Story by Jim Smith. Art by Raoul Pascual
Prologue
It is my intention to help readers to understand the plight of the poor, the homeless and the ‘mentally ill.’ With special attention; never showing your power over another with bullying. The people in the article are real, but their names are fictitious.
Color this cathartic: It is my story which will never change.
CHAPTER THREE
When I was wheeled into Unit Two, I was stunned to see a patient wandering down the hallway, whimpering, “‘We are all DEAD!” It reminded me of the hopeless, shrieking women in Siberia, which Dostoevsky wrote about in The Brothers Karamazov.
One of the ambulance drivers said, relax; be happy I was not in Unit One; yesterday a patient had stabbed his eye with the blunt end of a crayon.
After I checked into the main office, I was led into a room where there were two beds, basically foam pads, resting on firm plastic foundations, with just one short blanket and a pillowcase with a flat pillow. Every 15 minutes, a nurse flashed a commuter light on us, as we were all on a modern-day equivalent of a suicide watch.
I was lucky with my cellmate, Jerry. He seemed more like a polite boy of 20, as opposed to an adult male. His face was marked with burns. Why? You never ask, only listen. His speaking style was often erratic, but you could always feel the depth of forgiveness and kindness in his verse. He never left his covers, only constantly apologizing that he was keeping me awake.
It would take much effort by nurses and assistants to get him to leave the covers of his bed, just so that he may eat in the main dining room. As a veteran of the dining room, I understood his reluctance.
I got to know him better two nights earlier. It was a usual night while I struggled to sleep, but the 15-minute suicide lights would not allow me to. One of the patients had secretly given me a hard copy of the Old Testament. But why secretly? It was not the content; the Old Testament cover had sharp edges, which could be used as a tool for violence.
I was raised as a New Testament Christian and wanted to learn more about our Hebrew God’s Commandments to Moses, 6,000 years ago. But there was no way I was going to disturb my roommate with harsh overhead lights. So, I did my best to sleep.
My first night, I woke up on the floor, surrounded by nurses with cell phone flashlights. I had had a back operation a year before, which damaged it more. At this point, though it hardly mattered, I was given a ‘walker’ to use.
The next evening, I entered the adjoining bedroom. The room was dark and the floor was wet. My roommate wept under the covers and apologized profusely: he had clogged up the toilet with vomiting, feces, and toilet tissue. Like me, he was given strong prescription medication to be calm and avoid outbursts. They were difficult to digest.
I complained to Norman, the head nurse, that the toilet must be fixed. I was informed that plumbing was not part of his job description. On the next shift, two hours later, a powerful looking man of Sudanese origin, unclogged the toilet.
Later, I left my room and asked Norman if I could sit outside in the community room to read where there was light. I was harshly ordered to return to my cell. But I pleaded that turning on the light would upset my roommate. Yet, his answer was firm: “READ IN THE BATHROOM!”
Norman said, I should sit in the starkly lit bathroom, with a lone sink and a toilet without a seat. There was a half-padded foam door, and another half foam door at a shower staff; all eyes must be kept on us.
[A cartoon of a person reading a book AI-generated content may be incorrect.]
He and the other nurse laughed as I reluctantly entered the bathroom, I removed the flimsy padded shower door, sat down on it and read the Old Testament under the harsh bathroom light. I’ve never been particularly religious and will never be regarded as a philosopher, but the light did illuminate the verses.
But, a few hours later, a kind Nigerian American nurse entered my bathroom and was appalled to see me sitting on the floor, reading. I explained to him; I was only following the protocol of the previous Anglo American male nurses.
He replied, he is now in charge of this shift, gently helped me to my feet, and led me to the main community room where there was light, crafts, games, TV, etc. I said I only wanted to read. And a few minutes later he brought me a sandwich, chips and punch. May God Bless Him.
Thanksgiving
I met with the head psychiatrist on the eve of Thanksgiving. Once again, I explained to him that Laura’s brother-in-law, Joshua, was cyberbullying her, by posting threatening photographs of himself half-naked on her FB page.
The head psychiatrist then contacted Laura, who explained it was true. He read my file which noted I was good for patient’s morale, never missing any of the communal events: meals, stretching, craft classes, etc. How to deal with stress in the most edifying way? Relax, assess the situation and remember that patience is a virtue (I think Ben Franklin said that).
The head psychiatrist determined that I could depart, to enjoy Thanksgiving with family and friends. But I decided to stay for a few more days to see if I could help the other patients. After the cyberbullying of Laura’s brother-in-law, Joshua, could handle almost anything. He was pleased to hear that I had encouraged eight patients to write about their experiences on the Traveling Boy website.
Laura never missed a daily visitation – covertly bringing in fresh clothes, food and flowers hidden in books. It’s better to give than receive – and I continued with that mandate, giving three stems of carnations to an underappreciated janitor and then to a young woman of 20 years. They both received the gift with tears, grace, and gratitude.
A Communion among patients
Chuck, one of the veteran patients proved to be my role model. The nurses wanted him to be gone because he was always standing up for patients’ rights, annoying the mandate that some of the nurses followed. I sensed that (either due to large numbers or too much work) the head psychiatrist was a little out of contact with what was happening in the three units.
Earlier, Chuck surprised me. He had noticed that my hospital issued socks were too small for me. He presented me with a new pair of Columbia brand socks, his wife, like Laura, had secretly smuggled in during visiting hours.
When meals were finished in the dining room, he would covertly smuggle uneaten containers of food and bring them to the community room for those who needed more to eat.
Thank you, Chuck. You are among the ones who inspired me to write this article.
When Chuck was to be released, he would intentionally write something dastardly on the form, implying he needed to stay. He once joked that once he wrote that he wanted to harm one of the bullying nurses.
Larry, my roommate, eventually started to join us in the community room, a high point was simply watching him at the main community table playing a wordless game with another patient of a different race who rarely spoke either. It was heartwarming to watch them.
When a new patient would approach me, a frequent question was: “What did you think of me when we first met?” They we so emotionally damaged they often didn’t know who they were. Once, while lying in bed, I felt that way – wondering if I was living in a reality or trapped into a nightmare – a nightmare where Laura was not cyberbullied by the brother-in-law, Joshua. I thought I had proof, but the photo was pulled out by FB administrators.
One new patient spent his time murmuring down the hallway that Satan was making him hate Jesus. Another man, who was kind and sensitive, tried to kill himself because his girlfriend had dumped him due to his timidity, preferring a ruthless (bullying) macho man.
Alex, a tall patient, asked me what I thought of him. The truth was easy: he was strong, handsome, and articulate. He had a pronounced intellectual quality. Later, I learned he was an artist. Soon, he was championing and protecting sensitive patients in our unit.
This led us to Christina, a petite and artistic young lady of twenty. She was one of the two people; Laura and I had given secret stems of carnations. I had assumed she was a victim of another word I dislike as much as bullying: misogyny. Later, during another visit, she gave Laura a Crayola drawing of her.
Chuck, Alex and the rest of us became her protectors when someone tried to bully or issue power over her.
Continue to Chapter Four
