third floor has an entire box of markers left unattended in the dayroom. I take two markers, hide them in my pants pocket, and go to my new room to write until lunch.
After my post-lunch teeth-brushing, I head to the Nurses Station to return my toiletry basket and am shocked to see DJ milling about in the hallway.
I run up to him and say “Why are you here?”
DJ says, “They already moved me four times this morning. Got moved to two different rooms on floor two, and two different rooms here.”
“Why would they put us on the same floor?” I ask
“I don’t know, cuz they’re fuckin' stupid?” he says.
“Did you know they said that I was ‘being sexual’ with you and that’s why they moved me?” I ask.
DJ laughs, “What the fuck? You know they also sent Peaches down here, too. I guess we fully pissed off the Orange and Gray Nurses.”
I catch up with Peaches in the dayroom and we watch the Waterboy before dinner and Nurse Julia summons us. “I need to talk to my two rebels. DJ, you first.”
Nurse Julia listens to my side of the story regarding Orange Nurse and Gray Nurse and seems to understand. “It’s really all about respect,” she says. “There’s other ways that could have been handled.” She assures me that the “SAO” (sexually acting out) incident would not push back my release date.
I tell DJ I am worried that I’m behind because I haven’t had an official therapy session yet and it’s been four days already. I naively thought I would have to attend at least three in-depth sessions to discuss my condition before I’m released. DJ says, “Hell no. I’ve been here for ten days and I’ve only seen a psychiatrist twice, for like 20 minutes each time.”
It is a big day for DJ because he learns that they are releasing him to his baby mama in Indiana. She has two kids, one of whom is his. He’s set up with a job in an oilfield. I ask if he could hook me up with a job.
The environment on the third floor makes DJ, a convicted felon, nervous. The movie Obsessed is playing on the TV and we watch as Trinity stands in front of it during a fight scene between Beyonce and the white lady lead. Trinity hops from side to side, her hands balled into fists, yelling, “I finna kill you white bitch! Imma kill you white bitch!” DJ’s eyes widen. Kennon is activated by her yelling and starts galloping down the hallway. He’s doing cartwheels and sommersaults, a whirlwind of limbs.
We watch the Longest Yard for the third time and DJ and I sing along to the Creedence Clearwater Revival song “Have You Ever Seen the Rain.” A guy named Michael - tall, thin, with #2 pencil ankles - introduces himself politely and asks if he can sing with us. He’s clearly had some vocal training so after a moment DJ and I shut up and just listen to him finish the song.
DJ has been enamored with Kayla since he first saw her four hours ago. He goes up to her and asks, “What’s your name?”
“None of your fucking business,” she replies. “Leave me the fuck alone.” She turns on her heel, flips her hair, and walks away. DJ looks at me, doe-eyed, and says, “I think I’m in love.”
We hang out until 9:30pm and then DJ goes back to his room to gather his things. An Uber has been arranged to take him to the bus station, and after an 8 hour bus trip he will be dropped off in Indiana, where he’ll rejoin his baby mama and his daughter.
We can’t hug, so I bow before DJ the same way muay thai fighters do after a match. DJ laughs, “I have no clue what’s going on but I’ll join you.” He also clasps his hands together, brings them to his forehead, bends at the waist, and then we are across from each other, on our knees, our foreheads touching the floor.
“I’m gonna miss you, bro.”
“I’ll miss you homegirl,” he says.
As I go to bed I lament the poor quality shampoo, body wash, and antiperspirant that they give us. In my extremely stinky state I am hyper-aware of the smells of the BHAs and nurses. One of the nurses wears Valentino Born in Roma; another wears an Argan oil blend. I also smell some kind of Victoria’s Secret vanilla concoction that would be a nightmare on the outside but feels comforting as it wafts over me every 5 minutes. The vanilla fades as the next day shift comes in, and Ricardo the BHA wakes me up in the morning smelling like fresh laundry.
