I dodged a phone call tonight (caller id -- blessing or curse?) from a gal who was my roommate during my last hospitalization in November. She didn't leave a message and I don't know if I should call her back. She, Jen, is a very sweet girl who is schizophrenic and a cutter. Jen was the perfect roommate and we promised to keep in touch after our release. I've talked to her once since then.
Like me, Jen has a *true* support system consisting of one or two people so I'm pretty sure she is reaching out for help. I just don't know if I can handle the weight of her problems on top of my own. I am really conflicted as to what I should do.
Hospitalizations are a cross between humbling and humiliating. On the one hand, you're all there for basically the same reason -- mental health care. On the other hand there is no privacy and as hard as the staff tries, they are given no choice but to leave you with little dignity.
I have met some pretty interesting people during my inpatient stays. I have had roommates from hell and have met people who have much bigger problems, in my warped view, compared to my own. Like Jen. Then there are other patients who are simply frightening.
Jen is 30-ish, a newlywed and childless. She hears voices that tell her to inflict gaping wounds on her arms. The voices have been trying to kill her for a long time now and for whatever reason, or in the grand scheme of things, she has survived. She's a very pretty, small woman and wears her hair in a 20's style bob. Without a blowdryer or curling iron she managed to keep her hair looking neat and tucked under in the bob kind of way. I would tease her about that. Her complexion is very pale and her hair is coal black -- a loud contrast to her soft-spoken demeanor. I'm sure it was due in part to the cocktail of drugs she was on; her speech was slow and her movements slight. She slept a lot.
Her husband was there at every available visitation and they would sit face to face kind of wrapped around each other whispering in the others ear. Just like my husband and me.
Jen and I became a team -- we ate together, sat next to each other in group and kept the other company when we couldn't sleep. I gently leaned on her and she leaned on me. We were in it together. Flustered with the ho-hum way of things in the "art" therapy group, Jen decided to liven things up by drawing a woman's naked leg with sperm en route to the vagina. She stated this plainly, loud and clear. She wasn't ashamed or shy of her artwork and the room burst out laughing. Our teachers -- all nursing interns from Wayne State in Detroit -- were visibly flustered by all of this and rendered speechless. Jen and I whooped and hollered all the way back to our room and Jen gave me the picture to keep. My picture was sedate compared to hers, I drew the sailboat my husband and I will be retiring on.
Like me, Jen has a *true* support system consisting of one or two people so I'm pretty sure she is reaching out for help. I just don't know if I can handle the weight of her problems on top of my own. I am really conflicted as to what I should do.
Hospitalizations are a cross between humbling and humiliating. On the one hand, you're all there for basically the same reason -- mental health care. On the other hand there is no privacy and as hard as the staff tries, they are given no choice but to leave you with little dignity.
I have met some pretty interesting people during my inpatient stays. I have had roommates from hell and have met people who have much bigger problems, in my warped view, compared to my own. Like Jen. Then there are other patients who are simply frightening.
Jen is 30-ish, a newlywed and childless. She hears voices that tell her to inflict gaping wounds on her arms. The voices have been trying to kill her for a long time now and for whatever reason, or in the grand scheme of things, she has survived. She's a very pretty, small woman and wears her hair in a 20's style bob. Without a blowdryer or curling iron she managed to keep her hair looking neat and tucked under in the bob kind of way. I would tease her about that. Her complexion is very pale and her hair is coal black -- a loud contrast to her soft-spoken demeanor. I'm sure it was due in part to the cocktail of drugs she was on; her speech was slow and her movements slight. She slept a lot.
Her husband was there at every available visitation and they would sit face to face kind of wrapped around each other whispering in the others ear. Just like my husband and me.
Jen and I became a team -- we ate together, sat next to each other in group and kept the other company when we couldn't sleep. I gently leaned on her and she leaned on me. We were in it together. Flustered with the ho-hum way of things in the "art" therapy group, Jen decided to liven things up by drawing a woman's naked leg with sperm en route to the vagina. She stated this plainly, loud and clear. She wasn't ashamed or shy of her artwork and the room burst out laughing. Our teachers -- all nursing interns from Wayne State in Detroit -- were visibly flustered by all of this and rendered speechless. Jen and I whooped and hollered all the way back to our room and Jen gave me the picture to keep. My picture was sedate compared to hers, I drew the sailboat my husband and I will be retiring on.
2 comments:
I make a mistake in asking about vegas 2. What I really meant was vegus 1. Sorry.
Slept until 11am today and if it wasn't for my pill time, I'm sure I would of stayed there a lot longer. Now to shower and get dressed is a big chore. If my husband wasn't home, I would be in bed and when I got up I would just drag myself and try to do all these necessary things.
Anyway, what did happen to vegas 1?
VNS Part 1 is at the bottom of the page. I'm feeling like a hermit today, too.
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