Chapter 3: In Which Joy Encounters A LEGIT Schizo...

I was woken up before dawn, around 6 am, so a nurse could take my blood pressure and temperature.  I lay in bed for a good hour, unable to go back to sleep but unwilling to get up, until the sun came up.  My roommates never stirred from their drug-aided slumber.  I grabbed a quick shower in the 2 ft x 2 ft stall with the perma-fixed nozzle and surprisingly hot water.  A scratchy washcloth and what I swear was a cat-sized towel were my companions, along with combination shampoo/body wash because state mental health care.  Even though I knew my hair would hate me for reverting to old habits (off the "no-poo" hair cleanse) I did, cause I at least wanted to feel clean.  Oh, and no hair dryers or flat irons meant everyone was treated to my signature caught-in-a-wind-tunnel hairstyle.

I still wasn't allowed to take meals off the ward, so I resigned myself to another Styrofoam container of eggs, toast and sausage.  I'm not the type to venture out in my pajamas, so I dressed completely, but some people stayed in sleepy pants and slippers the entire day. After breakfast, a nurse gathered me from my room, explaining I would need to be evaluated by the medical doctor.  She grabbed the desk chair and told me to wait in the hall outside my door. I could see clear into the dayroom, while meds were being distributed down the hall.  Shaky Hippie was in the day room, tapping her foot off-rhythm and huddled up in a blue blanket, with a look on her face like someone was perpetually about to slap her, kinda like this:

And that was totally inaccurate - only about 67% of the people on the ward wanted to perpetually slap her.

She zeroed in and targeted me:

Shaky Hippie:   You can't be in the hallway during meds!

Me:    They told me to sit here.

Shaky Hippie:   That's a HIPAA violation!  You can't be there!

Me:    They. Told. Me. To. Sit. Here.

Shaky Hippie:   Oh, so you just do everything your told?!?

Me:    Generally, yes. (I wasn't in the mood for bitches bein' all crazy at 9 am)

Shaky Hippie:   Well, aren't you a medical student?

Me:    Ummm... no.

Shaky Hippie:     If you're a medical student, then you should know better!  That's a HIPAA violation!

Me:    Um, I'm not.  Soooo.... yeah.

I was wrong - she wasn't a nice Hippie - she was a rigid and uptight bitch suffering from paranoid schizophrenia, hereinafter referred to as Mary.  A few more people went in and out of the day room, but it wasn't long before she started up again...

Mary:    Don't you have any respect for anyone but yourself???

Me:     (just ignore her, say nothing)
Mary:    You have to be told like a child?!?  You should know better - you're a medical student!

I continued to ignore her, thinking that maybe "medical student" was her own terminology for her fellow "inmates".  Thankfully I was called to the doctor and escaped her line of sight/wrath for the moment.

The medical doc looked at me a bit incredulously as he ran down the list of physical ailments I replied "nay" to.  Apparently, if I'm in perfectly healthy physical condition, mentally I should be fine as well. Because science or something.

My shrink wasn't much better:

Doc:  I think we're going to keep you here for a few days, just to see how you're feeling.
Me:  Do I have a choice?
Doc:  (Double-speak peppered with medical terminology that doesn't answer the question).
Me:  Thanks, you've been helpful.  Bt-dubs, can I eat in the cafeteria?
Doc:  Oh, uh... we'll see.
Me:  Again, super helpful. I'm gonna go now.

Everyone was forced to attend "group" therapy sessions, in which most of those conducting didn't care if you showed up and participated, or slept through the entire damn thing.  During this time, the "dorms" were locked, with one exception for bathroom purposes.  I'll dive into those sessions in the next few chapters.