Chapter 5: Rule 48 and Unwanted Attention

I began writing.  I was at least allowed pen and paper, and my amazing, supportive, don't-know-what-I'd-do-without-him husband brought me two large legal pads.  I used one to write what they asked me to - about Coraline and how her death affected me - and the other to write what you've been reading here.  It kept me busy and gave me something to focus on.  I've always been able to release emotions through writing, so it was a great tool in working through some of my issues.  The meds kicked in quickly and I began to see solutions to my perceived problems, in place of the bottomless pit I previously envisioned.  Things were improving, aside from my continued stay in the "facility."

In addition to all the new “friends” I was making in the doctors and nurses, I gradually grew to know my fellow bunk buddies. There was Natalia, my alcoholic Russian roommate who had zero filter, referred to medication as "cuckoo pills" and whose drink of choice was hand sanitizer.  We had a community meeting one evening going over items not permitted in rooms when she decided to speak up – “and no electronic battery operated devices!”  (imagine Natasha from Rocky & Bullwinkle saying that, that’s exactly what it sounded like).  When the orderly confirmed her statement, she elaborated.

Natalia:   Is just like prison.  Rule 48.

(Several blank stares.)

Orderly:    What is rule 48?

Natalia:   Rule 48?  Is masturbation.

Cue hysterical laughter from most of the room.  But she was totally 100% serious.  Did I mention she was my ROOMMATE!?!

I met several other characters, some of whom became friends.  One guy shared an incident in which he freaked out a dealer riding in his car giving them directions, so they made the guy walk beside the car while they drove 2 mph in the snow.  There was Jaime, there to detox with the explanation “I took one thing to come down off another thing and it just snowballed – I wasn’t trying to hurt myself.”  She was actually very sweet.  They didn’t want her getting out of her bed at the hospital, but she slipped out of the restraints so they put a buzzer on her bed to notify the nurses when she got up.  After that, she bounced up and down on the bed trying to break it.

Arnold had a hearing aid and went on a 24-hour dope bender because of financial stress and his girlfriend’s medical issues.  His roommate John was in a funk because of a family death and his possible expulsion from the military upon a new bipolar diagnosis.  Turns out Tyrone Biggums has 4 kids and THIRTEEN grandkids.  Whoa.  There was a leftover hippie (like a real one) wearing crocs, Lennon glasses, a bandana, board shorts and a Tommy Bahama shirt and both his head hair and facial hair in a ponytail.  I called him Chong – at least he kept the coffee (decaf only) flowing.  Gonzo (his self-given nickname) was a lumbering mass of narcissism, with the utterly obnoxious habit of looking at everyone trying to see if they had heard what he just said.  He wandered the hall slump-shouldered, like a hunchback Mystic.  So for reference:

A rather large black man (think MJD size) kept telling me I had a pretty smile.  Actually it was more like “Ay... ay, girl – I like dat smile.”  He also told me he’d like to “suck the teeth out of my head” which I think was a compliment. 

There were characters enough during the day, but at night I was completely alone with my thoughts.  And if I didn't relent to the effects of the sleepy-time trazodone, I found myself stark awake, unable to cry because roommates, and unable to do much of anything because lights out at 10 pm (and rule 48, not that I'd go there anyway).  I spent a lot of time looking up from my bed out the un-frosted portion of our room's completely sealed window, waiting to see the first signs of dawn creep over the crape myrtles, hoping to catch a glimpse of a dragonfly maybe.

It was the third day when Juno began having what I can only describe as a middle-school tantrum.  Pouting because she wasn't getting her way.  She wanted to leave (join the freaking club) and was determined to do so by any (legal) means necessary.  Which meant signing paperwork and going AMA.  Rumors floated about as to the repercussions of such a thing, that insurance wouldn't cover your stay and you'd be stuck with a massive bill.  (My entire stay here cost over eight grand for a week, FMSF2013 was a bonus upgrade apparently)  But she got her paperwork, crookedly signed it and, to the envy of the rest of us waiting for the next smoke break, skipped out the door when her pimply-faced boyfriend appeared.  It was like the strangest summer camp goodbye scene - you're happy for someone else to go, but crushed that you're still there.  I kept telling Matt on the phone "I'm going AMA, I don't care, I need to be out of here by Thursday... Friday... the weekend..."  Reluctantly, I stayed.  

Continued next chapter.