asylum part one
Thursday -- 12 December, 1991 -- 10am
I'm lying in a hospital bed--again.
But this time it's my request. I was forced to demand it last night after I crashed and injured my legs and arm (left). The ambulance brought me to ER. After they x-rayed me they wanted to send me home, but I wouldn't let them. So they checked me into the hospital and I've been here since last night.
Yesterday evening we drank Guinness and champagne--a dangerous combination--with Michael and Jason--another dangerous combination. We went to Annie's herbology class after that. The champagne was my request, so I can only blame this injury on myself. We left the class and Michael and Jason drove to Ocean Palace where I planned to meet them for dinner. But a funny thing happened on the way to the restaurant. I hit a curb on St. George street and wrapped my wheelchair around a tree, so to speak. Someone helped me back into my chair and I went back to the Co-op, where the herbology class had been held. Annie was still there and she called the ambulance and they brought me here.
So here I am in yet another hospital bed. I'm waiting for the doctor--who I have never met--to come look at my arm. Last night in ER all they did was x-ray me and put my arm in a sling.
So I hope the doctor is good and I wonder what he will do to my arm? Set it? Put a cast on it?
I tried to call my parents earlier this morning to let them know what's going on, but got no answer. I'll call them later, after the doctor comes and sees me.
I guess I've got to decide what to do with my helpless self now until my arm heals. It will probably take six to eight weeks. Until then I will need help transferring myself from and to bed and the shower and the toilet. That's the reason I wanted to be in the hospital. I can get all those things done here.
Probably I will ultimately end up going to my mom and dad's and having them take care of me. I would rather stay in St. Augustine, but I don't know if I can get Medicaid to pay for an attendant for me. Probably not.
My major worry is for Sade, my cat. I hope she will be OK without me. Michael said he will feed her for me. I just hope she is there when I finally get back home.
I hope I can get an attendant so I can stay here in St. Augustine, but I probably won't be able to, so I guess I should start planning on going to Mom and Dad's. What a wonderful holiday season this will be.... I'm sure they will want me to come to their house to recuperate. I've never even been to their current home. Maybe I can take Sade with me if I do go.
Thursday -- 12 December, 1991 -- 12pm
I've just been sitting here in bed staring into space for the past few hours, thinking and wondering what's going to happen to me for the next few weeks. All my plans will have to be changed. I hope I will be well enough by next month to do my volunteer stuff at FSDB.
As I sit here in bed staring into space my thoughts keep returning to memories of Maud, my friend who died from AIDS, and his latter days which were spent in the hospital. He hated it.
I don't know why, but I am almost enjoying being here, dealing with the doctors and nurses, etc. It's been a major part of my life and I have become very efficient at being a hospital patient. I almost feel comfortable here. I don't really want to leave. Here I don't have to face those day-to-day real-life situations. Everyone just takes care of me here and I have no responsibilities.
But I miss my cat.
Being injured is such a good exercise to be nonproductive. I'm almost happy to be in this situation. I wonder how long it will be before I start getting bored or depressed. I don't really feel bored or depressed right now, and I haven't since I hurt myself last night. Am I wierd or what?
Friday -- 13 December, 1991
Day two.... I'm still in the hospital in St. Augustine.
I waited all day for the doctor to ccme and see me yesterday. He finally showed up at 4:00 and told me that I wasn't really hurt that bad. He made this diagnosis without even seeing or touching me. He never examined me. He told me he was doing me a special favor by letting me stay in the hospital for all of yesterday. I pleaded with him to at least let me stay one more night. He said OK, but I was to be discharged in the AM. He told me I should go to Shands for further treatment and I agreed and reminded him that's what I've been requesting since I got here. He said I would have to arrange my own transportation to Shands Hospital. I was so dazed by that suggestion that I said OK. But later I realized that I should be transported to Shands via his arrangements and the hospital's facilities. I decided this after everyone that could help me was gone from the hospital for the day. So I just sat here in bed and stewed about it all night. This morning I woke up and started making demands for transportation and requesting another doctor. A social worker came to see me immediately this morning and began making arrangements for my transport.
So now I'm waiting for news about what's going to happen next. I'm much more in control of things today because I'm coming out of my dazed state that I ws in yesterday--the state caused by injury and ignorant medical people.
Michael, Adam, Alison, Jenna, Veronico and Danita all came to see me yesterday. Michael said he will take care of my cat for me, while I'm gone. He stayed at my house last night--to keep her company?
I was very depressed last night becausee I didn't know what was going to happen. But I feel a little better now because the social worker seems to be on my side and is trying to arrange things for me. Now all I have to do is wait.
Friday -- 13 December, 1991 -- 1230pm
Mercury must still be in retrograde. Nobody seems to be able to communicate with anybody. People are working here to get me transferred to Shands via ambulance but the doctor (Gearen) at Shands is out--to lunch--along with everyone else.
So it looks like I get to stay here in this hospital bed for at least another day. I'm pushing the system to the limit. I may die in the process, but as I get more and more involved it becomes more and more interesting. It's like a game and I am the piece. I am a buck and everyone wants to pass me.
I now am officially without a consulting doctor. Dr. Bishai washed his hands of me at noon. I am now an indigent patient in the care of bewildered social workers. As they become more bewildered I become more in control of this absurd situation.
I'm now staying in the hospital under no doctor's care. However, this is not really any different than before. I was always the one who made the suggestions and diagnoses. The waiting game continues.
Saturday -- 14 December, 1991 -- 9:20am
A new doctor, Dr. Charles, came to see me yesterday evening. He is a man in his forties and actually acted amicable. He seems intelligent and willing to work with me. He was like a breath of fresh air. He took me on as his patient and OK'd my request for stronger pain medication--Tylox. So now I'm at least able to be drugged and more sedate, and in less pain.
Dr. Charles looks like he will be relatively easy to work with. He examined me and looked at my x-rays. He said my arm is OK and doesn't need to be set. It's a straight break. All I have to do is wait for it to heal. My legs are sore also. He said he didn't see any fractures but didn't insist they weren't fractured anyway. He listened to me and understood that they might be. But it doesn't matter, he gave me pain meds and that's all I need. My legs aren't hurt as bad as my arm.
I am still trying to arrange transportation to Shands Hospital, but it probably won't happen till Monday. That's OK. I'm content to stay right here. The hospital assured me that they won't kick me out and they are taking decent care of me.
I'm very depressed that my arm is hurt. I can't do anything in the way of movement--like in and out of my wheelchair, or the shower or the toilet. My friends here are all wonderful. Someone comes to see me every day. Michael has been bringing me miso soup. I ultimately will go to my parents and I'm dreading that very much. I don't want to live with my parents. I love them very much, but they are so different in their lifestyles from me. I would almost rather stay in a nursing home. That would be a new and interesting experience for me, and I would be able to stay here in St. Augustine. But I doubt if that will happen.
I have a feeling that this is going to be a long two months.
Sunday -- 15 December, 1991 -- 11am
Mom called last night and we talked, trying to make plans for what I'm going to do and where I'm going to go for the next few weeks. I love my family, especially my parents, so much.
They want me to come to their home and stay. They want me to be there for x-mas so we can be together for the holidays. I despise the holiday season. It's such a miserable time. People are always so depressed during the holidays because they can't seem to ever to be able to perform the traditional x-mas rituals up their expectations. They always fall into the same traps that most of today's society falls into. They don't have enough money to buy everyone thousands of gifts, etc. and they feel inadequate, etc. So they get depressed and the feeling spreads from relative to relative and no one is happy, but everyone denies this and pretends to be happy. It's such a hypocritical season. That's why I hate it. I would rather not be around relatives at the time. I would rather be alone.
Dr. Charles just came in and told me he could help me get set up in a care facility, like a nursing home or something, for a few weeks. Believe it or not, that sounds like so much fun to me! I wouldn't have to be involved in all those silly family situations. I would be in an environment where personal care is always available to me, provided by professionals, and I would be here in St. Augustine, where I feel comfortable. I would be around my friends and able to communicate with the world I'm familiar with and the nursing home or whatever, would be just like living in a hotel, except it would be free (paid for by Medicaid). It would give me lots to write about and give me much inspiration, I think. The most important thing is that it would be something new. If I go to my parents' it will be the same old thing that I do every time I go home to recuperate--boredom.
But I don't want to hurt my parents' feelings. I love them. I don't want them to feel like I don't appreciate their help and love. Because I do appreciate it. But I don't enjoy the normal human lifestyle. I don't like the way they eat, live or think. WASP-oriented lifestyles fall into all those traps of self-hate, depression, paranoia, fear and stress.
These are all things I need to avoid in order to heal my broken bones and to keep a level head. I need solitude, respect and understanding for the way I am. If I go to my parents' I will have to be a hypocrite and pretend that I am enjoying myself when I'm really not. Normal people are always having problems dealing with reality. They are too depressing. Why should I move into an environment like that? I don't want to hurt their feelings. I love them. But I don't want to put myself into the atmosphere of tension and anxiety and paranoia for a period of weeks. I don't want to go stay with them. I want to go to a care facility and have a good time.
This morning Dr. Charles told me that he would be happy to send me to Shands in Gainesville, but they could only do for me what is being done here --nothing. He suggested a nursing home, until I get better and I agree--as a matter of fact it sounds really exciting to me. If I don't go to Shands I don't have to worry about the transportation there or the arrangements after I get there or anything. I can just arrange a simple transport from here to a local nursing home and be able to go anywhere anytime I want locally and I will have my friends here and I will be able to do most things I would at home, like pay bills, check mail, write, be sociable, etc. If I go to my parents' it will be total isolation. They live in the country, away from everything, just like they always have. I would be stranded in their home--a prisoner. I've got to get the courage to tell them all this. They will just have to deal with it. I hope it doesn't hurt them. I love them so much. I don't want to hurt them--but I don't want to suffer either.
I realize now that this is the source of all my anxiety and frustration. I feel so much better about my situation now. Now I realize that I must look after myself first. I should do what I think is best.
Sunday -- 15 December, 1991 -- 8:20pm
Today has been a good day as far as getting things worked out in my mind, regaining control, and getting myself back to a base of stabilization. It's the fourth day here--stabilization day. After Dr. Charles came and talked to me I got many things clear in my mind of what I wanted to do as far as the next few weeks. I got the problem of staying with my parents worked out as the previous pages illustrated. Michael and Jason and Chris Robin and Alison came to see me this afternoon and we had a great visit. We talked a lot about what was happening and I discussed my options with them and they helped me get my thoughts even more clear.
After they left, Mom called and I told her that I had four options of what I could do. I told her I could:
1) go to Shands and
2) later go to her house,
3) get a helper like Michael or an attendant to stay with me at my house, or 4) go to a nursing home here, which is a suggestion Dr. Charles suggested, and also something I had thought about before.
I let Mom knoow that option four was probably the one that I would choose and I would make my decision tomorrow after getting the social worker's help and advice from here tomorrow. Mom seemed slightly dissapointed that I didn't want to go to her house, but respected my decision. After that conversation, I felt much better and very relieved to have discussed it with her.
Then I started thinking about the Tarot reading I did a couple of days ago. It was very educational and helpful.
The first card was the Ace of Swords. The best name of this card is Mental Focus. It means that this reading is one that will help me clear my thoughts and ultimately regain control of my environment, both internally and externally, much more than how I have been controlling myself recently. This card reflects my soul, my essential self, as a person who is intellectually centered and relies on his mental and logical abilities in order to cut through all the chaos that normally surrounds me. This is the beginning of my understanding of the situations I am confronted with at this time in my life.
The second card was the Knight of Cups. I used the Thoth deck, where knights are actually the kings. The Knight of Cups in this position represents a person who is in control of his emotions, which are very high right now, but very evident in his physical actions. This is indeed a very hard time for me and my physical being, my body, because I am injured and nearly helpless. But I took control of my emotions instead of losing my cool, and worked out my problems, or at least I'm working on them in a logical and cool manner. But the problems I am against now, like family, etc., are very emotional and a lot to deal with. But I am in control, like the knight, and I will ultimately work things out to the best for me and others. In other words, it's a difficult and emotional situation, but I will solve it.
Card three was the Two of Wands, also called Dominion. It is in the "mind" position of the spread, again reinforcing that I have power to understand and control myself over the choices that I must make. I have the personal power to be successful and ultimately succeed, making the correct decision in what to do with my current situation, and I also have the mental faculties with which to do it.
These three cards reflect my soul, body and mind. My soul is full of focus and understanding of the situation (it's been here before). My body is full of emotions, but in complete control of the situation. My mind is fully capable and willing to make the correct decisions that must be made. These three cards combine to form my current manifestation-- card four--The Hermit. The Hermit is one of my favorite cards. It confirms that in my current state I need solitude in order to heal myself in both body and mind. This will teach me more about things in the long run. If I just step back and study the situation, like a secluded student in a library, then I will gain stability over the situation and ultimately become wiser because of it.
Monday -- 16 December, 1991
The nice social worker showed up first thing this morning to help me get done what I need to do to improve my situation. I told her that I really wanted to go to the nursing home. She said that would probably be possible, but they would take my entire SSI check for the month. I can't affort that. I've got to be able to pay bills and stuff.
I expected hurdles and I guess this is the first one I'm confronting. The social worker (Kathryn) is very helpful though, and she's working on a list of options for me to decide on. She said that if I were eligibe for Social Security then the nursing home would be much more available. When she comes back I'm going to work on that option more. She seems to think I should be eligible for Social Security even though I have not been able to get it before. So maybe I can ask her if I can reapply for it. Maybe I'm eligible after all and I've just been getting screwed by the system all these years.
I did three more Tarot cards to help me get all this straight in my mind and maybe help me figure out this new problem of getting into the nursing home and how to pay for it and they were: The Hierophant, Temperance/Art and Swiftness (8 wands).
Tuesday -- 17 December, 1991 -- 5:20am
I was interrupted before I could explain what I thought the previous cards meant. Katherin, the social worker, interrupted me with good news. This news fell completely with the cards.
1) Heirophant--Must be the social worker. She represents the social system and all that stuff. Plus, I found out later, she's very religious and likes challenges that she can work out with solutions that she finds which are offered by the systems she works so closely with, like faith and knowledge.
2) Temperance/Art--Sometimes called Alchemy. The social worker combined her energy and my needs and produced an answer to the dilemma which we were faced with about the nursing home and the costs involved. She found an exemption for me so I wouldn't have to lose my SSI check, and solved my problem. She worked her magic.
3) 8 Wands (Swiftness) --This card is also sometimes called Movement. The social worker worked so swiftly on this that I didn't even have time to get overly concerned or worried. She had the solution before I could even try to interpret the cards! and all her efforst ended in success. Tomorrow I'm going to the nursing home. I'm so excited. This reading definitely told the future outcome. It was a social problem that she solved with swiftness, resulting in my ultimate movement. I'm so happy. I'm glad to be able to go to the nursing home and I'm glad the cards told the story with such accuracy--in advance even. Another thing about the 8 Wands card. It predicted another "movement" that I had earlier this evening. I got an enema. I feel much better. I hope the nursing home turns out to be a good experience for me. Whatever happens, I'm sure it will be an adventure.
Tuesday -- 17 December, 1991 -- 5:25pm
I'm here. I'm now living in a nursing home, temporarily I hope. I've been here about four hours and it's definitely been an adventure I'll never forget.
I got here about 1:30 this afternoon. They brought me straight from the hospital. This morning at the hospital was good. I got myself prepared for the move and was waiting to see when they were going to transfer me when Mom came. She drove up to see me from her home. We had a nice visit in the hospital room and the social worker came to tell me that I was going to be transferred at about 1:00. So Mom and I began packing, it was about 12:30.
Before we knew it the ride was there and I was being whisked away to the nursing home--St. John's Health Care Center. Mom followed the transport van to the home in her car.
When we got here it was like a scene from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. We walked into a world of bedlam. They are remodeling the place right now, so it smells like wet paint, glue and dirty diapers. It was lunchtime and everyone was busy and overwhelmed with tasks that appeared to be totally insane and crazy. Mom's eyes were buggy and I was trying to keep a level head about everything. We met a nurse who took us through the place on a "tour" and "welcome" voyage. The halls were filled with patients pacing back and forth on an endless journey to nowhere clutching handrails and using wheelchairs and canes, navigating through the maze of nurses and carpenters and ladders and painters in a dusty fog enveloping every crazy vision and odor one can imagine.
The nurse brought us to my room. It was a semi-private, dark, stale area with two beds separated by a curtain. One bed was empty and the other contained a very old person, covered by a sheet up to the chin. It looked over at us and uttered, "I'm not nice. I can be very mean," or something to that effect. Then laid back and stared at the ceiling. Down the hall a person was wailing continually. She never stopped moaning and crying.
Nurses then came in and surrounded me. They stuck a thermometer in my mouth and toook my blood pressure. Then another nurse started doing the intake procedure, asking me about all my belongings and what-not. She counted all my jewelry and listed it all on a clipboard: Eleven rings, six earrings, four necklaces, two bracelets, a watch, a pair of spectacles, no dentures. She listed all the other belongings I had and then left me and Mom to listen to the wailing woman.
Mom and I were both freaked out by this time, but neither of us would admit it and we both tried to act cool. We discussed what belongings I needed to leave here and what I needed to send to my house and what other errands she needed to do while I continued my check-in procedures. She left to run the errands and I stayed here, wondering what mess I had gotten myself into this time. After I was done checking in I escaped outside onto the patio and waited for Mom to return. I wondered how long I would last here without leaving or going totally insane.
Mom returned from her errands about half an hour later, and by that time I had pretty much decided that I wouldn't be able to stay here. Mom and I discussed the situation and decided that I should just leave, that this wasn't the place for me. She of course was elated that I wanted to go. So we decided to do it.
We went to the nurses station and I found Patty, the head of the place, and I told here this wasn't going to work out, that I had made the wrong decision by wanting to come here, and that I was going to go home. Patty and the other directors were shocked and displeased to say the least, but they respected my wishes. They called my doctor and told her I wanted to check out. I was a quivering mass of indecision by that time. I felt very distraught. I felt like I just wanted to go to my home and die.
When I spoke to Patty earlier, and told her I was afraid I made the wrong decision by coming here. She asked me why, what was bothering me? I told her that I was under the impression I would have a private room and that it would be a place of solitude, not a hodgepodge of patients aimlessly wandering through the halls and others wailing and moaning and shouting threats at me from their beds. When Patty heard my complaints and fears, she bent over backwards to make me more comfortable. She offered me the only private room they had available--away from the wailing woman and slightly more secluded from all the noise and construction. Now the decision was up to me. I went and looked over the private room they offered me. It looked livable.
The nurses came and told me they had my doctor on the phone and asked me if I really wanted to check out. This was the moment of decision. Mom was urging me strongly to say yes, I wanted to say yes, but I wanted to stand by my original wish of being here. I didn't know what to do.
I wanted to go away from here, but I knew I should stick by my original decision to come. I decided to try it out for at least one night. I decided to stay.
Mom and I visited for a while after that and I discussed with her why I decided to stay. I had made my bed, I decided to lie in it, at least one night. I can always go home. So Mom and I went and had a cup of coffee, and she left after that. She respected my decision to stay and didn't seem to be mad at me or anything. Mom and I have the best relationship ever. We are communicating with each other very clearly. We understand each other so well. Mom seems to be in a much better mood since our phone conversation the other day.
So here I am--St. John's Health Care Center nursing home. I feel like I'm in a movie. I don't know how long I'll last. Am I crazy? Who in their right mind would commit themselves to an asylum over the Christmas holidays?
Me?
Wednesday -- 18 December, 1991 -- 8am
I'm still here! Ha. People thought I would be gone by now. Well--as usual I overran their expectations.
OK. All kidding aside, it's day two at the nursing home and things aren't as strange as they were yesterday. A person could live here with no problem. I've just got to decide if I want to be that person.
I've remembered now that there is one thing besides shitting when one is hurt that one always has on her or his mind. That is all the decisions about one's life that one has to make about how to make it until one gets well--assuming one does get well.
My big decision still remains the same one. Should I stay here in St. Augustine at this nursing home for a month or should I go and stay with Mom and Dad until I get well? It's not a bad place here once you get used to it. They are letting me have whatever I want. They are giving me priveleges they wouldn't even think of giving other inmates.
But as time goes by, the prospect of staying on the other farm with Mom and Dad sounds better and better. I'm trying to weigh the advantages and disadvanteges of each place. I'm sure that staying here would be perfectly easy to do after I got into a routine and met everyone more personally. The staff are nice people and stuff. They're bringing me breakfast now.
* * *
Well, I've had breakfast. They sent a bowl of oatmeal, a bowl of bran flakes and white toast. Yesterday i spoke with the dietician and attempted to describe a vegan diet to her. I don't think she understood much. They are really trying to provide for me in every way. This vegan diet thing has them very confused. But they are working with me. They immediately brought me a slice of wheat toast after i shrieked at the blandness of breakfast. Now if i can just get them to understand fruits and vegetables are not animal products. The service here is actually pretty good compared to the hospital.
Every moment I stay here, I get more comfortable. I guess that's normal. Am I starting to act normal? Scary. My main "want" right now is privacy. If I stay here I"ll have to redefine the word. If I go home with my parents, I'll have so much privacy that I'm sure I'll get bored. I wonder if I will get bored here. I doubt it. My other concern is personal care.
I guess time will tell to see how it gets managed here. Who is going to lift me on and off the toilet? Mom or Dad would do it at home. They would give me all the privacy I want and Mom would do my laundry, etc. Wo will do that here?
I don't know what to do.
I want to stay here. It's more and more interesting every moment.
I want to go home. It would be so much more convenient and easy for me, and Mom and Dad would be happier.
I want to stay here. St. Augustine is where my social life is. This is where my obligations are. This is where my friends are.
Home with Mom and Dad would give me all the solitude I've been wishing for, probably more solitude than I could stand.
The scales are practically balanced.
If I stay here I'm going to be wishing I was at Mom and Dad's. If I go to Mom and Dad's I'm going to be bored and wishing I were here.
Will I ever be able to decide?
Wednesday -- 18 December, 1991 -- 12:45pm
I don't think I'm going to have to worry about making the decision of whether to stay here or go to my parents'. The decision is basically being made for me as time passes. My life continues in its busy fashion no matter what predicament I seem to be in. The outside world thrusts itself upon me more and more every day.
As I lay in bed earlier this morning, trying to decide what to do with my life, I was paged over the intercom for a phone call. It was Michael. I got assistance to get out of bed and into my chair and went and called Michael as soon as I could. He told me that Debbie G. had called for me at my house this morning. (Michael is staying at my house and keeping it going and feeding my cat, etc. while I'm away.)
Debbie wanted me to return her call. She is the person I wrote about in my article, Skeleton Closet. I called her and learned that she has been asked to appear on a New York TV talk show. They want someone to be on the show with her and she asked me to be that someone. That request definitely lifted my spirits.
I told her "of course" I would love an all-expense-paid trip to New York to be on TV. She said she would give them the OK to contact me and get the process going of getting me and my attendant--Michael of course--arranged to make the appearance.
In our conversation I had a long discussion with Debbie about things like my current situation, etc. She gave me the name of her doctor in Pennsylvania who knows "all about OI," she says. She recommended, in all her infinite TV personality wisdom, that I get on the same hormone therapy she is on--but at least that gave me some hope about getting my broken bones healed back together with the least amount of time and stress.
She said her doctor could tell my doctor anything he needed to know about OI. I talked a long time with Debbie and strengthened our relationship.
Afterwards, I called my doctor, Dr. Charles, and made an appointment to see him tomorrow to talk to him about the treatments. So--now I can't leave--at least until after I go to the doctor. I am very glad that decision got made for me.
Wednesday -- 18 December, 1991 -- 4pm
I'm getting more and more settled into this place with every passing moment. I haven't been bored yet. I've been meeting people (more staff than patients) and we have all been getting more and more acquainted with each other. This must sound crazy, but I'm actually starting to like it here. Everyone seems to like me, the nurses, the aids and the administrators. And we seem to be communicating with each other much easier than we were yesterday.
I spent a long time with one nurse, Kathy, filling out forms about my medical history and social habits and stuff. She and I got along very well. I also signed many other forms with Patty, the social worker here, and we smoothed over the rough edges that were created by my indecisiveness yesterday. There are many situations--both strange and normal--that happen here, many interactions between patients and nurses and visitors and whoever. They provide an endless source of material for stories or whatever type of entertainment.
Michael and Veronico brought some more things from my house to decorate my room and they brought my laptop. So I'm probably going to do the rest of these broken-arm journal entries on the computer now. If i can still type it should make things much easier.
December 19, 1991 10:15am
Today is day eight with my humorous humerus fracture, day three in St. John's Health Care Center. I'm using my computer to write in the journal now; since, as I said in yesterday's entry, Michael and Heather brought it to me from my home. I thought it would be easier to type than to write it all down longhand like I've been doing for the past week, but I didn't take into consideration that it might be more difficult to type with a broken arm. I am in an awkward sitting position and it's a little more painful, but I'm typing now, and I think it's going a bit faster and will make writing easier to do.
Just this much typing so far is really making my arm sore. I don't know much longer I can hold out. I took a Tylox about an hour ago and I can feel its effects, but my arm is still hurting. That's not a good sign....
I've been thinking more and more about being invited by Debbie to appear on the TV show with her. I hope the producers, or whatever they are called, do call and invite me too; after all, they are the ones that make the decisions. So far this might just be a whim on Debbie's part. But I hope she does help me get on by highly recommending me to them. But my original thought when I began writing this paragraph was that I bet if I do go, I'll still have an injured arm, and I bet the actual travelling part of the trip will be a real hassle for me. However, I will be the perfect illustration of a person with OI--fractures included. If I hadn't broken my arm it would be a lot more fun. But I guess I'm getting way ahead of things here. I haven't really even been invited to go yet by anyone that has an power of decision on whether I go or not.
The Tylox I took a while ago is making my thoughts wander and my eyelids heavier and heavier than usual for some reason this morning, but it seems to be helping the pain. Thank Goddess for drugs. Without them what would a junkie like me do?
Yesterday when the nurse was taking my statistics and stuff for the intake paperwork the subject of my medications came up. The normal procedure here is for the nurses to keep the medications locked up in the medicine storage place and administer it to us when it's time, but Patty explained to me that I do have the right to administer it myself. I told her that having the nurses keep it and letting them do it was fine, that way I didn't have to worry about the timing and everything. I did ask that they warn me when my prescription began to run out, to tell me when the bottle was beginning to get empty, so I could start rationing the rest of the pills. But Kathy, the wonderfulest croniest nurse here, told me not to worry, that she would make sure I wouldn't run out of medicine. I told her that my doctor was very apprehensive to prescribe narcotics, and especially to refill them, and I expressed concern that I would be able to refill the original prescription when it ran out. I hope Kathy does have that much needed power to keep my pill bottle full. She seems to think she does. It would be great for me to have this Tylox cloud to float in the whole time I'm here. It would make things much more enjoyable.
My arm is hurting less and less. Either my body's getting adjusted to this uncomfortable position I'm sitting in or all this talk about narcotics while I'm under their influence is helping me get some relief.
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2:30pm
I'm trying very hard not to get distressed or depressed about where I am and how I feel. Today has been a busy day so far. I'm constantly confronted with new obstacles to overcome and my mind stays active in its endless effort to think up new and creative ways in which to solve them with the least amount of stress possible. I've got to remember that I'm here to heal my broken bone and most of my energy needs to go toward that.
Harvey, the driver from COA came and picked me up this morning to take me to see Dr. Charles, my new orthopedist. When we got to the van to load up, Vince, the director of the transportation program at COA greeted me. I had never met in person and didn't know what he looked like, he didn't tell me his name and said, "Hi." I didn't know who he was so I said hello and basically ignored him until we got into the car. I assumed he was a new driver that Harvey was training or something. When we got into the van and got ready to go, Harvey introduced Vince to me and told me his name. I then started being talkative and more polite to Vince. I told him jokingly that I thought he was just another inmate here at St. John's. He didn't think that was funny. This was the beginning of our personal relationship. We got along well, however, and visited during the ride to the doctor. Vince was just riding for the day with Harvey to see how things were going on the streets.
I was planning to ask Harvey to drop me off at the Co-op after the doctor appointment so I could visit Michael and everyone instead of having him bring me all the way back to the nursing home and I would just walk (roll) the rest of the way back afterwards, but I didn't because that's a special request and it's not normal procedure for drivers and I didn't want to get Harvey in trouble, since Vince is his boss. Besides, it was cold and windy outside and I didn't have a coat.
They dropped me at the doctor and I visited with him for a few minutes about the calcium hormone injections that Debbie had told me about yesterday and told me that she had had. Dr. Charles said he had heard of the hormone and would write the doctor in Pennsylvania a letter and get more information about it. It might make my bones stronger, he said, but it wouldn't heal my broken arm any faster than normal. He knew that's why I was asking about it, and he was correct. But the visit was nice because I got to talk to Dr. Charles on a more personal basis and get better acquainted with him. We talked about eventually working on some sort of exercise/swim program for me in the future. He said he would give it some thought. That's about all the appointment amounted to. I called COA. Harvey and Vince came and picked me back up and brought me back here to the Home.
Lunch was being served when I got back. I had talked to the dietician yesterday and since I am such a picky food snob because of my diet, I thought we had agreed that they would just serve me a salad for lunch. Michael made me some dressing yesterday and I had been saving it for lunch today. I was looking forward to that salad since breakfast had been a dissapointment for me this morning. Breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs, white toast, and bran flakes. Needless to say, I sent back the scrambled eggs and white bread and just asked them to bring me some wheat toast. I have soy milk here for the cereal so I ate that and the toast. I requested margarine and they brought butter, trying to fool me. So I just ate the toast dry and didn't complain any more. Anyway back to lunch.
I was looking forward to a simple salad. They brought me a plate of overcooked yellow squash and very white rice, with a side order of butterscotch pudding and coffee to drink. I was hungry and had so much been looking forward to salad with Michael's delicious dressing that I was distraught beyond control. I kept my cool though, and planned to just eat the squash and just send back the pudding. The woman who brought the meal asked me if I wanted sugar in my coffee and I said, "No thank you, I don't eat white sugar." She said OK and poured two packets of sugar into the coffee. I lost my cool. I sent the whole meal back in retaliation. This silly little incident upset the food people who are trying so hard to please me and it upset me just because I am me, I am in this new set of surroundings and am surrounded by such low mentality stupid people. Lunch ended up with me apologizing to everyone for being such a picky person and them apologizing to me for not being able to accomodate my every whim. I can't complain because this is not the Ritz Hotel and everyone is trying their hardest to make my stay here bearable for me. The head dietitian ended up bringing me a salad of iceberg lettuce, grated carrots and chunks of cauliflower. I drowned it in Michael's dressing and ate the whole plate in a fit of dispair. So we all ended up very distressed at the whole incident.
The food staff here doesn't seem to be able to understand what I like and don't like to eat. It's probably a combination of my bad communication abilities and their low food mentality. Whatever the reason for our miscommunications, I usually end up sending most of my food back because I refuse to eat it because it has some various dead animal product in its ingredients. But I really have no right to complain. They are trying their best to accommodate me.
Everyone here is freaked by my freaky appearance and my freaky habits and my alert mentality. All the other patients are either mental vegetables or mental fruits. The staff has never had to deal with anyone like me. I have an advantage over many people here because I have dealt with health care providers like these all my life and I know their habits, their reactions, and can imagine their thoughts about me.
My arm is hurting from all this typing. I'm going to go get more Tylox and call Michael at the Co-op. I hope he's still there. It's after 3pm now and his working hours are officially over. I want him to check my mail and bring it when he comes to see me today. I need to talk to a sane individual.
***
December 20, 1991
11am
As each day passes here I wind my way higher up the administrative ladder and get better connections with the people who run this place. They are finally beginning to comprehend that I am not like the other patients here. They are beginning to realize that I have a functioning brain and I can think and act for myself. I know all this ranting and raving that I've been doing about mentalities of staff and patients here sounds egoistic on my part, but it's true. I'm not trying to sound like I know more about running a health care center than the people who run this place, but they seem to be stuck in their own blinded and bland way of running things and hesitant to see new possibilities of improving things, like food and service, and making them better for the patients around here unless somebody waves a flag in their face. So I'm beginning to wave a big black flag in evereyone's face here and I will continue to do it until I leave. It's mainly so I will be more comfortable while I am here, but I hope some of the things that they do for me will ultimately benefit other patients after I leave.
This morning I spoke with Barbara, a person who claimed to be the dietitian here when I first came. She is a woman in her late 40's or early 50's and in my opinion doesn't really know what a competent dietitian should know. She has not been able to relate to me since I got here. She speaks with me and even takes notes as I talk about food and my diet, but I don't believe she really understands what I'm saying. When I talked to her this morning I tried to make everything as clear as possible as to what I needed in the way of food and meal preparation. I guess she has never had a patient that asks for things like I do, but it seems like she would be able to accommodate me. I am not requesting gourmet cuisine.
The first time I saw her I told her I was vegan and explained to her what that meant. I tried to be as clear and simple as possible by letting her know what I would and would not eat, but as yesterday's entry in this journal illustrates, she doesn't seem to be able to understand. This morning when I talked with her I suggested that we start over from scratch and just make a new chart for me like I was new patient. She agreed to do that. She sat down with me and took notes as I told her my meal preferences. I told her I only needed: Breakfast -- dry whole wheat toast, no butter, no margarine with a box of bran flakes cereal, because they seem to be able to serve that with no problem, and a cup of coffee. I have my own soy milk for the cereal. She wrote all that down. Lunch: salad. I gave her a list of vegetables that would be good for the salad that included leaf lettuce--not iceberg, carrots, radishes, sprouts, spinach and yellow squash. She seemed to think that leaf lettuce was a vegetable alien to this world and totally impossible to get. I have a suspicion that she didn't know what it was.
She seems to want to stick with her old way of doing things and stay with the worst food suppliers in town. Anyway, I gave her all this info and I told her not to worry about dinner for me, that I would mostly be eating out for dinner (Michael has been bringing me food from the Co-op) and if I ate here I would tell them by 4pm every day what I wanted. I highly recommended the Co-op and organic produce, but she didn't seem to be able to comprehend what I was talking about. I am not a good oral communicator and she is not either. Between the two of us, we don't seem to get much accomplished when we talk. This will probably continue to be an ongoing problem.
A while after Barbara left, another woman came to see me and introduced herself as the dietitian. Her name is Linda. Linda looked like was in her late 30's or early 40's and seemed to be in good physical shape--not overweight, and was dark complected. She carried a clipboard with a chart on it and wore a white lab coat. This woman actually looked like a dietitian and talked like she knew what she was talking about in the way of food and nutrition. She knew about vegans and macrobiotics and those types of diets. Now I'm totally confused.
I don't know if she is a dietitian that oversees what Barbara does, or if she is the temporary replacement for Barbara because Barbara is preparing to go away for the X-mas holidays. Of course I didn't ask and clarify the situation because, as I said before, I am such a lousy oral communicator. I repeated to her what I had told Barbara this morning about the food I preferred and she wrote it all down too. I again highly recommended the Co-op for produce and she seemed to be very interested in my recommendations and comments.
I realize that places like this small, old, low-budget health care center sometimes don't hire people that are very well-qualified. The people who are well-qualified of course pick better and higher-paying jobs elsewhere. This health care center obviously doesn't want to pay for decent services in food service so they hired Barbara. But this place needs to make Barbara better qualified or get someone that knows about nutrition. I don't know what Linda's actual position is here, but she needs to replace Barbara permanently or at least teach her a few things. Nutrition is what the patients here need more of and they obviously aren't getting it with the food they are being served now by Barbara. I've been talking to the staff here and even they complain about the food.
I met the head dude here this morning also. His name is Tom something-stein and he's the administrator. I told him I've been talking to the nutritionists and recommending other food companies to get produce from. I told him I was on the board of directors at the Co-op, which I am, and asked him about the possiblity of changing to the Co-op for produce in the future. He said he saw no big obstacles and seemed to be open to the suggestion. I asked him to check it out and he said he would. He seemed like a nice man and seemed to be impressed by my recommendations, etc. I wonder what will happen next here. One thing is for sure. This is one big educationiol experience for me in beginning relations with people like health care professionals--from the maintenaince people who mop the floors and fix the plumbing, to the nurses' aids, to the nurses, to the social workers, to the food service people, to the administrators. This fractured humerus is creating many new jobs for me and definitely is keeping me busy.
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2:30pm
As time passes here I get acquainted with everyone a little bit more closely and get on better terms of communication with the ones that have any sort of awareness at all.
I had a nice talk with one of my daytime nurses, Rosetta, about an hour ago. We had a conversation and got to know each other and became more familiar and at ease with one another. She came to take my vitals (temperature, pulse and blood pressure). While she did her stuff we talked. A Catholic mass was beginning in the dining room and Rosetta wanted to know why I wasn't going. She asked me if I was Catholic and I told her no.
All My Children, a constant in the tv universe, was on at the time and I joked to Rosetta that AMC was much more important to me than God. With that comment Rosetta, a black woman who is obviously very religious, sat back on the bed and fanned her face with her hand. "Oh goodness, maybe I should check my blood pressure instead of yours," she said with a sigh. She couldn't believe that I had just made that blasphemous remark and was very much taken aback by it. I could tell she enjoyed it though.
After that, we communicated much better with each other and became much closer friends. She asked me if I was religious at all and started asking me all kinds of questions about myself. I told her I was Einstein's religion--mosaic.
While we talked, Veronico stopped in to say hello to me. She was dressed all in black and looked like her usual stunning fashion-queen self. She was going to Jacksonville for the day and wanted to know if she could get me anything. I thought about it and told her the first thing that jumped into my head. "Get me a big, black candle," I said. Nico agreed with that request ans said she would look for one.
After Veronico left, Rosetta continued the questions. Her first question was, "Why do you want a big, black candle?" I told her it was just for decoration and because I like the color black. I assured Rosetta we weren't Satan worshipers or anything. Rosetta laughed.
She enjoyed the visit. She finished taking my vitals and left and I finished watching AMC.
Now every time we see each other we make eye contact and relate like real friends could. I hope I can build other relationships like mine and Ro's with other people here.
I just realized that this is my fourth day here. Relationships and things are getting easier and I'm getting much more comfortable with the way things work and the people here are getting much more comfortable with me. It's that magic number again--four. I remember commenting to someone at the hospital, on the fourth day that I was there, that the fourth day is always the day when a basic foundation gets established and things start stabilizing. Things get easier to deal with. Whether it's injuries or relationships. I learned this from numerology. I had known it before, but I hadn't really acknowledged and realized it until I began learning about numbers and how they relate in everyday life.
I feel like a student surrounded by a library of new knowledge and experiences available to me, and I don't have enough time and space to even begin to learn it all. The more experiences I have the more I learn that every new moment brings something new to behold.
All this is so amazing. I'm sitting here in my little bitty drab and dinky room at this nursing home observing and writing about all this and learning so much. This health care center is a place most people in the world try their hardest to avoid and ignore for fear and disgust. Deep in the back of their minds lurks the possibility that they might end up as a patient in a place like this someday. It scares them to death.
When I came here four days ago I almost didn't stay. My mom almost persuaded me to go home with her, and I almost did. But I sucked it up and decided to stick by my original decision to stay here. Somehow down deep I knew when I planned to come here that it would be an invaluable learning and writing experience for me. I've always complained that I have nothing real to write about. Now I have plenty to write about and the feeling that I won't have enough time to get it all written. I will probably be here about a month--maybe a little longer. What stories will appear from my stay here? Will I get bored and disgusted and go home to Mom's house and hide behind her skirts like she wants me to? I don't know, but the good thing is that I have that option; I can always leave. This is a luxury that others here do not have. They are stranded and they are miserable. They are wasting what they have left of their lives wallowing in their pain. Why?
What is all this about? Why am I here? How can I best use this experience for my own benefit and/or for the benefit of others? How long will I last. Every day here brings new obstacles and difficulties for me. This is no picnic. I have a broken arm and probably two fractured legs. I'm in constant discomfort and pain. The simple act of shitting is difficult and almost unbearable for me. But I'm enjoying it. Is this the definition of masochism?
Outside my room I constantly see an endless parade of infirm, mostly old people, passing by my doorway, creeping slowly in thier walkers and wheelchairs and with their canes, going slowly back and forth, up and down the halls, holding on to the handrails, in an endless procession of boredom and stagnation. I haven't yet been able to converse with any of them for any extended length of time. Most of their minds are gone. They don't know where they are. They don't know when they are. They don't know who they are. They just continue to pace up and down the halls like animals in a zoo. The nurses wake them in the morning, bathe them and feed them and wipe their asses when they shit and give them drugs to keep them alive and give them drugs to sleep at night and put them to bed in the evening. The next morning brings the same thing, for days and weeks and months and years on end. These people are the forgotten ones. They have no relatives that can or will adequately provide for them. Most will be here till they die.
Some cases here are even more sad and quirky. One example is Butch. He's in his early 20's. He's a quadripalegic. He can't talk. He smiles sometimes. He drools sometimes. He pees on himself. He is part of the endless parade that goes by my door. Butch is basically the reason that I am in this particular center. When I was in the hospital, thinking about coming to a place like this to recuperate from my injuries I began asking various local people about various nursing homes in the area for recommendations. Veronico, of all people, told me about this place. She knew about it because of a tragic encounter with a boy named Butch.
Veronico (Heather) was in an almost fatal car crash a few years ago, before we even knew each other. She and her friend, Andrea, who is now another one of my good friends, were struck and almost killed by a drunk driver who ran a stop sign. Both Heather and Andrea went through years of rehabilitation and reconstructive surgery in their journey toward recovery. They were lucky to live.
The driver of the other car, the drunk driver, was a young high-school boy who survived the crash with hardly any injuries at all. This is an ironic fact that many times happens in situations like these.
Two months later, the same high-school boy got drunk again and ran the same stop sign and crashed his car again. But this time he sustained a closed-head injury and went into coma. When he came out of coma he found himself paralyzed and unable to communicate with others. That boy was Butch.
Veronico knew that Butch was here because she was part of his story. She knew about this health care center because of this incident in her life. When she told me the story, I immediately started working to get here.
I had a feeling about this place. It's full of stories with a wierd tilt to them like Butch's. After I injured myself this time I immediately began to recognize various synchronicities and cycles that came to full circles with events and stories that happened around me and to me. One of the first was my experience with Tarot which I wrote about in the hospital earlier--the one where I picked the name Tiphareth.
I began studying Tarot last time I hurt myself. Last time I hurt myself I did basically the same thing as this time. I drank too much and fell out of my wheelchair like an idiot and injured myself. I did the same thing that Butch did but to a lesser degree. By learning about Butch and by seeing him here and by me being here with him and having Veronico as a connection between the two of us, I have learned a big lesson. I'd better be careful with what I do and how and what I drink and act. I could end up like Butch--or worse. I knew this before, but the point had not been driven into my being like now. I don't think Butch realizes any of this. He doesn't know my connection with Heather. He probably doesn't even remember her.
Heather came to see me the other night and I "introduced her" to Butch, because she wanted to see him up close. She never had since the crash. I introduced her as Veronico. Butch can't talk and can barely show any reaction to other people because he is so paralyzed, so we don't know if he recognized her as the person he almost killed or not. But at the time I "introduced" them, it was immediately before Heather was leaving to go home. I accompanied her to her car and when I came back inside I saw Butch crying. I don't know what he was really crying about. Maybe he was just depressed because I had friends that visited me and he didn't. But maybe down deep he remembered her. Who knows?
Another, less depressing and more light-hearted, example of the strange synchronous occurrences that have happened to me here can be illustrated by a figurine of an angel that Michael and Veronico brought me to decorate my room--to brighten it up. The angel is made of ceramics, it's black and is basically a face amid two outstretched wings. It hangs on the wall. As Michael and Veronico delivered it to me it broke. The left wing broke off. But we hung it on the wall anyway. When we looked at hanging on the wall we we realized that it was a perfect symbol of me and my broken left arm. When we realized this and confirmed among us that both my broken arm and the angel's broken wing were certainly accidents we recognized yet another of those strange coincidences that continue to happen as the days go by.
Other things like this have occurred. I am continually amazed by all this. What does it all mean? Does it mean anything? What can I learn from all this? Where can I use this knowledge if I do learn anything? Who knows?
It's almost the full moon. It is bright and large in the sky at this time of year. As a matter of fact, I think that this month's moon is the largest one of the 13. Winter Solstice approaches with the full moon also. It's the opportune time for strange things to happen. I have noticed the patients here getting restless and sometimes even out of hand with the nurses and staff. I will continue to observe and write about it as best as I can. I have definitely channeled its energies in this writing.
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***
asylum part two
December 21, 1991 5pm
It's day five here in the asylum and the moon is full. I woke up this morning not in too good of a mood. I was depressed for the first time since I've been here. I don't really know why I was so irritable, but it seemed as if everything I did to try to cheer myself up just led me deeper into a cloud of numbness and apathy. It's that numerology thing again. Five is the number of struggle.
I ate a slice of toast and had some coffee for breakfast and just sat in bed for about an hour, patiently and apathetically waiting for Rosetta to come help me get dressed and out of bed. After she got me up I did my routine of putting on my shoes and braces, which is painful because of my injured legs and arm. It takes me longer than normal. After that I brushed my teeth and decided to go out for a stroll, thinking maybe that would get me into a better mood.
I went to the nurses' station and signed myself out of this place and told them I would be back in a while. I wheeled across the street and down the block to Burton's Electronics and looked at their portable CD players and cassette decks, thinking maybe I would see one that excited me enough to use my credit card and buy it. I hung out there and looked at their stuff for a while, but didn't see anything I that really appealled to me. Thank goodness I didn't find anything I wanted to buy. I certainly don't need to put myself further in debt by buying more electronics that I don't really need.
After I left Radio Shack I went across the street from there to the public library and browsed around and visited with my friend, Harold, who works there. We had a nice conversation and it cheered me up a bit. I also looked at some books and researched some more on Jezebel, the namesake I have chosen for myself. I found some more facts about her that strengthen my reasons for feeling so much like I am she. I read about the way that she died. The book I read said that she waited in her palace while her husband, Ahab, was put to death. After that, her adversaries came after her. She proudly waited at a window in her palace, several stories above ground level, to meet her enemies. While looking out the window, her enemies called to Jezebel's attendants to toss her out, which they dutifully did. Jezebel fell to the ground, where she was trampled to death by horses and eaten by dogs. Nothing but her skull and a few other scraps remained.
If I truly am Jezebel reincarnated, that explains my fear of falling, the bouts of anxiety I experience when I am around horses and my total and never-ending disgust for dogs. If I am not Jezebel reincarnated, then I should have been and I still deserve to use her name. I'm sure she wouldn't mind. We seem to be so much alike
I also tried to find some more information on Tiphareth, the sixth sephiroth on the tree of life, but this library here is so small that I couldn't find much information about that at all.
After I left the library I went to a gigantic, tacky Florida souvineer tourist shop across the street from the library and browsed around for a while. After being thouroughly disgusted from that experience I headed back toward the asylum and discovered a Little Champ convenience store that is to the north of here, directly next door. I went there and bought a newspaper, then I headed south to the small group of antique shops down the street. I browsed there for a while and then came back.
After I got back I had only been here a few minutes when Michael and Jason stopped by and brought me some clean clothes and my camera and some other stuff from home. We visited a while and they left. After that the day was at least half over, so I knew I wouldn't have to worry about being bored or depressed the rest of the day. I have too many things I should be doing, like eating and writing in this journal and other stuff, to keep me busy enough that I will be OK for the rest of the day and the evening.
Last night, I went out for dinner and met Sukhari and Annie at the Zanzibar restaurant down the street. We had a great visit and a good meal. Sukhari and Annie are both very wonderful souls. Whenever I am with either one of them I feel like I am undergoing a tremendous balancing and healing and learning experience. This visit was no different.
In our dinner conversation, Sukhari and I discussed all the synchronicity that's been happening lately and we both agreed that it is so wonderful to be able to recognize it as it happens around us. So many people just ignore it or never even realize it's happening to them. I think how much of that stuff one notices depends on how perceptive and imaginative a person is. Sukhari and I are both very perceptive and imaginative people. We've commented to each other before that we can almost read each other's minds and know how the other one is doing without even talking out loud. It's nice to have a relationship like that with someone.
We talked about a lot of stuff over dinner. I told her that I was learning a big lesson by being here in this asylum. I told her I was realizing by being around Butch that I am lucky to have abused myself and still be able to function. Poor Butch can't even talk anymore from his self-abuse. I hope I can monitor my behavior better than what I've done in the past. I hope this accident and this asylum experience will give me enough willpower, or whatever I need, to be able to control myself and prevent stupid accidents like this one from happening in the future. It's just not worth going out and getting drunk. Besides, I'm getting too fat from all the sugar in the alcohol. I know I've said this before, and I'm not saying I'm stopping having fun or drinking. But I'm going to try to stop acting so irresponsible and childish like some of my friends I hang around with. They have an excuse to act that way, they are still in their 20s. But I'm not.
That's another thing we talked about. All my close friends that I spend most of my time with are ten years younger than me. I've got to learn that I'm not 21 years old any more. I've got to grow up and act older--but not too old. I don't want to start dying from old age yet. I've just got to be more responsible. I know I've said this before . . . . I had a glass of wine with dinner last night and I enjoyed it. But I stopped after one glass, and I did want another. Being around Sukhari, who is ten years my senior, helped me curb the urge and not order more. It would be good for me to start being around people her age instead of all these whippersnappers I usually am with. I'm going to try to act my age from now on. I'm not saying I don't want to be around all my younger friends. I've just got to stop acting like I'm their age. We'll see what happens.
After dinner I came back to the asylum and encountered another synchronous event. It was a really good one. A nursing assistant on duty, Mary, who I met the day before, approached me and asked me where I was from. When I told her Oklahoma, she got really excited and said she was too. She also is part Cherokee, like me. When we found this out about each other it felt like we were long lost relatives who had just found each other. We are to some degree. We are from the same tribe at least.
Upon our discovery, Mary gave me a hug and a kiss on the forehead and welcomed me here again and said she was so glad I was staying. I felt more at home because of all this and it made me much more comfortable and at ease at to be at this place. Another interesting fact about Mary, and the reason she is named Mary, is that she is the granddaughter of the famous, rowdy Oklahoma governer, Bill Murry. (This reinforces my fascination with names.) This was another interesting and exciting fact to learn, especially after a glass of red wine. It increased my tipsyness naturally. I was glad I hadn't had a second glass of wine and was able to hold a lucid conversation with Mary.
I then went to the staff lounge to store my leftovers from dinner and met another woman. She is a patient here that I hadn't met before. Her name is Rose. She is beautiful and old and wrinkled and has long white silver hair. She is such a crone and has so much character in those old wrinkles that I knew from the beginning she would be an interesting person. I almost felt related to her in some way too. It turned out that we were also from the same area of the country. She is from Texas and said she ended up here because she was visiting Florida on vacation with her husband when he died from a heart attack or something. She ended up just staying here and becoming a "boarder" here at this place. I don't know how much of that story is true. Many inmates here have stories that they've come up with or dreamed up from all the insanity that surrounds this place. But Rose seems to be a bright and charming old woman, still full of plenty of spunk and vigor. We had a nice visit and I hope we see more of each other in the future.
I am getting more and more at ease and acquainted with the people here. Patty, the social worker, was right. It is like a big extended family. In my opinion the evenings here are the most enjoyable. The staff that works at night seems to be more at ease and relaxed. Most of the patients are drugged out and in bed. During the day there are so many crazy patients roaming up and down the halls that it is hard to avoid all the stress and suffering they emit. But at night the halls are nearly empty and it's quiet and sedate. This is when I'm most at ease here. Maybe I should start sleeping all day and become nocturnal while I'm here.
As I was out browsing around town today I wanted to wheel home and to the Co-op, but I didn't have enough of a charge in my chair to safely do it. That was another thing that made me sad. But tomorrow I'm planning to go the the Co-op Solstice benefit brunch, so I'm charging my batteries now. Tomorrow I have something to look forward to and it's dark outside now. So tomorrow will be here very soon. I also plan to go to my house tomorrow while I'm out. It's not too far from the Co-op and it will be a good trip. I haven't been home since I injured myself and I'm excited to go there and see my cat and gather some things to bring back here.
Before I know it, it will be time to get ready for the trip to my parents' home for x-mas. I've decided to let them come get me and bring me there for an overnight stay.
The day after x-mas I have a court date with Heather. So it's a good excuse to come back to St. Augustine. It seems no matter what happens to me I stay busy. Sukhari is correct. Time is speeding up every day. I don't even seem to have time to be bored lately.
December 22, 1991 10:55pm
I have a lot of material and experiences to write about that have happened here since I last wrote in this journal. But I am too depressed right now to really write anything. I've had a big dissapointing experience here with my personal care. It's not really anyone's fault I guess. No one here is willing to put me into the bathtub tonight. They nursing assistants that have been doing it for the past few days say I am too much of a problem to lift back out of the tub because it is ground level and too much of a strain on their backs. I only weigh 66 pounds and they don't want to bother. The staff here is obviously underpaid and undertrained and they don't have the facilities to accommodate special cases like mine. There is really no one to blame for for my problem but me. I am the one who put myself here. I will try to solve the bath problem tomorrow by bringing my shower bench, which is higher and will make them easier for them to lift me. I've discussed it with them already. For now, I'll just stay depressed. A little depression is good for the soul . . . .
Some of the other stuff I wanted to write about, and still might later is:
--Today is winter solstice.
--I had a great day celebrating it.
--I had a really neat encounter with a patient here and a cigarrette last night.
--I can't think right now, I'm not in the mood to write....
December 23, 1991
Noon
I can't believe how fast time passes here.
I don't seem to be able to get anything accomplished. I'm always struggling to get myself on schedule and get the most important things done first before I run out of time.
I'm still very depressed about the bath incident last night. I can't understand how such a simple thing as lifting me in and out of the bathtub can cause such problems. All the problems about my diet and communications with the dietitician and all that now seems insignificant compared to this latest dilemma. All I wanted from this place was a pair of strong arms to lift me into bed, onto the toilet and into the tub. The bed and the toilet seem to be OK so far, but the bathtub is so low to the ground and noone here is trained well enough in lifting things I guess. So I'm trying to work on getting my shower bench from home so they'll be able to lift me onto that. It's higher off the ground and should be easier for whoever is lifting me. But I'll have to take showers now, the baths were so soothing to my aches and pains that I will definitely miss them.
I went out yesterday to the Co-op Solstice Brunch and "played with all my friends." It was a very good day. I also went to my house and saw my cat and got some more clothes and stuff to bring here. But I totally wore myself out. It was the most active I've been since I hurt myself, and I feel very sore from it all today. That's adding to my frustration and depression.
I feel very sleepy for some reason. Maybe it's a mixture of depression and Tylox and not enough food. I've been eating less and less lately for obvious reasons.
I'm waiting around to see Tom, the administrator of this place to request that he get a shower curtain put up in my bathroom so I can at least use the shower tonight. Getting things done around here seems to be increasingly difficult to do. The full moon is intensifiying everything, especially problems in communication between patients and staff here.
Dad is coming tomorrow to pick me up and bring me to his and mom's house for x-mas. I've already celebrated my "x-mas." It was yesterday and the day before. The winter solstice is where x-mas comes from, and that was yesterday. the x-mas holiday originally comes from the Pagan celebration of the Sun, not the Christian celebration of the Son. But not many people know that now. It all fits in perfectly with the Christian religion. And I want to do this trip and be with mom and dad. I just wish I wasn't so banged up so the trip would be a bit easier and less trouble and pain.
The "newness" is wearing off this place fast. This is day seven here. Sevens in numerology have to do with options and choices on how to overcome challenges. Seven is not a very good, number, it represents degeneration after the wonderfulness of six as today's challenges and depression reflects. Eight is sort of a remedy for seven. It's more scientific and intelligent, whereas seven is pretty much lame-brained. So maybe things will be better and I'll be able to think more clearly tomorrow.
December 26, 1991 5:30pm
I'm back.
It's been three days since my last entry here. I've been at my parents' home doing the x-mas thing. We all enjoyed each other's company and it was a successfull and peaceful holiday vacation for us all. I didn't have any troubling experiences and I didn't even have to pretend that I was something that I am not. I was totally sincere with everyone about everything worked out for the better. My family was glad I was home for the holidays and now that it's over I'm glad I went. I had a good restful time there and didn't really stay long enough to get overly bored and depressed.
Dad brought me back here to the asylum this morning and I have spent the day getting moved back in and adjusted to this way of life. It's a big change moving from my parents' condo and all the "comforts" of home back into the hospital type welfare environment of a nursing home. It's my choice however, to be here. I want to be here. It's an experience that I don't want to miss. I am even beginning to enjoy it. Plus, it's much more accessible and easier to maneuver and operate here for the everyday things we take for granted. My parents' home is nice, but I couldn't reach the sink to wash my hands, and was unable to do other simple stuff like that, which was OK for a couple of days. But I feel lucky to be back here and have better wheelchair access. I've also talked to some of my friends since I got back and it's nice to be back in my home town. The nurse just brought my dinner tray here to my room, so I'll continue writing later....When I have something worthwhile to write about.
December 28, 1991 11am
Damp, foggy, rainy weather moved into town yesterday. Damp, rainy, foggy weather is my favorite type of weather. It is the essence of water. It is as close as one can be to actually swimming without getting wet. There's just one slight problem. The dampness sinks into my bones and intensifies every ache and pain that I have at the time. So now my body is going through a tremendous amount of turmoil and stress. Before the weather set in I had started cutting back on my Tylox intake because the nurses here were beginning to think I was becoming a Tylox junkie, which I probably was. They didn't believe I was in enough pain to take a 500mg of Tylox every four hours for so long. I mask my pain well, no one believes I am really hurt that bad. So I started decreasing the frequency of asking for medicine. But now, the weather gives me no choice. If I don't take a Tylox every four hours (the prescribed dosage) my arm and leg become vortexes of throbbing gristle. I have no choice but to continue my junkiness. I just hope they refill my prescription at least once more. It's beginning to run low and I don't want to have to stop "cold turkey."
Everyone's emotional stability seemed to change here in the asylum with the arrival of the rainy weather. I was greeted yesterday morning by a nursing assistant with such a bad attitude that it scared me to be around her. I think that down deep she is scared of me, so she acts really nasty around me to hide her feelings. Or maybe she's just a real snot. But whatever the reason, she and I had a big argument as she came to get me out of bed yesterday. She refused to actively partake in normal communication with me and just treated me like one of these braindead patients around here. Of course I reacted to that with animosity and the end result to that interaction was both of us slinging attitude at each other with such heated emotions that I refused to let her lift me into my wheelchair for fear that she would hurt me in the process. I demanded she go get Kathy, the head nurse, so I could request someone else to come lift me. She went and got Kathy, they came back to my room and I tried to explain to Kathy that I was afraid of this other woman because she was such an emotional mess. But the woman wouldn't let me get my point across without repeatedly interrupting me and accusing me of lying, and Kathy didn't really know what to do or who to believe. So it ended up with Kathy supervising the woman while she lifted me into my chair. The woman did hurt my leg in the process, but I survived with no long-term injuries. I talked to Kathy afterwards and apologized for the problems. She said there was no need for me to apologize and that she understood that some people just have personality conflicts. She told me she wouldn't assign that particular woman as my assistant any more. So everything worked out and no one died. But that was not a good beginning for my day. It was a good preview of a long day full of pain and stress.
After I got out of bed and recovered from the previous incident, I became involved in another difficult interaction with another staff member. It was Pat, the head nurse. I was in the process of signing myself out of here for the day, because today was the day for me to go to court with Heather to contest her traffic ticket that I was involved in when she escorted me home the wrong way down a one-way street because my batteries were run down a couple of months ago. Pat informed me that I was leaving this place too much and putting this nursing home in a position of liability. She told me I have been gone from here more than I have been here the whole time I have been a patient. This was an untrue statement, and even if it were true, that was beside the point. I reminded her that I had every right to stay gone as long as I wanted, which is true. This nursing home is not liable for my actions as long as I sign out every time I leave for a long period of time, which I do. I won the argument. She let me go. She had no choice. But still, it added to the stress of the day.
I walked home in the dampness, it was a nice outing. When I got home I waited for Heather. We were going to meet at my house and go to court from there.
We went to court and of course the cop didn't show up. I'm sure she didn't show up because she knew the ticket she wrote to Heather would be judged invalid. So the judge dismissed the case because the cop didn't come and me and Heather left.
I went to the Co-op and had lunch afterwards. Then Frank from COA came at about 4pm and delivered me in the van back here to the asylum. I came back and tried to relax, but interruptions and the generally hectic atmosphere of this place, mixed with the wonderfully dismal weather, finally led me to just giving up and going to bed.
A different and much nicer nursing assistant came this morning and helped me get out of bed. I didn't ask her to help me take a bath because I am still so sore, and she seemed very busy. I'll take a bath tonight. Until then, I'll just smell bad. I feel sick too, because my stomach is so full. I just hope there will be someone here this evening to be able to help me bath and use the toilet. I hope Mary will be here tonight. She is gentle and likes to help me. And I hope I don't have to many visitors. I'm not in the mood to interact with people today, besides I smell bad. I've been interacting with friends and relatives a lot lately, and I just want to be alone, here in my cave.
On a more interesting note, two days ago, when I was talking to Homer, another nursing assistant (I'm going to call them NA's for short from now on) we got on the subject of names. He asked me what name I was going by currently, since I tell people one of three or four names every time they ask me what to call me. This time I told him Jezebel. He asked me why and I told him what Jezebel means to me. He said he wanted a new name too. He was tired of Homer. He wanted a name to reflect his African heritage, he's black. So I told him I would do some research and find a name for him.
Yesterday while I was at the Co-op I was talking to the new manager, Rob, who just moved back from living in South Africa for a while. I asked him if he new any African names and of course he did. I described Homer to Rob, and told him he reminded me of a snake. This is not a degrading term to me. Snakes are one of my favorite animals. Homer is tall and slender and acts sort of snakey. Sometimes he teases me in sadistic ways, which I of course enjoy. So I asked Rob the African name for snake. He said it is Nyoka. He also told me the word for friend, which is Rafiki. So the next time I see Homer I'm going to call him Nyoka Rafike. and see how he reacts. If he likes it I'll tell him what it means. I feel honored to help give someone a new name. I hope he likes it. I love names and changing them. I think people should always have a hand in picking their own names. It helps the ego.
The NAs are beginning to bring the lunch trays around. I'm still stuffed from breakfast. The idea of sticking more food in my mouth at this time makes me sick. I hate to let food go to waste. But I'm going to do it this time. My ribs are hurting. I'm going to go try and relax a bit. Maybe I'll write more later....
3:00pm
I need to start writing about. Things in the asylum:
--description of
1) my room-myself-my weighing, measuring and intake procedures. My first day here.
2) rec room
3) dining room
4) kitchen
5) staff lounge
6) vending room
7) the hallways
8) the inmates
-Visit and interview the cognizant bedbound inmates to get their stories.
a) Rose
b) Mr. Beetle's roomate
c) find others
--Tell about:
-Butch
-Butch's roommate the shuffler
-Mr. Beetle (and roommate)
-Frank/George
-the howling woman
-the feisty dude with the cane
9) the staff
-Linda (Nurse Ratchett)
-Irene and ?Cheryl
10) the x-mas party
11) santa throwing sugar curses
--different interactions between:
a) staff vs. staff
b) staff vs. inmate
c) inmate vs. inmate
stories about:
-First day here and other stories from journal.
-Meeting Mary the NA and description of who she is and our relationship -Homer (Nyoka Rafiki), the sadistic but fun NA Make outlines (plots, characters, etc.) and titles for a collection of short stories stemming from experiences here. Write letter with outlines and samples of published writing and send proposal on disk to Jeff in New York.
December 29, 1991 11am
I've decided that if I do do this collection of short stories, they should be in the form of letters. This would give me a base to work from and make it easier to read and write and more believable to the reader. It would be something like: "Letters from the Asylum." I guess my first mission is to decide who these letters will be written to. I think it should be one person. This person should be of course, my audience, so it should be a person that I think my audience will be like. Who could that be? Who will my audience be? Maybe I should write to my cat for now. The ultimate audience is something Jeff can help me with. Let me try a sample and see how it looks.
Sunday -- 29 December, 1991 -- 11:15am
Dear Sade,
This is my second Sunday here. My relationships with the other inmates are getting stronger and we become more familiar with each other as each day passes. Even the patients who at first seemed put off by me seem to be accepting me at last. This morning I "formally met" one of these people. Here name is Rosa.
Rosa is a small, frail, very old and wrinkled little lady in a wheelchair. When I first met Rosa, informally, I touched her lightly on the shoulder and immediately felt that if I would have touched her any more forcefully she would have broken. As I touched her shoulder I could tell she was more fragile than any china doll. Rosa roams the halls most of the day. She is spry and energetic for her age and shape. She is more square than tall. She moves her wheelchair with slow, almost imperceptible movements of her arms. She inches down the hallways slowly, but she travels with unending persistence and patience. Unlike most of the other patients, she moves her wheelchair in a straight line. Rosa knows where she's going. She doesn't bounce aimlessly from wall to wall.
Rosa must have severe osteoporosis. She is more bent over and shorter than I am. It is a rare occurrence when I meet someone and I don't have to bend my neck backward to look up at them. When I look at Rosa I bend my neck forward.
This morning as we passed each other in the hallway she barked at me with her broken, gravelly voice that one might expect to hear from a venerated badger. We parked our chairs side by side and she barked the same question she had been barking at me for the past few days. "What's your name?" She uttered her short phrases clearly with emphatic spurts of breath.
"Tiph," I answered again, in a louder voice so she could clearly hear me, louder and clearer than I had been answering since she first began this simple query a few days ago. She seemed to hear me better this time. For the first time she clearly comprehended my answer.
"How do you spell it?" Rosa chirped.
"Tee, Eye, Ef," I said clearly. I somehow knew if I spelled TIPH it would only confuse her more and put us back at square one.
"Tiph," she repeated. "Tiph."
"What's your name?" I asked, sensing she was catching on.
"Rosa," she answered quickly.
"Glad to meet you." I reached out, as did she and we held each other's hands in a sort of shake. We connected. We did it. It finally happened. We successfully introduced ourselves to each other.
The halls were crowded with a traffic jam of wheelchairs as they usually are this time of day. Later I will see Rosa again. I'll make an effort to talk with her more. I want to know how cognizant she really is. Does she remember her past? Does she have a story to tell? I hope she does.
Monday -- 30 December, 1991 -- 12:37pm
Insanity is contagious. The longer I remain around all these crazy people the more nuts I feel. It's not that bad, I just needed to admit it. Now that I've admitted it I feel better. Being nuts is not a big problem, you just have to get adjusted to it and realize that things are not what they seem. Actually, it's not much different than the "normal" world. It's really much easier to handle than the "normal" world.
My latest nutso adventure just occurred. When I moved into this place Patty, the social worker, gave me permission to use the telephone that is located on Phillip's desk in the activity room. Phillip is the activities planner. He's here off and on during the daytime. So I've been using the phone on his desk for my personal calls. Once in a while, the reciever mysteriously disappears. The first time I noticed this I thought it was a joke played on me by one of the inmates here. I went to use the phone and the reciever was gone, so I just found another phone and used it for my call, not wanting to play into the joke. I saw Phillip the next day and he was asking everyone where his phone receiver was. I told him it turned up missing the previous night after I used the phone. He obviously found it, because it was back on later that day. From that incident I assumed that the inmates hanging out in the activities room didn't like me using the phone there, and I further proved this to myself by going to use it one night and getting verbally attacked by one of them, the others joined in on the attack against me visually. They all sat on the edge of their couches and chairs and glared at me while one guy shouted insults at me.
This morning I went to use the phone and used it for a couple of calls. Then I came back to my room for a few minutes. I remembered another call I needed to make, so I went back to Phillip's desk and the reciever was gone again. I started asking everyone if they took the reciever. I asked the inmates that were sitting nearest the phone and they denied it. I asked the maintenance man, he didn't know where it was. I asked the head nurse, Kathy and she didn't know where it was either. Finally I asked the administrator, Tom, if he knew where it was. He said he took it off. He said that he removed it because the others see me using the phone and they start doing it. Except they call long distance to Alaska and China and crazy places and run the phone bill up. So the mystery is solved. I'm not nutso after all. But since I am a fellow inmate. I can't use that phone any more, unless Phillip or someone is around to supervise. Another one of my rights disappears.... I think I do move closer to the nutso side as each right of mine disappears. We'll see what happens.
Monday -- 30 December, 1991 -- 7:04pm
This place must be where the name "Hell House" came from. I knew I shouldn't have told Annie today when she came to visit me that I was beginning to like it here. Now there's no hot water. The maintenance people worked on the plumbing this afternoon at 4:00. No one noticed that there was no hot water after that until I tried to make some happen a few minutes ago. I ran the fawcet for ten minutes, waiting for the water to warm up, but it remained cold.
I went to the head nurse, Carla for tonight, and asked her what the problem was and she told me she didn't know. She said she would check on it. I went back to my room and waited. I returned to her desk ten minutes later to check and see what she learned. She was sitting there, doing paperwork. She hadn't done anything about the water. She hadn't even checked to see if my claim of no hot water was true. I suggested for her to call the the maintenance man. She said she would and went back to her paperwork. I threatened to start a riot and burn the place down if hot water didn't happen tonight. She looked up from her paperwork.
"Don't burn the place down," she said. "There's old people in here."
"That's what happens during riots," I told her. "Innocent people die." Carla called the maintenance man.
I didn't take a bath or shower last night because I didn't want to bother the nurses. I thought I would be nice and give them a break for an evening. Now it looks like I'm paying for my good deed. I will be very surprised if Buddy, the maintenance man, makes hot water happen here tonight. For some reason my faith in the people who run this place is not very strong and it gets weaker with time.
Annie came to visit me this afternoon. She brought me a batch of Boneset Tea and another really bitter potion of herbs mixed with a bit of molasses. We had a wonderful visit. If anything can cure me it is Annie and her herbal formulas. I'm slowly learning from her how to cook them up myself.
We talked for a long time and had a really good visit this afternoon. I told her all about my x-mas trip to my parents' house and I told her about some of the events that have happened to me here.
So many things happen to me here that I don't seem to be able to find the time to write them all down. That's really hard for me to handle, because this is what I've been wishing for--something to write about.
Last night I went to the dining room and sat at a table with two inmates here. They are two small, frail, quiet very elderly women in wheelchairs named Carrie and Mimi. At least that's what I know them as. They are both totally out of their minds. They are both happy. We three sat around the table and watched TV. But they also conversed between each other. Their conversation was totally incomprehensible jabberwocky. Once in a while an understandable phrase would come from one of them, but it would make no sense at all. It was so much fun listening to them interact and watching them that I decided to try to write down what they were saying.
They made eye contact with each other and seemed to be actually communicating on some other plane. One would talk and the other would talk. The would nod and touch each other and smile and laugh. Then they would look at me, or at TV, or out the window for a minute, then resume their conversation. It continued that way for about 45 minutes, then the nurses and came to put them to bed. I only wrote down a small portion of the conversation because I came in late on them and watched them a while, then I had to go back to my room and get a pen and paper. By the time I got back the good parts of the conversation had already happened. Here's what I transcribed after I returned with the pen and paper:
"Oh! She's back," said Mimi, looking at me as I return to the room with my pen and paper.
"They're coming in the house," Mimi answered.
"Uh huh."
"Now we can stay on this coffee," Mimi says. They hold hands and jabber and smile. "I love you."
"Yes." They look out the window.
"Oh, here she is down here . . . where my mother was."
"Uh huh."
"They're coming up up up up up in here. I can see them now." Mimi slowly rolls her chair away from the table.
"Where are you going?" I ask. "Stay here and talk with us some more." Mimi continues away from the table and rolls here chair towards the wall. She goes to another table and fiddles with an ashtray. Carrie begins to complement me.
"You're nice," Carrie says to me, looking into my eyes. "And clean." Carrie touches my arm and begins to sing. "Ny ny ny ny ny ny... ny ny ny ny ny ny .... Ny ny ny ny ny ny... ny ny ny ny ny ny...." She continues for a few minutes. She pats me on the arm again. "It's coming tonight I hear." She nods. She mumbles and jabbers. "I think you told 'em, that's good."
Mimi continues to roam around nearby. She stares into space and at objects around the room. Carrie resumes singing. "Ny ny ny ny ny ny... ny ny ny ny ny ny...." She rests. "I saw Georgie here, he came."
We resume watching TV. Sixty Minutes comes on. They pay very close attention to the TV, more than before. The sound seems familiar and pleasing to them. They continue watching TV with me.
Irene, the NA, comes to collect Mimi for bed. Before now I haven't known the women's names. I ask Irene to introduce us.
"Her name is Carrie. I call the other one Screaming Mimi, because she screams every night when I put her to bed." Irene wheels Mimi out the room. She talks to her on the way out. "Are you ready for bed, Mimi?"
"Yes," Mimi answers emphatically, with a big smile on her face.
They disappear down the hallway. Carrie and I continue watching TV. A few minutes later I hear Mimi screaming as Irene tucks her in.
------------------
While I was copying the above stuff from my notebook, Buddy the maintenance man stuck his head in my room. He apologized for no hot water. I expected him to say the plumber would be here tomorrow or something. But instead he informed me that he just forgot to turn the valve back on this afternoon. Thank goodness. Thanks Buddy. Thanks hot water goddess, wherever you are.
I don't think Buddy would have come out tonight if I hadn't threatened the nurse earlier. The staff seemed relieved that they didn't have to give people showers when they discovered there was no hot water. Well, they do now. I'm gonna go have a cup of coffee.
Monday -- 30 December, 1991 -- 10:43pm
The saga continues. Tonight I went and asked Cheryl, my NA for the evening shift, if she would mind helping me onto the toilet and into the shower. I didn't do it last night, as I mentioned earlier, so I could give her a rest. I only wanted her to lift me onto the shower bench I use--not into the tub. My arm is much better already and I can bear the pain to do a shower instead of a bath. I realize it is difficult for people to pick me up out of the tub.
When I asked Cheryl, she said, "Didn't Pat, the Director of Nursing, talk to you?"
"No," I answered. "What about?"
"You only get showers on Tuesdays and Fridays now," Cheryl said. "That is what Pat was supposed to tell you."
"She didn't," I said. And she truly had not talked to me.
This began a whole new chapter to the shower/tub controversy. Now it seems that Pat, the DON, has decided to just let me have two showers a week. She didn't even have the courtesy to tell me about this decision. The reason I am here in this place is so I can get lifted onto the toilet and into the shower and into bed once a day. This is what I told Pat when I met her at Flagler Hospital, and this is what she agreed to. Now she's changing her mind.
So now I have to call a meeting tomorrow and discuss this with her and Tom the director. I don't know what will come of it. I don't really know what to demand, or ask for. I don't know if they will agree to lift me onto the shower bench daily or if they will heed my original request. Unfortunately, Patty, the social worker, is on vacation and will not be at this meeting tomorrow. She is the one that has been advocating for my rights here. So it's all up to me. It's going to be me against the Director of Nursing and the Director of the whole place. Tonight I must decide if I want to remain here and allow them to step on my rights, or if I want to move out and find somewhere else to stay while I convalesce. I really do like staying here. The only problems are Pat and Tom and the Barbara the dietician. So far I have been able to handle them with Patty's help. Tomorrow I will find out if I can handle them on my own.
I think I will stick to my request of a daily shower. No one else here gets a daily shower and I hate to demand special attention. But a shower for me here is done entirely by me. It takes almost no effort by the NAs and they don't mind. All the other inmates here must be undressed, washed, dried, dressed, etc. I can do all that myself. I did it tonight. I even put my bandage back on my arm. So I really am not getting that much attention from anyone. They still must lift me onto the toilet daily. I don't think it's too much of a request to ask them to lift me from the toilet to the shower bench and then from the bench back to my wheelchair. It only takes them five minutes at the most to do it all.
If they don't heed my request, I'll see if I can find someone to move into my house with me, I guess. I really want to stay here though. It's a good place for me to heal. I want to stay here and I'm going to fight for it tomorrow.
Barbara the dietician came back today from x-mas vacation. I asked her if Michael could come and show the cook to make miso soup. He volunteered to do so last week. Barbara looked at me and said, "What's miso soup?" This strengthened my impression of Barbara immensely. Now I'm sure she doesn't deserve the job she has. She even made more of an idiot of herself later. I went to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee after lunch and met Barbara who was coming from outside. She was carrying two boxes of Kentucky Fried Chicken. She doesn't even eat what she feeds the patients here. I could do a better job than she is doing here.
If things don't go my way tomorrow I have the option of calling the local newspaper and giving them an earful. I have over 26 pages of boring useless documentation to let them look over. Maybe I can get a pulitzer......
***
asylum part three
Wednesday -- 1 January, 1992 -- 12:36pm
Whoops. I didn't write anything yesterday. I always try to write something on the last day of the year, but alas, yesterday I didn't. I was just too busy doing other stuff I guess.
If I remember correctly, the last real thought or impression that really deserved to be written down by me last year, the one that affects me the most lately, would be the feeling that I never have enough time to do all the things I want to do. Me being a lazy person probably adds to that problem. But even if I actively wrote and read and talked and blah, blah, blah with all the things I want to do in my life right now there still wouldn't be enough time in each day and night for me to do it. I guess that's just one of the ironies of life. I remember being bored a lot when I was younger. I honestly can't see how I could have possibly really been bored as I think back. I'm interested in the same things as I always was. Maybe now I just have my priorities more in order than I did then and I know more about what I want. So I try to do it all. There's just not enough time.
Last night Michael and Alison and Jason came to celebrate New Year's with me. They came about 11pm and brought champagne. We had planned it earlier in the day, and unbelievably, the plans we made really came to pass. They smuggled in a bottle of champagne, Freixenet, the brand I requested, the same brand that we drank the night I injured myself. We passed it around and drank from the bottle. We had no glasses, besides it's more intimate that way. We visited well past midnight, until Nurse Ratchett told them visiting hours were over and politely requested that they leave. So they did. But by that time we were all sufficiently intoxicated and/or ready for the evening to end anyway. So it all worked out nicely. It was a good end/beginning of the years.
So welcome to 1992, Jezebel. I'm slipping and sliding faster and faster into the Jezebelian dimension. Some of it is my choice and some of it is destiny. I'm sure now. I'm reading Tom Robbins' latest book called Skinny Legs and All. Annie recommended it to me. Annie is one of the most beautiful and sensitive people I've met in my life. I met her soon after I moved to St. Augustine. We learn so much from each other. She and I relate with each other like we've known each other for centuries. Maybe we have.
Tom Robbins is an author I've never read before but should have. He's got a style that is unlike most authors'. It's interesting and it's freaky and it's fun. So far, my favorite quote of his is, "The dog-sucked bones of Jezebel may be the skeleton that bangs its knobs in the closet of our race."
Annie recommended Skinny Legs and All to me because Jezebel is one of the characters in the story. I've only read about 50 pages into the book and have been reasurred in all my reasonings and convictions, i.e. rationalizations, as to why I relate to Jezebel so much. We are truly from the same mold. I'm so happy to learn that I haven't been dreaming all this up just to inflate my esteem. There truly is a connection of some sort between me and this ancient figure. Who knows how much of her story is true? Who cares?
The story of her and how she lived her life is the important part. I am becoming more and more intrigued with how she lived and died. I respect her life and death so much more with every tantalizing morsel I learn about her. She was royalty in the highest sense. She could manipulate anyone any way she wanted, and she did. She worshipped the Goddess. She lived a life of decadence and beauty. She died with the bravery and beauty and tragedy of Cleopatra. She was very misunderstood by most people. Only those who really knew who she was understood her. How do I know all these things? I don't know. I just know them. Maybe I realize these things because I have these attributes also. I'm definitely living as Jezebel now, here, where I'm at in this asylum. And I'm enjoying it more and more and more.
I talked to the Administrator, Tom, and the Director of Nursing, Pat, yesterday like I planned to do. I got what I wanted with no problem. They both act so afraid of me. They have nothing to be afraid of. They don't understand me at all. But I'm used to it. I'm very misunderstood by most people. Just like Jezebel I couldn't be happier. I painted my eyes today to celebrate my happiness, and I adorned myself with my pendant of Venus. Blessed be Astarte.
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Wednesday -- 1 January, 1992 -- 2:38pm
I've been intending to record what I'm being served here in the way of food. It's a good way to get into this journal daily and it also will be fun to look back over it after this is all over and see how well I did with what I had to work with dietetically. As I said before, when I checked in to this place the dietician and I discussed my likes and dislikes in the way of food. So they try to accommodate me. Sometimes I applaud their efforts and sometimes I skip meals.
I'm sure this will prove that with Michael's help I truly have become a food snob.
Or maybe i should just rename this journal:
Diary of an Insane Food Snob
Breakfast is the meal I can usually count on being pleased with most of the time. Every morning I get dry wheat toast & jelly (this is my request and preference since I don't trust their margarine), bran flakes (I buy my own soy milk), sometimes they serve a bowl of oat meal which I never eat because it's too much food for me that early in the morning and it's cooked horribly, like wallpaper paste, a glass of juice, usually cranberry. This morning they served apple juice instead. Sometimes I drink it and sometimes I don't. And usually two cups of coffee, which is bearable.
Lunch has been salad for the past few days. But I think they are getting tired of fixing it and I know I'm getting tired of eating it. Today they served fresh steamed carrots, white (blah) rice and canned (blah) peas, with canned fruit coctail (blah) for desert.
Supper is usually steamed veggies or salad. They haven't served supper yet today. Last night it was a salad that consisted of leaf lettuce (my request instead of iceberg), sliced yellow squash, sliced radishes, sliced zucchini. I asked them not to serve me tomatoes since it's a nightshade, nightshades are not good for healing bones, they strip calcium from your system. I ate the whole salad last night and later I remembered that zucchini was a nightshade.
So it was a scant supper they served last night to say the least. Luckily I had instant miso soup in my room and have some alfalfa sprouts I just grew in a jar here and some vinegar and oil and basil salad dressing that Michael made for me and some stoned wheat crackers I just bought. So I added the sprouts and dressing to the salad and made some soup and crackers. I was proud of myself for turning a few meager vegetable slices into a decent meal.
I usually always smother lunch and supper with condiments which I brought and keep in my room--cayenne pepper, hot pepper sesame oil, braggs (pseudo soy sauce).
For some strange reason I'm usually stuffed and content after a meal here, as I am now. (I just finished lunch.) So far the food has not been prepared in any sort of appetizing fashion. The cooks here don't know how to cook vegetarian. But lucky for me, I am a minimalist and can deal with bland food and I always have plenty of condiments.
So today here's what I've eaten:
Breakfast:
1 1/2 pieces of toast & tiny amounts of strawberry
jelly 2 cups of coffee
Lunch:
steamed carrots
canned peas
white rice
smothered in condiments of course
Supper:
canned peas
overcooked broccoli
overcooked cauliflower
five or six grains of white rice
lots of condiments
Thursday -- 2 January, 1992 -- 11:49am
I'm losing ambition and faith in my ability to turn this asylum experience into something writable and readable. I don't think it's interesting enough. I don't know if I have the skill to make it sound more interesting than it really is. In order to do that I would have to really work, and I am basically a lazy person. I just wanna sit and stare at things and think and opine and be a slob.
This morning when I woke up I was actually saddened by the thought that I will eventually have to leave here after my arm heals. Isn't that spooky? I'm beginning to feel like this is my home. The Florida School for the Deaf and Blind is right down the street and I want to be a volunteer there starting this month. I am so close now that it would be a 5-minute walk. When I move back to my apartment I will have to find automotive transportation to get me there.
Where are all these depressing thoughts coming from? Maybe it's the waning moon. It will be new in two days. The other patients here seem more depressed than usual also. I've been becoming more acquainted and closer friends with the other patients here.
Yesterday I went into Mr. Hartley's room and watched TV with him for half an hour. He had a stroke last September and has been here since. His legs are gigantic. He's got some infection or something that is causing them to swell up. He weighs over 300 pounds. I think he was a superintendent of the local school system here for over 40 years. I haven't visited with him very much yet. He's one of the people I need to interview if I want to leave here with some material to write with. I need to become more closely acquainted with all the inmates here, and I'm just wasting time doing other things like hanging around and watching TV and reading books and writing mundane stuff in this journal and playing around on this stupid computer.
I really want to be able to turn this experience I'm going through into something productive, but I fear more and more that I'm just going to get well and have wasted 8 more weeks of my life producing nothing but a bunch of boring personal diary entries.
The other night Cheryl, my NA who helps me into the shower and stuff when she's on duty, told me that Screaming Mimi used to be a government agent. Isn't that hilarious? I wonder what they did to her? I wish she could tell me. That would be a good story. I want to have some bright idea just jump into my head about what to do with all this wonderful material I'm living amongst. But I have a horrible feeling that nothing is going to come of it. I'm depressed. All I can think of now is simple descriptions of the people here and how they act and what they do. That's boring. That's not salable. That's not publishable. I've got to think of some way to take this information and make it interesting. I thought maybe Tom Robbins' book might help, and it very well may. But so far I haven't had any flashing lightbulbs.
Breakfast:
1 slice of wheat toast w/ apple jelly
one bowl of bran flakes w/soy milk
2 cups of coffee
Lunch:
1 "salad" made from iceberg lettuce, sliced yellow squash, sliced radishes and sliced cucumbers.
I pushed the iceberg lettuce off the plate and onto the tray in protest and added some of my sprouts to the remaining veggie slices. I ate the salad and some crackers.
Dinner:
I checked out of the asylum after lunch and ate dinner at a Chinese restaurant with friends that night.
Friday -- 3 January, 1992 -- 8:58pm
I checked out of here yesterday after lunch and went home to spend the evening there and go to the movie with some friends. I couldn't resist the invitation. It was the final night that The Addams Family was playing at the movie theatre down the street from where I live and I had only seen it once previously. It is the perfect movie to break out of an asylum to go see. It fit right in to the mood of the month--the enjoyment of morbidity and pain.
I got back here this afternoon after a very enjoyable and loony day and night out in the real world. It's a very powerful waning moon and nobody is able to understand anybody else. We're all more insane than ever. Everyone is at each other's throats. I find it so hard to believe, but I am actually glad to be back in this haven. It's so crazy around here, but it's normal to be crazy around here. I always knew I belonged in a nut house. I requested no cafeteria food today. I ate leftover Chinese food for supper.
Saturday -- 4 January, 1992 -- 10:22am -- New Moon
Blah.... I feel blah.... I don't feel bad.... I just feel blah....
I ate almost a whole bag of puffed rice junk food topped with dijon mustard and cayenne pepper last night in bed before I went to sleep. My stomach hurts this morning. I guess I deserve it. It's amazingly quiet here this morning. Not too many wailing screamers or howling hooters going off yet. I guess it's the dark of the moon keeping them quiet. It's really been a powerful moon.
Yesterday my parents and grandmothers came to see me. Mom and her mom made me a black cape with red lining and delivered it yesterday. It's really cool. Me and some friends came up with the idea since I needed something to keep me warm for the "winter" here and coats and wheelchairs aren't really compatible. Coats bunch up around a sitting person. The cape is designed to just wrap around me. There's nothing to sit on or glob up around my body with the cape and it seems pretty warm so far. I'll test it more today. I feel like Dracula when I wear it. It's really fun and fashionable. I would have liked to have it the night before last at the Addams Family. It would have fit right in with the movie.
The visit with mom and dad was ok. They got into town about 1:00 while I was hanging out at the Co-op instead of going to the doctor like I had planned. My plans got changed and I spent the morning and early afternoon at the Co-op just waiting to be delivered back here by COA so I could meet my parents. After they got here about 2:30 they told me they had been hanging out two blocks away from the Co-op since 1:00 waiting for me. Why didn't they know I was at the Co-op? They should have at least checked there. I know they thought I was supposed to be at the doctor, but they should have at least checked in there. They know I spend half my life there. Instead, they bored themselves silly waiting in a cheesy restaurant down the street. And I bored myself silly waiting for the time to rendevous with them here at the asylum. That's just one example of how inane things were yesterday. I'm blaming it on the moon. Nobody can think straight. Nobody can communicate.
After they showed up here at the asylum we had an ok visit. Then we all got bored with each other and they went home.
Heather is supposed to be leaving town today sometime. Or maybe she left yesterday. I don't really know. She's moving away and having a very difficult time emotionally leaving her friends. I expected her to at least call me and say goodby. But she hasn't. She and Michael were going to go together and he was going to help her get settled in Arlington. But they had an argument and she returned his bus ticket. So I assume she's just depressed and mad at the world and scared to be moving. Sometimes she acts as if she's got a lot more growing up to do. Living a few states away for a while will do her good. But she could have at least said goodby to me after all we've been through together lately. She's not showing her graceful side. She's showing her childish side. But I guess I'm being just as bad by not calling her. Maybe it's a Scorpio thing. Or maybe she did call here and left a message and I never receieved it. O well.
I guess today could be considered New Year's Day. It's the first New Moon of the year. And the moon is the calendar we should be going by. I go by it more and more now. Since I have been I've been able to see things in a "universal" way, as opposed to a earthly and human-centered way. The universal way is a lot more fun. Maybe just because it's new and different than my usual way of looking at things. Whatever the reason, it's refreshing and fun. Very Pagan.
Today is also a lunar eclipse and last night was a heavy meteor shower (40 to 100 per hour). I didn't see the shower because it happened at 3am, but at least I knew about it. At least I'm aware that it happened. I probably won't see the eclipse either, since it's not very visible from this part of the earth. But that's OK. At least I know about it too. Lot's of people don't even think about those things.
Breakfast:
1 slice wheat toast w/ jelly
1 bowl of bran flakes w/ soy milk
2 cups coffee
Lunch:
1 bowl of overcooked spinach
Supper:
Ate out with friends--
Glass of red wine
Greek Pasta with lots of garlic
brought leftovers home for tomorrow
Sunday -- 5 January, 1992 -- 1:08pm
It's increasingly difficult for me to enter into this journal. That must mean either my arm is healing or I'm having an easier time getting along here or I'm lazy. I think it's a combination of all three, plus other added things that I find to waste my time with.
I don't think much is going to come out of this asylum experience in the form of written material. I just get less and less excited about writing about this place the longer I'm here. That's too bad because there's lots of good stuff here to write about. I'm just having too much fun living here and not spending enough time researching for future stories like I should be doing. I don't know how to write about people. That's my problem. That's what this place is full of, people and their stories. I am not excited enough about them to research about them to write about them. All I like to do is describe things. If I could figure out how to write a good story by describing things about this place then I could do it. I need some guidance. I need a teacher or something. I don't know what I need. I find too many other things to do than go research things and try to come up with plots for stories. That seems so boring to me that it's not really worth it. All I enjoy writing about is things I see, and I have seen a lot of stuff here, but it's not really interesting enough to write a whole story about. Or is it? I don't know. Maybe I'm too involved in it myself right now to get any sort of distance and recognize what is going on around me. I don't know. Maybe I'm just not creative enough.
Breakfast:
1 1/2 wheat toast w/some jelly bowl of bran flakes w/soy milk 2 cups coffee
Lunch:
plate of steamed squash covered with condiments
Supper:
Plate of iceberg lettuce with seven cucumber slices. I dabbed the cucumber slices with mustard and cayenne pepper and had them as appetizers for leftovers which I luckily had stashed in the fridge.
Monday -- 6 January, 1992 -- 12:51pm
No matter how hard I try I can't stay unbusy. I'm here in a resthome and have spent most of the morning on the phone trying to get all my affairs in order. I made an appointment to see the volunteer coordinator (Michael) at 2:00 this afternoon at Florida School for the Deaf and Blind. I've been trying to become a volunteer there for a year and have been running into delay after delay. So coincidentally and by planning I now am staying 1 block away from the school. I'm rolling there at 2 to see what we can work out. I would like to spend one day a week there working at their library. If I become a volunteer there I get to take free sign language classes. I've always wanted and tried a few times to learn it but something always interrupts me. This time broken bones are trying to interrupt and I'm trying not to let them.
I feel very rushed and out of time to get all my business taken care of and I'm really uncomfortable with posture and pain in my hip. It seems to be getting worse instead of better.
I also made an appointment to see the doctor Wednesday morning about my arm and leg and hip. So Wednesday's full.
I have to meet Gail this afternoon after 4 so she can drop off chapter 4 of her book for me to edit for her. After I get back from my 2:00 appointment.
I have to meet Wheelchairs Plus tomorrow morning here so they can look at my tire which went flat Saturday. Luckily Michael and friends came and put a spare on it for me that day. But I still have to get this one repaired.
Now I'm gonna go eat lunch and watch AMC, then go to FSDB. Breakfast:
wheat toast, bran flakes, coffee
Lunch:
steamed broccoli, squash, cauliflower
Supper: steamed broccoli, squash, cauliflower and pasta (the first meal served here I would consider calling a decent meal for a vegan, my talk with Barbara today must have helped).
Tuesday -- 7 January, 1992 -- 12:42pm
Today I woke up lazy, listless and craving inactivity. Yesterday's business must have caused it. Or maybe I'm just naturally the idle type. Whatever it is, I'm going to be as slow-going and passive as possible. I have a feeling that the days are approaching when I won't be living here in the lap of luxury with an ideal excuse like the one I have now to just waste my time away.
I've been doing Tarot quite a bit lately. I switched back to the first Tarot deck I ever bought. It's over a year old now and it almost looks worn and used and oracular. I switched back to it because all the other decks (Thoth, MotherPeace, etc.) just have so much on the cards. There's too much pictorial information for me to easily digest on most of the cards. I decided to switch back to the deck that just has the suit symbols on the number cards (six swords, two cups, etc.) and write words on the edges that would serve as memory joggers. I relate much more to words than pictures anyway. It's much more logical for me to have understandable words on the cards instead of complicated pictorial puzzling scenes. I started writing words on this deck months ago, but switched to Thoth and lost interest. Now I'm completing the job and I'm glad I stopped for a while because I have learned a lot about Tarot in the mean time and know what sources to use to desice what words to write that will best describe the card. I'm not writing on the Major Arcana yet. The pictures of the Majors on this deck are minimal and easy to understand. That's what I like about this deck; it's minimalist but enjoyable. It's really helping me learn about how to use Tarot.
I decided yesterday to try to do a reading every morning or night before to predict the day. I'm developing a new way to lay the cards out. I still use six cards but lay them out differently. Tarot is so interesting and healing for me and my brain. It's such a good way to think about your thoughts. I wonder if I'll ever tire of it.
Tuesday -- 7 January, 1992 -- 8:20pm
Michael came and visited with me this afternoon. He's going through rough times again personally and being dramatic as usual. He's such a good friend to have, so entertaining and intellectual as well. It's a good combination for a friend. He's the best. We had a nice visit and then walked to Subway and bought sandwiches, and then to Eckerd and bought chocolate. Chocolate is a nice thing for me to have on hand here. It's good to have a quick fix now and then and it's one of the few remaining legal drugs. I can see the day now--5 years incarceration for 2 ounces of semi-sweet dark.
I worked on Gayle's manuscript for about an hour this afternoon before Michael came. I'm still editing her book for her. She gave me another draft of chapter 4. It's such bad writing that it's beginning to get fun for me again. After a while Gayle and her writing style got on my nerves and I considered quitting working with her. She's also considered finding another editor because I'm so difficult to work with for her. But I haven't fired her yet and she hasn't fired me. We both threaten to fire each other whenever we work together. It's such a stressful business relationship, and we both hate and love each other at the same time. But I can deal with her now. It's just becoming another one of the many crazy episodic relationships in my manic schedule of events.
Speaking of crazy stuff, I was talking with Michael about all the stuff that goes on here at the funny farm and how much I don't write down. I'm not recording most of it and I'm sure I'll regret it later. But it's difficult to live amongst all this insanity and be a part of it and write about it all at the same time. Whenever I get in the mood to write I find myself just recording my thoughts and feelings in order to retain my sanity and to have a record of what I've been doing with my recent time. I'm skipping all the interactions I'm having with the patients and staff here. I'm feeling like I'm missing the recording of a wealth of material while I'm here. I just hope I remember at least half of what I don't get written down. The people here are so interesting the more you get to know them. But it's very difficult for me to write about people for some reason.
I think I'm gonna belay the recording of my meals. They are about the same every day now. It's always toast and cereal and coffee for breakfast and steamed veggies and rice or pasta for lunch and dinner. The cooks are getting more familiar with cooking my types of food now and they are actually getting good enough to rival hospital food. I can't even complain about it any more it's getting so edible. I feel good to have made them aware of and educated them about food snobs like me.
I'm getting my hair henna'd red next Monday. I just made an appointment with the resident beautician here. She comes in once a week and does all the old ladies' hair for them. I asked her if she would henna mine if I provided the henna and she said she would. All my friends have been coloring their hair lately and they wanted me to join the club. So today I realized I could get it done here for free and someone else would do all the work and I wouldn't have to get my shower black. So I'm going to do it. It brings back memories of when I was in college and colored my hair every few weeks--every color at one time or another. I'm surprised it still grows at all considering all the chemicals I poured on it. So now all I do is henna. It's supposed to be good for your hair and it makes it nice and red.
Probably the funniest thing I've been doing lately is flirting with the staff and patients. I like flirting with the old men here. It gets them excited. Cheryl and Irene, the NAs who help me a lot on the evening shift, are becoming good friends with me and really like to flirt. This place is a lot like the funeral home I grew up in, only it's a bigger staff and the patients are still breathing. But it's a family affair, just like the funeral home. Many people here are related. Some of the patients are related to some of the staff. Some of the patients are related to other patients. Some staff are related to other staff. It's like a big extended family. It's a real life soap opera, All My Children. If I were forced to have a job I would work in a place like this I think.
I went to FSDB yesterday and they want me to volunteer there. It's a nice place. I think I will volunteer there at least one day a week for a while, if they can provide me with transportation. Right now it's right down the block so I can walk there, but after I move back home I will need a ride.
I'm going to go ask Cheryl to help me do a shower now. I'm sure I'll have to endure more flirtatious adventures, it gets worse and worse every day. Here goes....
Thursday -- 9 January, 1992 -- 11:37am
What happened to Wednesday? I'm getting well too fast. I'm too involved in too many things again. My days whiz past like so much pee going down the toilet.
Yesterday I went to see Dr. Charles. I actually made it there this time. Last time I went my plans got so changed and rearranged on the trip there that I ended up cancelling the appointment and doing other things instead.
So yesterday I got x-rayed for at least the millionth time in this lifetime and found out for certain that my arm is healing and my leg is definitely fractured. Doctor Bishai never believed it was broken. Now it's finally proved on film. My leg is not healing as fast as my arm. It's because I have been concentrating all my energy on healing my arm so I can use it to get myself around. I don't need my leg as much. It'll heal in due time.
I had a good visit with Dr. Charles. He seems to respect my judgement about my self and my own ways of healing. I just suggest things and he usually agrees with me. Yesterday I told him I was having pain in my hip and asked if physical therapy would help. He said yes and wrote an order for the therapist here at the funny farm to work with me. Then, to my surprise, he wrote me a prescription for Tylox. I hadn't even brought up the subject. Maybe he did it because I told him I could feel the fracture moving around in my leg, or because I complained of the hip pain. But whatever the reason, I was surprised because when we first met I told him I used Tylox for pain relief and he balked and gave the the addiction lecture. I guess I have "proved" to him by not begging him for drugs in the past few weeks that I'm not an addict. Hah! I wonder if Dr. Charles knows that I'm getting Tylox here in the asylum through Dr. Alacantara. But I still am and they are still ordering it for me, so I'll just save Charles's prescription for later use.
So far my daily Tarot prediction readings are turning out to be quite accurate. Tuesday's prediction for Wednesday told me I would be mature, happy and successful in getting what I needed and wanted for myself. It said I would have a great beginning but the day would end in dissapointment and ruin. It did. I had a great day at the doctor and afterwards, but I spent the afternoon and evening celebrating the good news about my arm and drinking too much and smoking too much and eating too much, at first by myself and later with Michael and Alison. I felt sick and horrible and dissapointed and ruined by the time I went to bed. I totally overwhelmed my body with too many drugs and too much food. The cards were right. But this morning I woke up feeling better, and today has been a good day so far.
I am becoming even more of an expert at wasting my time here at the asylum. It's becoming a vacation resort for me. I get awakened by coffee on a tray and breakfast in bed about 8am and room service afterwards while I lounge in bed a while longer. I get up late, around 10am or so, and by the time I do my morning rituals it's time for lunch, which they bring to my room. I do lunch with All My Children at 1pm. Then I waste a couple of hours and it's time for Star Trek and/or visitors at about 4. Visitors and Star Trek seem to happen in clumps. Before I know it dinner is being served and brought to my room at about 7pm. After that there's just enough time to eat and digest before my evening shower routine about 9pm. Then it's off to bed at 11 or so for another evening of relaxation with more TV or books or Tarot or all of the above. Life is too good here. I have few complaints.
Tarot today told me to expect new ideas and intuitions. It says I have at my hands a watery world of resources with which to play and enjoy, and a devilish attitude with which to enhance further and continue my transcendence and hone my dark and fiery identity. For what more could I ask?
Thursday -- 9 January, 1992 -- 5:16pm
I've just discovered, invented and named a new delicacy. It's called an endorphigasm. It consists of 1 part dark chocolate and 1 part raw garlic. It stimulates all your pleasure centers and cleanses your body all at the same time. It's like a hot flash. I've just had three. I feel like I've been reborn.
Today has been a gas. I feel like I'm on an adventure of discovery on some new planet and I'm beginning to communicate with the natives on a personal level. I've had revelation after revelation today. One of the first ones was the story of acquiring a copy of Final Exit because I plan to give it to Michael for his birthday Saturday. It's the result of a personal joke between me and Michael. So I asked Phillip to go and get me a copy. He said sure. So that's a story. And the ordeal of using the phone to find the book is a story, and the ordeal of Phillip offering to get me wrapping paper is a story, and the ordeal of the balloon is a story. Maybe I'll tell them later. So Phillip went and got the book for me on his lunch break. Less than 4 hours after I had the idea I had the book. That's manifestation.
I decided to read the book before I give it to Michael. So I took the cover off in case Michael came and caught me reading it. Of course the cover under the cover is black and blank--my favorite design. I went outside and settled into the patio in the partly cloudy Florida sunshine and started reading. The book is great. It tells all about suicide and how to committ it. We've been feeling and acting very morbid lately, so that's why I told Michael I would buy it for his birthday. He agreed it would be theme for us right now. Michael's been feeling very depressed about his life and bantering about suicidal tendencies. So I suggested the book. Plus, I'm here in this institution of disorder and death. It fits right in for many people here. I'm sure some inmates here would rather be dead.
While I sat outside the nursing home and read about euthanasia I had visions. This is what I'm here for, I felt. This is a message from some sort of god. I'm the angel of death. Now I know. I was raised in a funeral home. My father was a mortician and funeral director. I have a morbid attitude. I seem to have no sense of grief. Death is a job to me. Nothing more, nothing less. I've been apprenticing for it all my life. Now it's time to start helping others do it. And here I sat reading the text. Wow. I wondered what I should do. Should I put an add in various publications? How do I advertise? What do I charge. Does the patient pay my plane fare to their deathbed? Maybe I should get my father to be a partner in this venture. He would have lots of good ideas. It's the new profession. Angel of mercy. The ender of suffering from illnesses and stuff. I could specialize in cancer and AIDS. Then I realized millions by now must have had this revelation. Why hasn't it been done yet? I'm sure it's already been done. But--it's always something to talk about in future business or philosophy ventures.
As I sat on the patio having these revelations Phillip came out and began to rearrange the patio furniture. He was preparing for a singalong. What's a singalong? It's where three old ladies from some church or something and come and sing various verses from various old songs and the audience sings along. In this case the audience was the inmates.
I scrambled for my camera. I decided now was the time to start pictorial documentation. I was prepared. I knew I would need my camera here eventually. I had it stashed in my room. I went to get it and loaded new film. Unfortuanately it needed new batteries so I had to get new ones. I interrupted a meeting between Patty and Pat the DON to ask if they had batteries. Pat got totally out of character and suggested I make a mad dash to the convenience store next door to get them. So I did. But not before letting Pat know I was surpised at her lenience of letting me leave without signing out. So was she. She's spelled. She was a person I never expected to spell. I got the batteries and came back in time to get 5 or 6 good pictures. Phillip was glad. Pat was glad. Patty was glad. Everyone was glad to see me so interested. Now I can start the real documentation of this place.
Before all this after AMC I went to the nurses' station to steal a pain pill for Michael's birthday present. I have stolen five pills now. (By stealing I mean requesting Tylox and not eating them, which is a tricky thing to do here). I want to include six with the book for artistic decoration and Michael's later recreation. The opportunity to include six narcotic pills pasted on or secreted in a book about suicide is too good to pass up. So I've decided to give him my stash of 4 Tylox plus the one I got this afternoon plus one more I will get later. It's six Tylox, my soul number with my favorite narcotic. Michael will love it. It's the perfect birthday present.
Anyway I'm getting off subject. When I was at the nurses' station the nurses were having a conversation with an inmate. I forget her name. She had requested Phillip to get her some lipstick, just like I had requested he get my book. He got her lipstick and for some reason needed her to sign her name on a form to verify it. She got confused. Instead of signing her name she wrote LIPSTICK on the signature line. It took ten or fifteen minutes for the nurse to get the woman to understand what she did wrong. By that time the woman was confused and embarrassed to the point of tears and everyone else was laughing. The woman finally understood and took the whole dilemma with good humor, but now she's officially forever Miss Lipstick.
Stories like the one above go on here all the time. I need to do a better job writing them down. I'm not writing too many down and forgetting them. Forgotten stories are like wasted treasures. I need to do better in recording them.
Another funny story was the other day in the cafeteria when I was seeking a cup of coffee. I called Frank, an elderly inmate here, Honey instead of Frank. He sees me as a flirtatious woman. We flirted. Butch saw us from across the room. He laughed so hard he almost fell out of his wheelchair. I didn't know he had the capacity to laugh and move that much. I don't think he normally does. He had some sort of baby food substance all over his chin. Seeing him laughing at my flirtatiousness with a crazy old black man was a scene in itself. There--these things are recorded now. Maybe they'll be stories later. I'm done for now....
Thursday -- 9 January, 1992 -- 7:34pm
I forget the people here are crazy. I just had a real fun adventure with an inmate that I took to be sane when I shouldn't have. I was wheeling down the hall toward the TV room to watch the nightly episode of The Addams Family and I heard a voice say, "Help!" which is no uncommon occurrence here. So I kept going without really heeding the call for help.
For some strange reason the Addams Family is not playing tonight so I returned and as I passed the same door again and saw Alice, the person who was pleading for help a few minutes ago. She looked so pitiful. She was sitting on a chair next to her bed with her hands grasping the guardrail of the bed. I looked in and asked her if I could help. She said to me, "Could you please go get a nurse and tell her to come untie my hands now? I'm getting very tired of sitting here like this." I looked at her hands and they did look like they were tied to the rail. Her ID bracelet looked like a rope. So I thought maybe they tied her there to keep her from falling or something. I went and told an NA.
"Oh, Alice is just crazy," the NA said.
Of course, I thought. Silly me.
"They say she used to be in a concentration camp," the NA clued me in. That part of her answer didn't sink in till a few minutes later. I was still getting over the surprise at myself at believing Alice's "crazy" routine. The thought of bondage excited me so much I spilled coffee on my shirt between my knees from a cup I held.
When I told Irene the NA about my excitement with Alice she asked, "Is that what the stain between your legs is from?" I laughed and continued down the hall back to my room. Then I comprehended the remark about the concentration camp. I decided I'd better write this down.
I remember a dream I had last night. I was going down the hall and turned left where I should've turned right or something. I came upon a corridor filled with strange nurses I'd never seen before. They all looked at me with contempt. The smell was horrible. The hall was filthy. The nurses looked like torturers. Then I saw a large double door like the ones on the way to an operating room. Screams and pleas for help were coming from the other side. I turned around and went back where I came from. Then I woke up.
I called Michael a few minutes ago to tell him the bondage story and ask him to bring my mail when he comes later this evening. When he answered the phone, I said, "Hello, hi," as a greeting. That's what Leonard used to say to me when he called me from the hospital. "Hello, hi." I'm so romanticized. I've used the words of a dead man in a situation not too far removed from his when he used them.
I'm sitting here doing neurotic things like cleaning my clean room and typing bits and pieces of neurotic thoughts. Bart Simpson is on my tiny fuzzy black and white TV and my tape deck is playing the theme song from A Clockwork Orange....
Friday -- 10 January, 1992 -- 3:20pm
Today has been another one of those totally wasted days. I've accomplished nothing. It's been a day of lost time. I'm trying to figure out how last night's tarot fits in as a predictioin of today.
The Moon was the first card. It has been one moon cycle since I broke myself. Moonish emotions and feelings have also played a part in today's adventures. Dad surprised me and showed up unannounced this morning. I was just sitting in bed reading Final Exit and he walked in. He took the day off and drove up here. He just left Mom at home. I feel sorry for her having to put up with all this craziness that goes on around her. But I feel for Dad too. They both are such kind individuals who do nothing but sacrifice themselves for the happiness of others. It leaves Mom and Dad psychologically and emotionally spent somethimes. I went to lunch with Dad to the Zanzibar Restaurant down the street. Then he walked me back to my room and he left.
I finished reading Final Exit and placed the six Tylox on the book inside a medicine vial and wrapped it all in blue wrapping paper. (I acquired the final Tylox today at noon.) I taped a popped (euthanized) orange balloon on the gift as a bow. Orange and blue are Michael's favorite color combination. It's an Anais Nin thing.
On the inside cover I wrote,
"Today is a good day to die.
Darkness & Bliss"
I just got a phone call from Michael.... He called to tell me he didn't owe me as much money as I reminded him last night when I reminded him he owed me fifteen dollars. So we got in a big phone argument over 5 dollars and he hung up on me. Ha! I almost got mad. But now I'm laughing at the whole conversation after writing about it. Friendships are so nutty.
Back to tarot. The next card was The Empress -- More healing and nurturing and visions of home and solitude. Today I transferred myself into my wheelchair from the bed. I did it alone as a test just to see if I could do it. I surprised myself to do it so easily and quickly got back and bed to let the nurse come put me in my chair. I don't want them to know I can do it yet. I don't want them to know I'm getting that much better yet. I have too much unfinished business here. But the healing and nurturing part fits in. Modifying that card was the 3 of pentacles -- Works, physical planning. Now I do have to start making plans for moving back home. What a drag.
The next card was 5 of Wands--Strife, arguments--that explains the tiff I just had with Michael. I didn't really stay mad about it because I had been expecting an argument all day since the card came up last night, and that must have been it. It was just a short spat. I don't think either of us will lose too much sleep over it. But it is the first time he's hung up on me. Oh, I hear the phone ringing down the hall, nope, it's not him calling back yet. I wonder if he will?.... Life is so soapy.
The next card was the seven of cups -- Debauch -- that's always a fun card to get one's mind off all this reality crap. I take it to mean I'm gonna get wasted later and have too much fun. Thank goodness for debauch. The last card was the nine of cups -- Happiness. So I have nothing more to dread today. All the emotions, moodiness and arguments have hopefully gone by. Now all I have to do is bide my time here and enjoy myself till the next crisis rolls around. I'm sure I'll be happy doing that.
Friday -- 10 January, 1992 -- 5:19pm
Michael stopped by about an hour ago and threw a $10 bill on my bed and stuck his tongue out at me. I won the argument, or at least the money. He stuck his head in the door long enough for us to banter at each other and sling emotional shit for a bit, then said he'd see me tomorrow. He's still upset I guess.
I was going down the hall a while ago and Alice Walker, the woman who they say was in a concentration camp, (she really wasn't though) yelled at me again as I passed by her room.
"Could you come help me please?" she asked me in a monotone request.
"Sure." I decided I didn't have anthing better to do. I was just on the way back to my room from getting a Tylox from the nurse, and actually taking it this time. I've learned that Alice suffers from some sort of organic brain syndrome or something. She was sitting in her wheelchair next to her bed and leaning on her TV table.
"I can't move and this thing keeps threatening to roll," she said. I looked at her with not a lot of compassion, but at least I listened to what she had to say. "They want me to give all those paintings away," she added. "I don't want to, but sometimes you just have to let it go," she lamented.
"Well, sometimes it's better to just clear stuff away," I consoled her. "Now you have less stuff to worry about."
"I really like the white one though," she said.
"Maybe you should keep it," I said.
"Yes, maybe I will," she declared. I began to leave the room after a couple of more minutes small talk and questions of when dinner would be to her room. "Thanks for coming and talking with me," she said.
"No problem," I answered. "I enjoyed it." I went into the hallway and came back to my room. On the way I saw Buddy, the maintenance dude. "You know, some of these people here are just a bit tilted sometimes," I said to Buddy.
"Well, yes I know," he said. "But it helps sometimes to be unbalanced. Take for instance when you walk on one side of a hill. You can stand up straight." He walked away.
I went into my room and turned on some music. I went to my door and looked out, sitting and watching. Carrie was a few rooms down looking at Rosa who was resting in her bed.
Carrie looked dangerous. She was dressed in a light pink short dress, with a pinker sweater. Her skinny vericosed legs churned back and forth as she propelled her wheelchair out Rosa's door and toward me. I'd never seen her with this much energy before. I didn't even know she could propel herself so atheletically. As she scooted and wheeled by my door I said, "Hi, Carrie. You look dangerous today."
She looked over and smiled at me and stopped her churning legs. "What?" she said.
"I said you look dangerous today."
"I'm just going back to get my little baby." Carrie carries a baby doll usually. She didn't have it with her at the time. She kickstarted her propelling legs and continued at a good clip down the hall. I went back into my room.
Saturday -- 11 January, 1992 -- 4:30pm
Today is the 11:11 day. (1-11-1992: 1+1=11 and 9+2 =11 or something like that). It's a New Ager/numerology thing. Some of my friends are hip to the event. It seems it marks the passage of the dawning of the age of aquarius. Now it's the daylight of the age of aquarius. Personally, I am having a difficult time comprehending the whole event, but people are massing together all over the world at places like the pyramids to celebrate it and wait for some sign from somewhere. I waited for a sign from the heavens or from the hells or wherever and at 11:11am I didn't see or feel anything abnormal so I drew a card from the Tarot deck I've been using every day but all I got was the Fool.
Actually, the Fool is a fitting card for this 11:11 thing. It is supposedly the beginning of a new era, and that's what the Fool represents, the beginning of a new journey. I also did my daily forecast reading the first thing this morning, before I got out of bed, since I was too drunk last night to do it. It was very interesting also, and it sort of did say things that people have been predicting about this 11:11 stuff.
This morning's tarot forecast began with the Ace of Swords, the first top card. I took it to mean that this was the time for beginning new ideas and realities. Then the King of Pentacles, the second top card, reiterated the Ace of Swords's message and said it was time for the end of old material things and excess baggage. The King was modified by the High Priestess, which must've meant that if I did get rid of all that baggage I could move into a zone of twilight and magic and other fun stuff. Now all I have to do is figure out what the excess baggage is. The third top card was the Tower, saying there is a possibility of some sort of major catastrophic natural event, maybe that will happen at 6:11 this evening, which is 11:11 Greenwich Mean Time, or maybe it's forcasting some other sort of violent change of scenario in my life--now I am excited. The Magician modified that card, so I guess the catastrophe will bring a more magical atmosphere to whatever it demolishes. The final card which modified the magician which modified the tower was the 9 of wands--strength. I guess this means that whatever this reading means it's gonna make me, or whoever or whatever it's about, a stronger being or personality in the end. Gosh, how could I be a stronger personality than I am already?
Last night I got a cold plate of canned spinach and frozen vegetables and smashed potatoes brought to me for dinner. I didn't want to eat that. I decided to take advantage of my nearness to Annie and the Zanzibar so I went to the nurses' station to sign out, but noone was there. So I went behind the desk, got my chart, found a pen and signed myself out. I went to the Zanzibar for dinner. Annie was working there and was my waitron, so that was good. Also, my new neighbor, Sharon, was eating there with a friend so I visited with them and had a glass of wine.
Then I ordered what Annie suggested, a Shitake mushroom stir-fry served over linguini. It was delicious. I ordered a whole order in order to take the leftovers back to the asylum with me, but it was so good that the Debauch card from the previous day's forecast kicked in and I ate the whole order. I stuffed myself. I ordered more wine in the meantime to wash it all down with, furthering the debauch. Then Tina came in and sat with me and we visited and then Kathy and Diane of Dreamstreet showed up and sat down and we all visited together and I drank another glass of wine.
Muses took control of my mouth and I ranted at Kathy about this journal and asked her if she would read it when I was done and give me some suggestions of what to do with it, ie. burn it or bury it or something. I asked her if she could at least tell me if she thought if it would be worth my time to develop it into something more than a simple boring diary. She said she would. It made me happy. I had just had the idea to ask her about it that afternoon. Did I manifest her appearance that evening? Naaa. Sometimes coincidences just happen I guess.
Today is Michael's birthday. I'm going back to the Zanzibar this evening at seven for his dinner party there. That's three times I've been to the Z in two days. I hope Michael is having a good birthday. He deserves to. He's treated me so well lately and put up with all my eccentricities like a trooper. I hope he likes the Final Exit book. I know I would if someone gave it to me, especially on my birthday.
Last night after passing out in front of my tiny little fuzzy TV and sleeping till 2am I woke up. I was so embarrassed for getting drunk and do not remember coming home. So much for a new soberer lifestyle. I crawled into bed by myself for the first time in exactly one month. I decided to start doing it and not keeping it a secret any more.
This morning when I got up I got out of bed myself too. Linda the NA put me on the toilet and instead of ringing for her to come lift me into the shower like I've been doing I took a chance and scooted myself across the abyss from the toilet to the shower. It worked. I did it. My arm is truly getting stronger. Maybe that's what the 9 of wands was trying to tell me.
After my shower I pulled the help cord for Linda to come lift me back to my wheelchair. She did and I dried myself off and got dressed. Then my "family doctor," Dr. Alcantara came, for the first time since I've been here, to see me. She asked me how I was doing and stuff. We had about a ten-minute visit. She seemed very interested in my room and decorations and stuff. She asked me all kinds of questions about various pictures and decorations. She wanted to know my religion and I told her Pagan. I couldn't tell what she thought about that. She was interested though. She finally left and I did morning things and before I knew it lunch was happening. After that I worked on Gayle's chapter four. I finished it after a couple of hours. Thank goodness. That's a load off my chest. Typing and editing for Gayle is getting to be more and more stressful. I'm not sure why. I don't know if I'm jealous of her good luck in the publishing world or if I feel like I could do a much better job writing than she.
I ate Tylox about an hour ago. It was the first one I've taken all day. That is the longest I think I've gone without one since I got the prescription. I almost made it 24 hours. I did take two Tylenol this morning to get rid of my red wine headache, but they aren't narcotics so they don't count as real pain meds if you ask me. I'm trying to take less Tylox for obvious reasons. I don't think I want to be a total Tylox junkie yet. Maybe later in my life.
My arm is beginning to hurt from all this typing. I've been at the keyboard for hours now. So I guess I'll quit a while and let the codiene take over. I'm running out of things to talk about anyway. I do need to stop talking about myself so much and start talking about this asylum more. I'm not going to be here much longer. I can feel it in my bones. I need to become less personal and more journalistic or I'm going to regret it after I leave.
I was reading over the above stuff just now and heard the little old african-american woman with white hair outside my door. She usually never talks. She was outside my door complaining about something in her cracking, weak and whining voice. I went out to see what was wrong and she was sitting in her wheelchair, very distraught, nodding her head back and forth. She was saying that they had left her behind and she was very worried that she "wasn't going to get to chow." She said she couldn't read the address numbers. She seemed very lost. I asked her if she needed help and she said yes. So I rolled her, chair-by-chair, down the hall and delivered her to Nyoka.
"Special delivery," I said. He said thanks and took her to the dining room. I just saw Nyoka and another NA rolling her back by my door to her room in the west wing. She was wailing frantically. I guess that means she either missed chow or they're going to serve her in her room.
asylum part four
Tuesday -- 14 January, 1992 -- 10:43am
I think this is the longest gap I've got in this journal, xcept for xmas. The past couple of days have been very laid back and quiet here for me. Not much has happened. Things have set into a rhythm for me here. Usually when that happens things start to change again in my life.
It is about time for me to change back to my previous self and move back to my apartment. My arm is almost well enough for me to be able to transfer myself from my chair to my bed and to the shower without too much pain and stress and danger. I've been getting myself in and out of bed now for the past few days. The NAs no longer have to put me in the shower either. The toilet is directly adjacent to the tub and my shower bench, so I can just scoot myself from the toilet to the shower. All the NAs have to do now is lift me from my chair to the toilet and from the shower back to my chair.
I'm going home for an overnight stay Thursday. There's a board meeting at the Co-op Thursday night that I must attend so I'm just going to go home and stay at my house after it's over, since it's closer to the Co-op than this place. This will give me a chance to try transferring from my chair to my bed and to the shower and toilet at home. There it will probably be a bit more difficult because of the way the bathroom is arranged. I will have to take my shower bench along with me to be able to test my abilities. I hope the COA driver will help carry it from my room here and help me transport it to my apartment when he comes to get me Thursday. Otherwise, I won't be able to find out if it's possible for me to use it at home. If I can successfully transfer from toilet to chair and from chair to shower at home, then I will make definite plans of when to permanently move back home. Right now, if all goes well, I plan to move back home around the full moon, the 19th of this month. However, that is a Sunday, so COA won't be able to help me get transported on that day. Maybe I'll wait till Monday, or maybe I'll stay here at the asylum even longer, we'll see.
As I look back over my previous entry, I see that the last time I wrote was the 11th. That was three days ago--wow. The day after that was Sunday. I didn't feel well Sunday. I got up and tried to get motivated to get dressed and start being productive, but it just didn't work. I went back to bed. I stayed in bed till about 3pm, resting and napping. I felt slightly better afterwards and got up. The rest of the day I spent just existing and being a patient in this rest home. Sunday was probably my least productive day here.
I intended yesterday, Monday, to be the beginning of a productive week. Unfortunately, it was almost an exact replica of Sunday. I don't know why, but I've almost been in a hibernative sort of state for the past couple of days. Maybe I'm just getting rested up for the move back home. After that it will be no more breakfast in bed and room service.
When I woke up this morning to my daily morning Tylox and coffee the realization hit me hard that all this will soon be coming to an end. It has always been difficult for me to make that transition back to the real world from the world of a recovering patient. Recovering from an injury is so easy. Yes, it is painful and difficult at times, but I am very experienced in it and know how to do it with as little stress as possible. I have been recovering from major and minor injuries all my life. The first really difficult transition back to the real world I remember was in first grade, when I was about seven years old.
I had undergone major surgery to my legs and spent several weeks away from school. I spent the first week or so at the hospital and the rest of the time recuperating at home. After I was well enough to go back to school I was accustomed to all the familiarities and safeties of being at home. I didn't want to go to school and face all those, by now strange and forgotten faces of the other students.
My mom and dad delivered me to the classroom and set me in my desk one morning. I did not want to be there. I just sat in my desk and began crying after mom and dad left. The teacher, Mrs. Campbell, decided to just let me cry, thinking I would get all my frustrations and fears out eventually. I cried. I cried and cried. The other students started crying because I was crying. Mrs. Cambell threatened me with her ping-pong paddle. I cried louder. The students cried louder. Finally, Mrs. Campbell accepted defeat and called my parents. They came and had a long talk with me. I don't remember if I went back home that day or stayed. If I went back home, I'm sure I went back to school the next day or so. It is not easy integrating oneself back into "normality."
This morning I got sad again. I sat in bed, thinking about my immenent move back home. I wanted to stay here. I began to miss this place. It's so easy to live here. I began to dread the mornings at home when I will have to get myself up and make my own coffee and toast. I will be alone except for my cat. There won't be people walking up and down the halls outside my room like they do now. I don't even have a hall outside my bedroom. I have a living room, and nobody lives in it but me. All this is ironic because I usually crave solitude and hate company.
The upcoming move will be a difficult transition at first, not unlike my previous movements from convalescence to recovery. The cycle continues. Here, at the asylum, I did have another dissapointment with Cheryl, the NA. I have always noticed that she and I have small differences and communication lapses. For instance, she has a hard time looking at me in the eyes for longer than a few seconds. She acts insecure. I ignore it. We joke with each other and flirt and talk when she lifts me onto the toilet and out of the shower and stuff. But we really don't communicate as well as we should. I just ignored it before and never really wondered why we didn't really share our true feeling with each other. But two days ago I found out why. We don't agree philosophically. We like each other but can't relate with each other's lifestyles.
As I said earler, some employees here are related, as are some patients. This makes for some interesting reactions between patients and staff here, but especially between staff and staff, as I found out even more yesterday.
Cheryl and Irene live together. They are also two of the Certified Nursing Assistants (CNAs) here. (I've been calling them NAs.) Cheryl and Irene are caucasion (white). Most of the other NAs are afro-american (black). Cheryl and Irene are in the minority here in that respect. I have noticed that Cheryl and Irene lean toward the blue-collar lower-middle-class redneck perspective from what I've observed in visiting with them during coffee breaks and other outside-of-work activities. I have noticed no prejudice or anything like that towards their coworkers, however.
But Sunday afternoon I overheard Cheryl talking and complaining to another NA about a young man who her daughter was dating. Cheryl's daughter is Nicole. Nicole also works here. She is about 20 years old. She works in the housekeeping department. I visit with her occasionally as she cleans my room. I did notice that Cheryl and Nicole never work the same shift together. They are never here at the same time, so I don't know how they interact together. I assumed it is a normal mother/daughter relationship with uphill and downhill surges in between. I never really heard either one complain about the other when I talked to them.
Cheryl is very sexually oriented. She jokes and flirts constantly with me, as does her roommate Irene, with sexual inuendo. She's an Aries. I don't know how Aries people are inclined to act, but from my interactions with Cheryl, which I enjoy, I now think she's sexually and socially hung up. I've come to this conclusion because of the event that I began hearing about with Cheryl's conversation I overheard Sunday about Nicole's new boyfriend.
I got in late on the conversation, so I didn't catch the name of the man. But Cheryl was saying things like, "If he wants to treat her like a one-night-stand and fuck her legs off for a few days, then that's her business. But I'm not going to let it happen in my house." I percieved feelings of jealousy. Cheryl is always saying she never gets enough. I immediately wondered if I knew the man. But it is not my business, so I didn't butt in and ask who. Actually I was surprised Cheryl was talking like this in my company. I wasn't eavesdropping, I was just sitting in the same room drinking a cup a coffee. She knew I was listening.
Later that evening, Cheryl and Irene were in the dining room on break and Cheryl got a phone call. I was there watching TV. After taking the call, Cheryl came back in a very agitated state and told Irene that a person whose voice she recognized, but could not place, just called anonymously and told her that Nicole and Nicole's new boyfriend were at home in bed together. Cheryl got more and more upset as she talked to Irene about it. Before long, Cheryl was stomping out the door and to her car. That was the last thing I saw happen with that story that evening. The next day at the beginning of Cheryl's shift I saw her and asked what happened. She said that Nicole and a young man who works here, Rod, were fucking around in her house so she went home and gave Nicole an ultimatum. Cheryl gave Nicole the option to choose between living with her or fucking Rod. Of course, Nicole chose Rod. I was astonished. But then I realized I shouldn't have been so astonished. Now I realized why Cheryl acted the way she acted toward me--insecure.
Rod is a man who works in the kitchen here. He seems shy and polite. He's the perfect match for Nicole. She's the same way. They are each other's perfect complement. They are very much alike in disposition in demeanor. They are very different in appearance. Rod is short, small, boyishly cute and quiet. Nicole is tall, large, girlishly cute and quiet. Nicole has long black hair. Rod has short black hair. Nicole is white. Rod is black.
When Cheryl informed me that she told Nicole to either leave Rod or leave home, I was very taken aback. I found it exasperating that Cheryl could be such a racist. I asked her if she felt this way because Rod is black, just to make sure I had the story right, and she said yes. I didn't know how to react. So I didn't react outwardly. After all, Cheryl is my assistant. I didn't want to let her know how deeply I was offended yet. So I just said, "Oh." Later, I asked her bluntly when the subject came up again, "You mean that you don't agree with interracial sex?"
She looked at me as if she were surprised that I could form the question into those words. "Yeah," she said. "I'm not prejudiced, I just think that we should stay with our own kind." After that statement, I knew for sure that Cheryl is tragically mixed up. Now I understand Cheryl much more clearly. I'm very dissapointed in her. From talking with her last night it seems she is very confused and dissapointed in herself too. I think she is beginning to realize that she has made a big mistake in the motherhood department.
I haven't seen Nicole for the past few days. Cheryl is off today. So maybe I'll ask Irene this afternoon how things are working out at home. Or maybe I'll just sit back and see what happens. I still find it very difficult to comprehend how Cheryl can be so racist in this environment, where she has worked for years. She is the minority here. Most of her co-workers are black. She seems to get along well with all of her co-workers, black and white. I guess this is just another chapter in Cheryl's book of identity crisis.
I feel sorry that Nicole, a beautiful young woman, a fellow Scorpio, an aspiring writer, has to go through all of this. But maybe it will help her in the future. I'm sure it will cause some sort of change in her, or at least strengthen her stubborness. I know this saga has taught me to be careful about judging people and making assumptions about them. Before all this I thought that Nicole was the more messed-up one of the two. Now I realize it's Cheryl. Poor Irene is on the sidelines, having to live amongst all this mass confusion and emotional turmoil. I'm going to go watch AMC now and think about this further. I'm sure I'll learn something from AMC about all this soapy stuff. I usually do.
Tuesday -- 14 January, 1992 -- 2:14pm
AMC is over for today. I did see definite parallels. AMC is having interracial sex problems also. Of course. Now I see why I'm so excited about all this. It's happening in the TV dimension and it's happening in my continuum, the nutso dimension, too.
During AMC I decided it was time to eat. My lunch tray with its plate of pasta and broccolli was cold by then, though, so I brought it to the staff lounge to warm it with microwaves during a commercial. When I got to the lounge the door was closed. I knocked and heard no reply. For some weird reason, I wouldn't go inside the lounge. I was afraid someone was in there who didn't want to be bothered by me, a lowly inmate.
So I carried my cold plate of broccolli and pasta next door to the kitchen and buzzed the doorbuzzer next to the doorknob. (Inmates aren't allowed to go into the kitchen, let alone barge in unannounced. They're supposed to buzz the buzzer. Maybe there is a threat of terrorism from starving inmates or something.) And guess who answered the door?
I asked Rod if there was a microwave in the kitchen. He said no and referred me to the staff lounge. I went back next door and brought a cleaning lady with me to look inside and check and see if there was a private staff meeting going on inside or something. The room was empty. So I went in, beginning to plow through the increasingly tangled mass of chairs arranged haphazardly around the table. I got entlanged in the chairs. I felt someone behind me. It was Rod. He had followed me into the lounge.
"Do you need some help?" he asked me, moving chairs out from under my wheels and clearing me a path.
"Thanks," I said. I went to the microwave, put in my pasta and broccolli, and punched 9 twice, then start.
"You need to set that on about 1:30," Rod said. I backed away from noisy the microwave. Rod was sitting at the table smoking a cigarrette. The only thing I understood him say was "1:30."
"Oh, hi, you surprised me." He really had. "What about 1:30?" I asked him.
"You need to set the microwave at about 1 minute and a half," Rod explained.
"Oh...thanks. I did," I answered. "So how has your day been?" I couldn't resist.
By then I realized I was deeply involved in an event and I was all purely nothing more than a victim of circumstance. One might describe it as the Anais Nin complex. I am here in this asylum to heal. But I am also here to write. I am thrown headlong into a love story and a hate story. And it's the same story. I'm already keeping a diary. I've got to write this down.
I've got to keep up to date. I've got to remember my namesake. I've got to keep it stirred up. This is probably a big mistake.
"It's been hell," Rod answered.
"What's the problem?"
"Women." Rod was getting apprehensive. It was now or never.
"Nicole?" I was blunt.
"Yeah." Rod had a stunned look on his face. "Are people talking about this around here?"
I was trapped. What should I say? I didn't mean to embarrass him. "I've heard some things," I said. I didn't tell him I was "friends" with Cheryl, his new worst enemy. But he may already know. I don't know what he knows.
"I don't know the whole story," I flubbered. "But from what I've heard, I think you're getting a really raw deal. I'm behind you on this all the way," I said.
"I need all the people behind me I can get," he answered and inhaled some more of his cigarette.
"How is Nicole?" I continued.
"She's OK."
"Are you still together?"
"Yeah," Rod said. "We're getting an apartment on the 25th of the month, when I get paid. Till then we're staying with my parents, where I live now." He seemed to open up a little. The microwave made its three beeps. My pasta and broccolli was sufficiently overkilled. I went to the oven and pulled it out. THe plate burned my fingers. I shifted it back and forth.
"I haven't gotten a chance to speak to Nicole in a week," I said. "Usually we talk together when we get a chance."
"She'll be back tomorrow," Rod said.
I headed out the door. "Hang in there," I said. I went back to my room to eat and finish AMC. I left him sitting and smoking in shock.
As I ate and watched AMC I realized I should have stayed and talked with him longer. I'm not a social wonder. At times I'm a social blunder. I hope I wasn't too forward. I should have told him exactly how I got the information. I should have told him exactly what I know and how I knew it. Communication is so difficult. I wonder how he felt about the whole scene. I wonder if he's embarrassed or glad or even wants to have me as a friend or if he hates me for intruding in what's none of my business? I wonder. I wonder if Cheryl will find out about this meeting? I wonder if she'll ever speak to me again? I wonder if Nicole will speak to me tomorrow? I should have let Rod know that I am here if he wants to talk about this more. I guess he knows I'm here. He serves my food. I wonder if he hates me. I wonder what he thinks about me. Should I continue on with this story or mind my own business? Ha.
I just got a phone call. It was Alison calling from the Co-op. She was calling for Michael, who's there preparing an order for us (me and some of the staff here) for dinner tonight. I called him yesterday and asked him if he wanted to bring some food and we decided that I ask around and see if anyone else besides me wanted it. He agreed. I asked around. Now he has an order for two harvest burgers, three Brazilian pastas, one jade house salad and one Spanish bean soup. I hope they tip well here. I think he's had a long day and didn't plan for such a large order, even though I did give him the order last night. Like sands through the hourglass these are the days of our lives as the world turns.
Wednesday -- 15 January, 1992 -- 8:06pm
Gosh--so much has happened in the past 24 hours and I bet I've forgotten 75% of it. Such is life.
Yesterday, Michael and Allison delivered the food at about 4 in the afternoon. It was another catering job for Michael that turned out not as good as he'd hoped it would. The people here are lower-middle class, which means they don't tip well. Unfortunately, Michael forgot to add the tax and gratuity to the ticket so of course Michael was lucky to get away financially breaking even. The dietician here looked things over and turned her nose up at Michael while we delivered the food, and then quickly disappeared into some back office so we couldn't find her haunt her further. Michael left dissapointed and I felt silly for getting involved in the whole mess.
Later, I went to the dining room. I decided to stay there and eat supper tonight. I decided it would be a good picture-taking opportunity. I brought my camera and sat at the end table by the big window. Dinner consisted of steamed veggies and stuff. I ate with the other inmates. It was such a familial thing.... I took a picture of "dinner at the asylum," but later realized I had the f-stop set wrong. Oh well.
I noticed the radio was playing so I suggested we play my "To Dine" Scorpio tape I had in my room. No one disagreed so I went and got it and Linda put in the the tape player and we listened to it while we ate. Everyone seemed to like it.
The NAs hurriedly cleaned up the dining room for a class that was being held later that evening. The class was for CPR certification for the staff. I asked Pat, the DON, if I could sit in. I was surprised that she let me, but she cheerfully agreed.
So I set in on the first night of a two-night class being taught to the staff here. It was an unexpected surprising bit of fun. A few of the nurses came and many CNAs came. The class was taught by a blond young man who looked like a lifeguard/surfer from some beach who'd taken a long-term overdose of steroids. Before class I asked him if he was a lifeguard. He was! He seemed surprised when I told him I wasn't surprised. The class was what one would expect in a class about CPR, taught by a young steroid-induced lifeguard/paramedic who took his job very seriously.
At the end of the class we all took a test to see what we've learned. The test was a test run of the final that would be given the next night for the certification qualification. We all passed. I missed eleven questions out of 50, which was about average. One person flunked. She is the oldest NA here. She only works the night shift. She doesn't really do much. She's getting on in her years I guess. SHe's very "heavy." Anyway, after the test the class was over. She stayed afterwards and studied. I could tell she was upset and worried. I should have offered to help her study, but I didn't want to embarrass her. After class I took a shower and went to bed
This morning I saw Nicole a few times while I prepared to go do my volunteer work at FSDB next door for the day. I had been planning to do it since last week's visit there. I got up early and got dressed and ate while preparing to go. Nicole pushed her cleaning cart back and forth by my door a few times. She looked in and waved, but didn't stop to talk. I kept my mouth closed and minded my own business. Besides, I didn't have time to do soaps this morning.
I checked out and went to the FSDB library. That trip was a story in its own right. I applied to be a volunteer there over a year ago. Now I finally got to volunteer. This was my first day. I went to the place they told me to report to and a secretary brought me to an empty office in some back room. She handed me a stack of blank forms and showed me an electric typewriter. Then she showed me a stack of forms that kids had filled out. She wanted me to copy them with the typewriter. I had told them last week I didn't want to do office stuff like this. So I gracefully told them the library wanted me too. WHich they did. The secretary understood my point, that it would be much more exciting to work in the library than some back office. So she didn't complain when I went to the library to volunteer there instead.
The library was another adventure. The librarian, Linda, is deaf, but talks very plainly in a loud squeaky voice. She trained me and praised me as a wonderful life-saving volunteer over and over for about an hour and then introduced me to probably every living soul that ever existed on FSDB campus. I have never been praised and introduced so many times in two hours in all this or any previous life. At 11am she started singing the praises of the cafeteria to me and by 11:15 she had me agreeing to go to lunch with her at 11:20.
The cafeteria adventure was scary. We had to go across campus. Find someone to unlock the elevator. Ride the elevator up. Go through the student section of the cafeteria. It smelled like all school cafeterias. My headache that I used to get every day at lunch at school came back. It was a horrible sensation. We continued on through the cafeteria and toward the back. We went through some doors and there was another smaller cafeteria. This one had carpet and tablecloths. All the entrees had meat so I skipped them and went to the salad bar. I got three unripened strips of avocado, two peeled cucumber spears, one slice of raw yellow squash, one slice of a green bell pepper, and one bite of cantelope. I didn't clean my plate. Even the raw vegetables were not too edible. But we visited and smiled at each other a lot. And Linda sang my praises.
After lunch I went back and checked books in and out the rest of the afternoon. I came back to the asylum, exhausted, at about 3:30.
I met Michael and Alison and visited with them till about 4. They went home and I watched TV for a while. I then went back to the cafeteria. It was dinner time again. I wanted to get a good picture yet. So I went, intending to eat again and brought more music at the request of one of the NAs who heard last night's tape and wanted to hear more. I came to my room and got Exercising Jezebel, my birthday tape that Michael made for me. SHe put it on the tape deck and started it playing. Everyone liked it. Butch was really enjoying it. By the second song, Sex Dwarf, I was dancing. I said, "This is my theme song," to an NA and twirled my chair around. When I twirled again I almost ran over the director of the place, Tom Frankenstein. He was heading for the tape deck as fast as possible.
"This is no music for old people to be listening to at dinner," he said. He turned the tape off quickly, turned the volume way down and turned on an easy-listening radio station. I was so taken aback I forgot to take a picture. I thought it was hilarious. He didn't say a word to me. He knew it was my music. People here are so afraid to communmicate.
After dinner I was in exstacy with having caused Tom to get so upset. I stayed around and waited for the next CPR class. They played with dolls tonight. I stayed a while but got bored watching them suck doll masks. So I came to my room. There's a lot more to today than the above, but those are the basics. Hopefully I can expand on it all later.
I'm sitting here waiting for COA to come pick me up and take me home for the evening. They will bring me back tomorrow afternoon if all goes as planned. I've got to be at the Co-op bored meeting tonight. The Co-op is going out of business I think.
Friday -- 17 January, 1992 -- 5:02pm
I'm back. Lots has happened. Most important of all of it is that I successfully got on and off the toilet and in and out of the shower at home by myself. All I had in case of falling was the cordless phone. I didn't fall and I didn't need to use the cordless phone to call for help. That would've been dramatic, wouldn't it?
So now I have no real medical excuse for staying here here at the funny farm. I thought about staying here at least one more week, just for the sake of staying and hanging out. But I after being home for 24 hours I have realized and remembered that I have committments, obligations and responsibilities and a cat, that I need to get back to.
I called COA this afternoon and arranged the final ride back to home from here. COA is going to take me home at 9:15 Monday morning. So I have till then to get all my loose ends here at the farm gathered together.
I went and talked to Patty, the social worker here who checked me in and who's been my main advocate during all these life and death struggles over the past month. I told her the above story and explained that I didn't want to leave but that I had to. She seemed touched. I think maybe she even began to get a tear in her eye. I don't think she has had many patients come to her office and tell her they don't want to leave this place. We had a nice visit and she assured me she would take care of the paperwork. She told me everyone here will be sad to see me go. I said I knew....
I started thinking about this weekend as a good time to leave about ten days ago when I saw the full moon would be then. I'm glad it's actually working out as one of my options. I will have lived here one moon cycle. I moved in December 17. The moon was full on the 21st. I will be leaving January 20. This month's moon will be full on the 19th. It's so poetic....
Speaking of poetry, I'm going to the Zanzibar tonight for dinner--by myself. I'm so glad to be going by myself. I love to eat alone. I don't have to worry about acting pleased or being worried if my company is pleased. I can just be there and enjoy my meal. This is Friday, so Anne will be there. This means I'll have seen Anne and Sukhari on the same day. That's a treat. I saw Sukhari this morning at the Co-op. Immediately after I came in the door she was there, giving me a big Scorpio hug. I was cold and half-asleep and still trying to regain my composure after spending the past hour and a half with Gayle. After the hug Sukhari asked me if I was OK.
"I am now," I answered. That's how Sukhari and Anne affect people. They are nurturing goddesses filled with tons of healing energy. My mom's likethat too. It must be a Scorpio thing. So tonight I get a good meal wonderfully cooked by Joe and gracefully provided by Anne. I can't wait. I'm hungry already. All I've eaten today is two cups of Michael coffee and a half a bowl of reheated Michael gumbo. Not that that's bad. It's nice knowing Michael, too. Of all the people in St. Augustine, Michael, Anne and Sukhari are definitely probably the top three on my list of favorite souls. And after this evening I will have seen all three today. What more for could one ask?
Saturday -- 18 January, 1992 -- 11:59am
Well, I went to dinner last night. I wish I could remember coming home.... I drank too much red wine--again. All I have for proof that I payed my bill is the credit card receipt. I don't remember leaving the restaurant. The last thing I remember is ordering a second glass of wine. This really surprises me. I wonder if I had more after that second glass. I felt really bad this morning when I woke up. I can't believe two glasses of wine would make me so sick. My credit card bill wasn't itemized so I don't know how much I drank. But whatever it was, I wish I wouldn't have. After I got back here, I guess I passed out for a while. I woke up and it was after 11. I found Mary and asked her to help me into the bathroom so I could shower and stuff. She did and I did and then I went to bed. I don't feel sick any more, I just feel embarrassed--again. Such is the life of an alcoholic....
I slept till 10 this morning. I've never done that here before. I usually get up when they wake me and bring my breakfast at 7:30. This morning I just rolled over and went back to sleep. I got up and took my cold toast and some new coffee to the dining room to eat breakfast. I sat there in a toasty stupor, staring at the cartoons on the TV. Essie, a nice, quiet, little old black woman with no teeth, wheeled around me and said good morning. She went over to the table behind me and emptied her bag. Then I heard her exclaim. "Well I declare! Somebody stole my money."
Then she started complaining about someone stealing her pocketbook last night when she sent them to the store. Then she started wailing and crying. It was a really weird scene to eat cold dry wheat toast with grape jelly at. I just sat there and stared and listenend and ate and drank my muddy coffee.
Then a crowd of people came in escorting Butch. It was three kids and three adults. They were making some sort of presentation to Butch. I had gone to get my camera to take a picture of Essie, but didn't have a chance to before Butch's crowd came. So I listened to them as I ate my toast. A woman in the group related Butch's story to the kids. I think they were members of a kids' church club or something. The woman described Butch's car crash to the kids. She told them that he was pulling out into a highway and was hit by another car. She didn't tell them he was drunk. I actually don't know if he was or not, but my dear friend Heather, one of his victims, told me he was. So I assume he was. All during the description of his crash and the story of his trials at rehab that the woman told the kids about I kept thinking about last night and thanking my lucky stars that I was OK and that the worst thing that happened to me last night, that I remember, was I lost two rings off one finger. But they were cheapos, so it wasn't a big loss.
The kids presented a check to Butch for $230 (not even a drop in the bucket for all his medical bills) and the woman took a picture of the presentation. So did I since I had my camera with me. The woman continued talking about Butch to the kids. It was like show and tell. Then she began talking to Butch like he was a little baby. He just sat there and drooled and bobbed his head and smiled.
The kids were flabbergasted. The woman started telling Butch that his computer for communication was nearly ready, and then he would be able to communicate with others for the first time since his accident almost five years ago. She also said she and her church group were praying for him and trying to buy him a van. She explained to him how expensive vans are. She guessed about $20,000.
I didn't interrupt to tell her they were much more than that for what Butch needed. It's so ironic that they want to buy Butch a vehicle. He's already almost killed at least 8 people with a vehicle and they want him to put him back on the road. The woman explained further that they were looking for a used van to buy since a new one was too expensive. She was hoping to find one for a few thousand dollars. I didn't interrupt again to tell her I sold my lift-equipped van for $700 two years ago....
I've got so much to do here before I leave. I don't know where to begin. I need to take more photos of this place and the people in it and I need to write more and I need to go to the pharmacy down the road to get my prescription for Tylox filled that Dr. Charles gave me last week. I'm sure I'm leaving a lot of other stuff out. So think I'm going to try to go to the pharmacy now. It's cold outside.
Saturday -- 18 January, 1992 -- 2:30pm
I found one of my rings. It was on the floor beneath my computer. This must mean I dropped it while I was typing yesterday. So maybe I didn't get so drunk that I lost jewelry. Maybe I lost it before I got drunk. This raises my self-esteem a bit.
I went to Eckerd, got my prescription filled, dropped off a roll of film I took here of places and people in the building. I pushed the wrong button on the camera when I was removing the film and may have ruined a few pictures at the end of the roll. I hope I didn't. But I have another roll of film and I'm taking it all up before I go. I'll just have to remember which pictures to retake. I hope I didn't ruin the whole roll.
I've been telling people I'm leaving here and they all seem sad to see me go. I've been promising to come back and visit. I really do plan to.
Butch seems upset or something. He's just wandering around the halls in his electric tank-o-chair getting in the way of everything and bumping into people and things. I don't know what his problem is. Maybe he's sad about the silly presentation this morning or maybe he's mad at me for getting well. Or maybe he's not even upset and I'm just imagining things.
I don't know what to do next. I feel like I'm wasting precious time. But I don't know what to do with it. This is a pretty boring place to live I guess. But it's so fun watching the little events that take place with the people here from time to time.
As I was taking pictures a woman who basically just stands in and around her doorway of her room near the front nurse's station declined my offer to take a picture of her. She said she's too ugly. But she offerred to take a picture of me. The funny thing is that she's nearly blind. So I gave her my camera and told her where to punch the shutter and told her where to look through. She said she can see outlines of stuff. So I posed, beside Butch, and she didn't even look through the lens. She just held the camera and took the picture. She and I laughed at the irony that happened. "What did he expect from a blind person taking a picture?" she said to a nurse walking by.
Sunday -- 19 January, 1992 -- 10:57am
I've been awake, on and off, since 4:45 this morning.
I awoke wide awake and watched a particularly enjoyable and classic episode of the old Star Trek series ("City on the Edge of Forever" with Joan Collins). It's the one where Bones goes crazy. That's very fitting for my last day here. Luckily, the TV station in this area shows Star Trek at 5am on Sundays. I tried to go back to sleep after that but to no avail. I was too inspired by Joan and William and totally awake.
I sat up in bed and felt one of my ribs crack. And I heard it too. It's not an uncommon occurrence for people with OI to crack their ribs at inspiration, but it is painful. So I crawled out of bed and went to the nurses' station and got a Tylox to ease the pain. My intake of Tylox has decreased in the past week or so. Now I'm only doing one or two a day to ease my painful bones. I came back a cup of coffee later and got back in bed. After about 45 minutes the Tylox and caffeine began to take effect. I felt exceptionally codeinated for quite a while. Then I got sick to my stomach. I felt like vomiting, but decided not to. I didn't want to make a mess.
Nicole came in to clean my room while I was feeling sick. She said she felt awful too. She didn't say a word about her living situation and I didn't ask her. I don't know if she's still with Rod or if she's moved back in with her mom or what. Nobody seems to want to talk about it. Nicole's mom Cheryl also acts like nothing's happened. I saw her yesterday and she seems to be heavy into denial around me about the whole thing just like her daughter. Maybe they just don't like me poking my nose into their business. I do plan to poke my nose in more before I leave tomorrow though. I'm curious as to how the whole situation is working out.
After Nicole left my room I reclined in a cranked up sitting position in my adjustable cranking bed and slipped in and out of consciousness and television for about an hour. By that time the two old preacher dudes who come here every Sunday were lurking outside in the hallways snaring unsuspecting and helpless wheelchair bound inmates and whisking them away to the dining room for the weekly sermon they commit here. The two old preacher dudes seem to be wary of me and steer clear when I come their direction. They did invite me to the sermon last week and I said I might show up but I didn't. They didn't even invite me this week. The younger of the two did stick his head in my doorway and look at me as I sat in my bed in my Tylox stupor. He said hi to me and we talked for a couple of minutes. After our conversation, which basically dealt with the weather, he informed me I was sharp, whatever that meant, and ducked out of my room and back into the hallway to lurk some more and snag some more unsuspecting inmates.
I ate a 3 hour old piece of cold dry wheat toast from my breakfast tray that Rosetta had delivered to me at 7:30 this morning. I washed it down with tepid coffee another NA brought to my room a few minutes after my conversation with the preacher. Then I got out of bed again.
I went down the hall and looked in to the crowd of wheelchair bound helpless inmates the preachers had snared. They had snared many. The dining room was full. The preacher was preaching about a traffic light which was turning from green to yellow. I continued on down the hall and went to the staff lounge to get my soy milk I had stashed in the fridge. I got my soy milk and brought it back to my room and poured it over the bowl of bran flakes that had also been delivered on this morning's tray. My appetite is lousy lately. I really don't know why. But I don't eat much at all. I mostly just drink coffee. I'm feeling anorexic tendencies. I might be feeling these tendencies because I feel like I just gained almost thirty pounds.
A couple of days ago Debbie weighed me on the antiquated scale they have here. I was so excited to be weighed again. The process of being weighed here involves weighing an empty wheelchair on the antiquated wheelchair scale, then putting the patient in it an weighing again. THe results are then subtracted from one another and the patient's weight is determined. I've been sure I've lost weight over the month I've been here. When Nyoka weighed me the first week I was here I was 67 pounds. When Debbie weighed me a couple of days ago I weighed 91 pounds.
So now I feel fat. I don't know if I've gained that much weight (I really doubt it) or if the Nyoka subtracted wrong or if Debbie subtracted wrong or if they both subtracted wrong. But whatever the reason, I feel fat and don't want to eat because I might weigh 91 pounds and that's scary.
Yesterday evening at about six Barbie, a wonderfully wild woman, with whom you can always depend on getting in trouble with, showed up and invited me to eat with her at the Zanzibar. I had been expecting Michael to come about seven, but really wasn't sure if he would or not, so I went with Barbie. After we got there I learned about what happened the night before. Michael and Sharon showed up as we ate and they dined with us too. That's when I filled in my memory gaps. Sharon and her sister briefed me on how much I drank the night before and on how I acted. It seems I drank 3-4 glasses of wine and acted OK. They said I didn't do anything I should feel embarrassed about. I hope that's the truth. So Barbie and I ended up drinking three more glasses of wine apiece last night before we came back to the asylum. We had dinner also. My dinner consisted of three falafel balls dipped in falafel dip. Not a big dinner. But I didn't lose my memory of last night, so I consider it a success.
So I'm not really eating a lot lately. I've built up a resistance to Tylox since I've taken so many and it helps the Tylox act faster if my stomach's empty and it gives it a stronger effect. That's probably why I got sick this morning. I had Tylox and coffee on a very empty and wine-lined stomach.
This is my last full day here at the asylum. The moon is full today. So far there haven't been any crazy occurrences here from the inmates because of the full moon, but it's still morning. We have the whole day to go yet.
Yesterday I took almost a whole 'nother roll of film. I have two pictures left on the roll. So I plan to expose them soon and take the film to be processed while I'm still here so nearby the store, relatively speaking, since tomorrow I'll be back at my apartment across town and unable to stroll to there with such a simple effort.
The bowl of bran flakes is expanding with what feels like the fullness of today's moon inside my stomach. I'm feeling sick again. It's nearly noon and I still haven't gotten dressed. I'm sitting here in my long red nightshirt pecking away at this keyboard and writing a bunch of nonsense. Maybe I should quit and go get dressed. I'm feeling very light-headed. Maybe clothes will help.
Lunch just got delivered. Today it's a bowl of alphabet soup, a bowl of smashed yams and a bowl of canned spinach. THe food here has gotten worse if anything. They stopped serving me fresh vegetables. Now they are either frozen or canned. I usually just skip meals here and eat out anyway, except for breakfast and coffee. My best meal here has been the plate of tater tots they served me in the dining room the day Tom came and turned off Sex Dwarf. I think I'll go take a picture of today's lunch, just for the memory.
12:33pm
I'm still not dressed.... I went down the hall and visited a bit with some inmates and some staff. Then I went to look out the door and to tell Butch I am leaving tomorrow. Elmer, the tattood man with the cane, came and sat down and ranted a bit. During his ranting in a conversation with another woman there, he started talking about me as "it." I looked over at him and said "What?"
"Well, I don't know what you are," he said. "Some tell me you're a man and some say you're a woman. I don't know what you are." He laughed and pounded his cane. Butch got a big smile on his face.
"I think I'll keep it that way," I told Elmer. "You'll remember me longer if I'm a mystery."
I've been noticing in the past couple of days that Elmer has acted different towards me. He used to be friendly and treat me like a woman. But now that he doesn't know "what I am" he keeps a distance.
Many inmates here can't figure out what sex I am. I love it. I used to get upset when people called me ma'am, when I was younger. Now I relish the title.
I've built up a pretty good relationship with Frank, who treats me like a woman. Yesterday when I asked him to pose for a picture he puckered his lips at me and closed his eyes as if waiting for a kiss. I plan to kiss him before I leave, in front of lots of people. He keeps asking my name. I haven't answered him yet I don't think. I'm not trying to keep him in the dark or anything about my name, I just get interrupted or something every time he asks me. When I kiss him good-bye I'll tell him. "Please don't forget me. I'm Jezebel."
Mr. Beetle is next door doing his yelling-for-help routine. He wants someone to put him back in bed. He stays in his wheelchair about 2 hours a day. One of the two hours he yells for help, crying, "Help! Help! Hey kid! Hey will you help me?" He yells this over and over to everyone who passes his door. He sounds like he's dieing or something. He's so pitifully cute. I took a picture of him yesterday while he was in his chair at the other end of the hall. He usually acts very crazy and demented. But sometimes he'll break into a totally cognizant and aware state. When I asked him if I could take his picture he broke into clarity and joked with me. "Sure. But I hope it's a good camera. If it's not a good camera it might break taking a picture of me." He posed and I snapped the shutter. He liked it. "It must be a really good camera," he said after I told him it didn't break.
Mr. Beetle has been a never-ending source of entertainment to me. He's a great next-door neighbor. At night I hear him shouting insults and throwing punches at the nurses. He's violent at times. The NAs are constantly bothered by him. Everyone is constantly bothered by him. He has a roommate, Jake.
Jake is a very quiet, very calm, very religious black man who's had a stroke. We pass in the halls and say hello. He doesn't talk much and he never complains about Mr. Beetle. I talked to him one day and told him he should request a room change. He just laughed and nodded in agreement.
Maude is another inmate I took a picture of yesterday. She is an old gray-haired white woman with no teeth. She posed proudly for the picture. She looks like she's had a few strokes. She struggles and struggles as she "sits" at a permanent acute angle of about ten degrees in her bent-over-at-the-waist position, staring at the floor from her wheelchair.
She wheels her chair all over. She is full of love. She has a high-squeaky witchy voice and always says "hello" when we pass each other. She gets into things like a kid. She goes to dirty ashtrays and gets cigarrette butts and chews on them. One day she came up to me and kissed my hand with her floppy wrinkled lips. It was so sweet. I looked at my hand afterward and there was a piece of tobacco where she kissed me.
I'm going to try to get dressed again. It's 1:10pm already.
Sunday -- 19 January, 1992 -- 1:50pm
I got dressed. I talked to Nicole. I got re-weighed.
After I got dressed Nicole walked by my room and I hailed her. She came in and I let her know I was leaving tomorrow and I asked her how she was doing with Rod. She told me his name was Ron. Oh. Wooops. Nicole informed me that she was staying with Ron at his parents' house. She is looking for an apartment of her own in the meantime. I offered to keep my eyes open for an apartment she might be able to use.
This is the first time Nicole and I have ever talked about her personal life this much. She never made eye contact during the entire conversation. She is very young and insecure. She is brave to move away from her mom and do all this stuff with Ron at such a young age. In earlier conversations with Cheryl I learned that Nicole was a fellow Scorpio and I mentioned to Nicole during our conversation that I had faith in her during her current trials of endurance because she was a Scorpio. She was very surprised that I knew her birthday. I thought she knew I knew. I didn't tell her that her mom had told me. I just told her I knew.
I let her know I was behind her and gave her my address and phone number. I asked her to keep in touch. Nicole said she would be here tomorrow morning before I left so we held off on final good-byes.
I got re-weighed. The NAs were weighing inmates across the hall from my room so I asked them if they would weigh me to solve the mystery and relieve my mind. The NAs are the Lincolnville-girl shift right now. The 7-3 shift is the most difficult one here. It is staffed mainly by residents of my neighborhood--Lincolnville, ie. the ghetto. I guess they'll take any job they can get.
So the process of getting re-weighed was interesting. I had to get up to the Lincolnville level of attitude. These girls are fun and definitely full of attitude. After 15 minutes of pseudo-argument and putdowns and cuts and snide remarks at each other, I got reweighed. I weigh 65 pounds. I'm so happy I don't weigh 91.
This means I've lost 2 pounds this month. It's not much, but at least I'm not getting fatter. My mom told me about a month ago that I would lose about 2 pounds in a month if I stopped drinking beer and eating so much of Michael's food, which I have. I told her I thought I could lose more than that. But as she always seems to be, Mom was right again.
asylum part five
Sunday -- 19 January, 1992 -- 3:36pm
The morning shift is over. The day shift began at three. Most of the Lincolnville girls have clocked out and gone home by now. The tempo and energy flow in the hallways and all around has slowed down by about 66%. Things are more laid back and peaceful.
Cheryl and Irene are working now. Nicole just left. I saw Cheryl and Nicole talking in the hall. At least they still talk. From the expression on Cheryl's face as Nicole walked away it looked as if the conversation had been difficult. Cheryl needs to get out of her denial and accept her prejudices and get her daughter back.
The weather is cold and rainy. The rain slacked off a while to a spitty sprinkle so I took the chance to go to drop off my film. I went and dropped it off and bought some more for later. I made it back without getting too wet.
I've about said all my good-byes by now to the staff and the inmates here. This is not the end of my broken arm and leg, they still have a few weeks or so before they get completely healed. But I guess it is almost the end of my stay at the asylum. Tomorrow morning 9:15 will come quickly. I should have just enough time to get dressed and eat a bite before my ride gets here to bring me home.
The bruise on my arm from the fracture is almost completely faded away. At the beginning, I noticed in the hospital, my arm had a long inky blotch near the fracture that was nearly black. It was a hematoma. It extended from the crook of my elbow up toward my shoulder. Now it's almost gone. There is just some pinkish hue now where the bruise was before. This is one of the first times I got to see what a fracture actually looks like from the skin side. I've seen plenty from the x-ray side. Usually they wrap fractured bones with a plaster cast, but this time I only had ace bandage wrapped around my arm and body for a few weeks to keep it immobile. I removed that a couple of weeks ago.
My rib already hurts less from cracking it this morning. That's usually the way it is. It's really painful for a while but it goes away quickly. I don't know if it really cracked or just popped out of joint or something. At least it feels better now. My leg is still very sore. The fracture in my femur is held in place by an internal pin, but it's slow to heal for some reason. I'm trying to pay more attention to it since my arm is better now. It'll be much better soon. I can take care of it at home.
The damp, cold weather does make my bones ache, but I'm used to it and Carla the nurse assured me yesterday that she would send me home with a full prescription of Tylox tomorrow. I can only hope.
I'm ready for Michael and Alison to come help me dissassemble my room here. I need the scarf that's been hanging over the too-bright flourescent light the past month. The weather is cold enough for me to wear the scarf now. It will be a good addition to the cape mom made me.
Now I know why it's raining today. It's moving day, of course. I have a hunch that since Michael and Alison aren't here by now that they aren't coming today and hopefully will come tomorrow and pick up my stuff then. I have pictures hanging on the walls here and a lamp Michael brought me from my bedroom at home and clothes and other personal belongings. It shouldn't be too difficult to move it all. Alison said she and Michael would help me move when I asked a few days ago.
I'm running out of things to write about. I'm getting bored. I guess I'll go terrorize the halls a while and see what's going on with the inmates and staff. It's after 4, fresh coffee should be served soon. I think I'll go ask for a Tylox and wash it down with caffeine.
Sunday -- 19 January, 1992 -- 4:29pm
I still haven't gotten my Tylox and coffee. I had to come back to my room and write down what just happened before I forget.
What happened? Butch just ran over Screaming Mimi's foot with his wheelchair/tank. Mimi is definitely screaming now. I was in the dining room talking with Irene when Mimi shreiked. Irene dashed into the hall. All the nurses ran to Mimi as she screamed and Butch just kept driving to his destination. He's quadriplegic and still injuring people with his driving. And they say he needs a van....
Everyone kept giving me dirty glances and watching their toes as I drove my chair, which is very much like Butch's except not so tall, through the crowd of dismayed onlookers in the aftermath of the accident. I drove more slowly than normal and gave them all a wide berth as I drove by and promised them I was a good driver. I've had some close calls here, but haven't run over anyone yet, especially smiling little old crazy ladies sitting quietly, minding their own business in their flimsy little aluminum wheelchairs.
Poor Butch. Poor Mimi. Full moon.
Sunday -- 19 January, 1992 -- 5:13pm
Carrie gave me a good-bye pee. She's been coming into my room since I got here. Usually I'm here when she arrives and I gently escort her back into the hallway. This time my room was empty.
I was out getting coffee and codeine and visiting with Cheryl and Irene and Easter the nurse when I realized that tonight's meal will be my last supper here. So I came back for my camera, thinking maybe we could arrange the dining room tables all in a row and I could sit in the center and have six inmates sit on each side of me and we could take a picture of us all at my last supper.
As I went down the hallway towards my room I saw Nyoka escorting Carrie, who usually is tied into her wheelchair. They were looking for her chair. It seems she escaped from her bonds and lost her chair. We found her chair in my room, next to my bathroom. Nyoka put Carrie back in her chair. I looked inside my bathroom. It smells bad. The floor is wet and the toilet looks used. Now I'm afraid to use my toilet tonight for fear of Carrie disease. I've got to go find someone to clean my bathroom now and it's not going to be easy. It's Sunday evening and the housecleaning staff is gone. I can't blame Carrie. She's beyond Pluto psychologically. She just needed to pee.
Poor Carrie. Poor me. Full moon.
Sunday -- 19 January, 1992 -- 10:08pm
It's now less than 12 hours till moving time. I just took my last shower here. THe hot water only ran out twice. That's pretty average for this place.
My last supper was a hoot also. They served me a plate of peeled grapefruit slices. That's all. THe rest of the inmates got hamburgers and tater tots. I decided I at least deserved tater tots, so I went into the kitchen and asked Ron if there were any left. There were, so he scooped me a plate full and I went back to the cafeteria and ate my last supper with the rest of the inmates. We didn't get to put the tables in a row like I had imagined. Before I ate my last meal I took a picture of it. I really don't need a picture to remember how the food was here. It will be forever etched in my memory. Unfortunately, I will probably never forget Barbara and her wacky sense of nutritional balance. I was greatful to have a stash of food in the fridge for later. I ate it a while ago. It was leftovers from Friday's adventure at the Zanzibar. All in all, I guess my nutritional adventures here could have been much worse. However, I might not have lived if they would've been.
The patients are moaning like normal now. The place is winding down for the night. After I ate dinner I did a final Tarot spread in honor of the full moon and of my last night here. I wanted to see what my last insights with Tarot were about this place at the end of the adventure.
All of the cards were minor arcana. The first card was the nine of pentacles--gain. I took that to mean that the essence of my stay here is one that ultimately increased my own sense of personal security about myself. The Ace of Cups--Heart opening--was next. It must mean that by staying here I've learned some sort of compassion for others that I haven't recognized before. From being here I've learned to see and feel things for people that I ignored before I came. The third card was the ten of swords--Ruin. I did come here very injured. It took sacrifice and pain for me to decide to stay here. This card represents the past. The present is represented by the next card, the six of wands--Victory. This is the manifestation which the previous three cards combine to form. I've brought Gain, New emotional beginnings and Ruin together and formed then into a form of Victory for myself in my own personality. I've learned how to take hardships and blend them with my own wealth and make something good out of them. The fifth card, the future card, the reaction to the fourth, was the Ace of Swords--Mind expansion--new ideas and new discoveries in my own mental and creative realm. This is obvious. I am a much more aware individual about how life deals its blows to this segment of our society. From this new awareness I can derive a lot of new and creative ideas and attitudes, for things like my writing or lack thereof, etc. The last card was the two of wands--Dominion. I have affirmed that I am a very powerful person and can make things happen when I need them to. I have reminded these people here that one person can change the way others see things and use their own personal power to manipulate things to their best advantage.
The cards did again what they usually always do for me. They reiterated what I already knew. But it was good. They were a good wind-up and a good way for me to explain what I feel I got out of this place. There were no face cards or major arcana. The people here are just normal, everyday souls. There are no major stars or personalities in this place. But combined, they all worked together to show me more about the world and about myself and my ultimate role in this life.
Being here has shown me that I feel somehow more powerful and dynamic in this medical type of environment. The cards drove the point deeper. I should find a place to join in in a place like this someday. This world, the world of the disabled, the elderly and the infirm is where I'm most useful and where I'm most comfortable. After all, I'm one of them. I'm going to remember that as my most important lesson of this month-long stay. I'll use that lesson in the future for further growth and learning.
I'm going to go say good-bye to some more of my friends now. The day shift is clocking out in the next few minutes. I won't see most of them again. I've made some good friends on this shift and I don't want them to leave without me telling them so.
******
Monday -- 20 January, 1992 -- 3:07pm
The cycle continues to repeat itself. I am back in first grade and I'm crying as loud as I can and no one is listening. I got home this morning about 9:30. I've been sobbing inside all day and no one has heard me yet. Everything else is much more important. Today is Martin Luther King Day. Who cares about homecomings for Jezebel?
I woke up this morning at the asylum at about 7am. I knew I would only be safe as long as I remained under the covers. I knew I had to get up and start packing. My ride would be there at 9:15. I got up.
The first thing that happened was I couldn't find my dirty purple sock. Does that sound familiar? Well, it should. A lost dirty purple sock is one of the main characters in Skinny Legs & All, the book I'm reading now. It's been such a magically fun and synchronostic book to read that I've kept it overdue from the library because I don't want to finish it. Now it's too synchronous. Believe me, I didn't lose the sock on purpose or for drama's sake. It's my favorite pair of socks.
I sat up, wiped my eyes and scooted to the end of the bed where my clothes were. I put on my pants and my left dirty purple sock. That's when I realized my right dirty purple sock was missing. I thought for sure it was there when I woke up. I knew it was going to be a significant day when I realized what color my dirty missing sock was.
I searched for an hour for that sock. I looked all over the bed and under the bed and under the covers. I looked in the bathroom. I called the laundry department and asked them to look in the dirty clothes. But we never found it. I put on a red sock. Now I am wearing one red sock and one purple sock--both are dirty.
I hurriedly packed all my essentials for the trip home. I put my laptop computer, the one I've been using to keep this journal, in its case and stuffed as much of my junk, mail and magazines as I could all around it. I packed my Tarot decks and books and my camera and most of my toiletries that I might need tonight in case I didn't get the rest of my stuff later. I stuffed my backpack with more stuff.
By the time I got finished packing all my essentials and eating my last piece of dry asylum wheat toast, my ride was there, waiting to ferry me home. I was hurriedly signed out and dissapointed again by no extra Tylox to take home with me. Carla the nurse had assurred me a few nights before that she would send me home with a fresh prescription. Instead, Kathy the nurse sent me home with the six pills I had left from the old prescription. She said I would have to contact the doctor for more. I was maddened by a sooner than expected lack of drugs now. I left all of my clothes and most of my lesser needed objects d'junk for someone else to come a pick up for me later. Alison had volunteered to do that a few days ago.
The ride home in the COA van was hectic, since I was burdened with my computer case and my wheelchair battery charger and I was all wrapped up in my scarf and wraps to fend off the cold. The driver carried my shower bench for me. Thank you driver.
After we got home, to the Oaks, the driver collected my $2.32 cents for the ride and left me in my cold and very lived-in looking empty apartment. Sade, my cat, was my greeting party. She welcomed me home with kitty kisses and purrs that shook the walls. Thank you Sade.
I spent the next two hours in a vacuum of innefectiveness. I was paralyzed. My house was a mess, I needed to unpack and I didn't know where to start. So I petted my cat and pulled a Tarot card.
It was the eight of swords--interference. Thoth strikes again.
After deciding I was getting nothing accomplished but useless activity, I decided to go to the Co-op and try to get my conscious and unconscious selves balanced there with lunch. I rolled my chair to the Co-op. The trip there was cold and windy. When I arrived, everybody was busy doing Co-op stuff, which is fine. But I still couldn't find anyone to listen to my problems. There's were more important. Even Michael was too busy to talk. He seemed to be avoiding me, lest I ask him to do me another favor.
So I drank more coffee and got more tense. I ate some Michael miso soup and japanese pasta and came back home to wait for Sharon, who offered to go pick up the rest of my stuff at the asylum later this afternoon, since Alison mysteriously disappeared in one of her fits of depression and Michael doesn't seem to care about much besides his upcoming divorce celebration.
While I waited for Sharon at my cold, empty apartment, Adam and Chris Robin came over before I had a chance to really relax from the combined effects of all the coffee and crazy Co-op energy I soaked up at lunch.
I had only been home a few hours and I was already getting visitors in pairs. They were not uninvited, however, and it was a good visit, but I can tell already I am not going to have enough time to spare for sensible things like reading and writing and drugs because I constantly have so many visitors!
After Adam and Chris left I decided to return to what has been my major refuge these past five weeks--my journal.
Monday -- 20 January, 1992 -- 4:57pm
Before I finish the above story, I must rebegin with the story below.
My left rear tire just blew out. There,that's the story. I'm stuck at my dining room table with a blown-out left wheelchair tire. I was just sitting here, trying to relax and beginning to gain interest in the afternoon episode of Star Trek when I noticed a noise coming from my tire. I looked down and its sides puffed out like someone's cheeks. I then realized it was probably going to explode soon. I rolled hesitantly over to the dining room table, where my phone is and where I recently set up my laptop. I thought fast and began planning ahead, so I can call someone or at least type myself to death if the worst happens and I'm stranded here with a blown-out tire till I die. I then started looking in the phone book for local wheelchair repair shops. Before I could call anyone my tire exploded.
I called one shop. They said no way this late in the afternoon. I called another shop. They said they only repair the chairs they sell. I called the shop in Jacksonville I normally use, hoping they would have a truck here this afternoon making deliveries or something. The best they can do is send someone here first thing in the morning. By that time I'll have found someone local, I hope.
Heather called from Texas, collect, during all this mess. I had to talk to her and pay for it and act happy for her over the phone. I told her my delimma. She let me go so I could search for assistance. She's having a good time, and sends her love, by the way.
I got desparate and called a bicycle repair shop to find out what time they close in case I find someone to go there and buy me a tube. I told the guy who answered what my delimma was and he felt sorry for me and says he's coming over to repair my flat within the hour. That was about an hour ago.
What will happen next? If I would have been at the asylum when the tire blew out I could've probably had it repaired by now by Buddy the maintenance man. I can't cook a meal with a flat tire. I don't even have any food here. I was planning on going out. If I were at the asylum at least they might bring me a tray of peeled grapefruit.
I guess I'll just sit here and type till I die, or till someone comes to rescue me. Back to the above story....
Monday -- 20 January, 1992 -- 6:07pm
I've just been slightly rescued from being stuck in the corner after trying to drive by blown-out-tire wheelchair to Cliff's door. I made it to my doorway where I opened my door. I couldn't get to Cliff's door to ask for help so I backed up back into my apartment. The tube got caught in the tire and the drive belt became disconnected and my chair ended up stuck in the corner with me in it.
I waited for half an hour till I heard Sally, my neighbor, come out into the hall. I yelled at her. She came and I asked her to please go get Cliff. Sally went and knocked on Cliff's door and his wife, Kay, answered. She came over to see what was the matter and saw me stuck in the quickly becoming darker corner.
Kay went to get Cliff, who has the flu. Cliff came and cut the tube from my wheel and reconnected the belt drive for me. Now I can drive on the bare rim again. Then Cliff went home and continued vomiting. Kay helped me back to the dining table so I can at least reach the phone and type again and then she went home.
I called Adam, who is at work, so he's next to a phone. He suggested I call Deedee, a friend across the street from where I live.
I called Deedee. She assured me she would find help to fix my problems. She said she would be in touch.
I'm now typing all this as it happens. I've got to pee. I can't even get to my own bathroom for fear that driving on my bare rim will break the remaining wheel on my chair and send me crashing to the floor. My poor cat, Sade, was sitting beside me meowing for dinner. She has given up the meowing part by now. She knows something is wrong. She's just sitting here beside me looking around, wondering what is going to happen next, too. I can't feed her. I can't even let her outside if she needs to go. Where's Deedee? Where's the bicycle repairman who said he would be here hours ago? Where are all my friends who are always here too much when I don't need them to be?
Back to the above story, and this time I'm not moving.
6:26pm
Deedee just called. She says she's on the way over with help to get me a tube and change my tire. PLeease....
6:30pm
Deedee just came and got some money and the size of my tube. Please be open Tube store.
8:20pm
Deedee and Adam came and fixed my tire about an hour ago. Since then I've been slowly recovering from this shock treatment I've been dealt. I feel lucky to be able to move my wheelchair from room to room. I am washing a load of towels now so I can try and take a shower later. All the towels were dirty here when I got home.
I lost at least four hours this afternoon with my wheelchair breakdown. So I'm very behind. My house is still a mess and I am out of energy for the evening. I'm just going to try and relax. Mom is coming to help me try to get my apartment in order tomorrow. She'll bring me balance. I need her Scorpio energy. I'm totally out of sorts by now.
I just took a Tylox. I miss the sanity and regularity of the asylum. I miss the inmates and I miss the staff. I miss the lousy food. Why did I come home?
Oh yes, the above story. I almost forgot.
After Adam and Chris left I decided to return to what has been my major refuge these past five weeks--my journal. I realized that I was home now. Now I can write on my desktop computer. It's much more comfortable and much easier to see and use. Plus, it's hooked up to a printer. I can make a hard copy of this journal if I want.
I went to the computer and turned it on. I remembered the last time I used it was last Thursday when I worked with Gayle and her story on it. We had a fight and I basically asked her to find another editor/typist for her next chapter. We didn't part on the best of terms. I turned the computer off in a fury and went back to the asylum after that encounter with Gayle. That was the last time I used my desktop computer before now.
I turned on the computer. Nothing happened. It wouldn't boot. After half an hour of working on it and sticking utility disks in it I came to the conclusion that it was dead. My hard drive must have crashed. I guess it was all that heated-Gayle energy.
So now I'm back to my laptop. Thank goodness I have it. I just hope it lasts. My life is a shambles. My house is a mess. My desktop computer is in a coma. I'm relying on my laptop to record all this stuff. Is it worth recording? Is it worth rereading? Is it even worth my time to write all this mess? I haven't even reread it all yet. It might all be a big bore. I'm quitting for the evening. A cockroach just crawled out of the keyboard. Let him eat circuits.
Tuesday -- 21 January, 1992 -- 5:22pm
Mom came today and helped me reachieve the balance I lost sometime, somewhere in the previous month and couldn't seem to regain. Thank you Mom. She helped me clean and rearrange my house and wash my clothes. But more importantly, she made herself available to me by just basically being nearby all day so I could talk with her. She helped me straighten out psychologically and helped me get reaquainted with living life at home and dealing with regular, normal people in regular, normal situations. It's a big change.
So my house is straightened up and my mind is straightened up and my cat is purring on the pillow of my bed and I'm sitting here with four inflated tires. Maybe this means I'm really home now. I've moved back in.
Tomorrow I've got to pay some bills and answer some long-overdue mail. I've also got to call the Social Security office and talk to them about income changes. It seems they've changed my income from $407 to $30 because I moved into a nursing home. It's another asylumic irony. On the day I officially move out of the nursing home I learn from a letter, an official governmental notification, that I've officially and formally moved in.
Wednesday -- 22 January, 1992 -- 11:49am
I got this urge to try one more time and see if I could get my desktop computer to come out of its coma. I came to my room and turned the power switch to "on." The computer responded! It woke up! It's out of its coma! I'm typing this on it now. I'm so excited. It's alive!
This is day three of my stay at home. Day one was horrible. Day two was better, a day of acceptance and readjustment. Now, the third day, is so far even better than day two. If things continue to improve at this rate I might be having an easy time getting along in the real world sooner than I expected.
I called the Social Security office and officially informed them that I'm not in the nursing home any longer so they can change my income back to $407 instead of $30. I think I got the message across to them what was what, but just in case, I'm going to call again tomorrow and re-remind them about it. I have a sneaking feeling that I need to stay on them and keep them aware of my situation because I probably won't get the full check in February. I'll need their help to get reimbursed.
Yesterday Mom went to the funny farm for me to pick up the rest of the stuff that I left behind. Nobody else came through on that one. I called before Mom went to tell them that she was coming to get it and Tom Frankenstien answered. He informed me that they had already taken my stuff and boxed it up. I got very worried. I had hoped that wouldn't happen. But I waited too long. I should've sent someone to get it the day before. Mom went and picked up the boxes of stuff. Everything was there, plus a bit of extra stuff like a quilt and a stuffed pink bunny rabbit and a Yatzee game. The two posters that I had on the walls were folded however. Whoever took them down didn't have enough sense to roll them up. They just folded them and stuck them in the box. I plan to call Patty and ask her for a reimbursement. The posters were ruined and they were worth about $25. Mom hung them in my bathroom. She told me the steam from the shower might remove the creases. Maybe it will.
The social security stuff and the poster stuff are the two worst things I can really think of right now that have happened to me because of my stay at the asylum. If they truly are the worst, then I should be happy. The benefits far outweighed creased posters and a late SSI check. I think. I hope.
I plan to start going through this journal and editing it and seeing just what type of material I have to work with. At this point I don't know if any of the stuff I've written can be made to be something that's interesting for anyone else to read or not. It should be an interesting experience to try to craft some sort of piece of writing out of all these previous pages of text. I don't know what it will become. It might become a book. It might become a short story. It might become a poem. It might become all of the above. I might just keep it in its original journal form.
Friday -- 24 January, 1992 -- 9:29pm
It's time to edit. I have no more to write about. Since I've been home I've been in a THC/alcohol/caffeine-induced stupor. With the help of these drugs I've been slowly adjusting back to the real world. Every day seems a little bit more bearable. Soon I will be back to normal. Every day will be wasted a bit more. There's nothing more left to discuss. This journal is finished.
Wednesday -- 29 January, 1992 -- 11:41am
Living at home is not fun so far. I feel every pressure of the outside world pressing in on me. I want to be back in the womb of the asylum. Every day in the real world brings more old and new responsibilities to me that I don't really want to even think about--much less deal with.
I have too many friends. I love them all too much. I want to become a hermit. I hate visiting with my friends here at home. I just want them to be available when I need them, not when they need me. I feel like they are using me for my phone and all the other comforts of life that I have created for myself. I don't know why I feel this way. I feel so old and crabby. My friends are starting to hate me because I'm starting to hate them. I feel buried in the responsibilities of the real world and I don't want to face them.
I broke my arm six Wednesdays ago. I should be all healed, by the books. But my bones still ache and my fractured humerus and femur still both are very sore and not completely healed. The weather outside is cold and damp. It's affecting my bones and my emotions. I'm sore and I'm bitchy. I have so much to do and I don't want to do any of it. I just want more drugs. I want the rest of the world to just go away until I need it for my own personal benefit.
Why am I in such a bad mood? I have been for several days now. Maybe it's a symptom of something that's happening to my physically. Maybe I'm approaching a heart attach or stroke or something. I sure hope not.
Maybe I'm just having a hard time getting back in the swing of things. It's always been difficult for me to do after getting well after an injury. I guess I'll just bear with myself till something else happens.
I've got to start re-working this journal soon. I wanted to start this morning. I had plans to do it, but I got invaded by friends and neighbors. Before I knew what was happening it was almost noon and my writing time was wasted.
Time is my biggest enemy. I just can't get enough.
Tuesday -- 18 February, 1992 -- 2:51pm
I'm back. The moon is full today so I decided to report how things are since I've been gone from the asylum one full moon cycle now.
I've been breaking things for the past two days. I've broken everything from dishes to closet doors. I guess it's better for things like that to break instead of my bones.
I've been drinking too much also. Yesterday I didn't eat anything but one slice of toast and then at 4:00 I drank a Guinness. After that I drank red wine. A few hours later I ate some pasta. But it was already too late. The alcohol took control. The rest is a blur. I wanted red wine because I saw a news report yesterday that said people in France suffer less heart disease because they drink more red wine. It was such a good excuse to go buy a big bottle of red wine that I just couldn't pass it up.
I've been back to the asylum once since I left. When I went inside the door I was greeted by a hoard of open-armed people running towards me welcoming me back. It was bizarre. Some were staff and some were inmates. They all were glad to see me. I gave them copies of the pictures I took while I was there.
I talked to Tom Frankenstein about the ruined posters. I asked him for a reimbursement but I didn't really demand one. I didn't push the issue. He said he would check with "his superiors" about a reinbursement for the damaged posters, but I could tell he never would. I wrote them off as lost after that. They are hanging in my bathroom now getting steamed by the shower daily. The creases are slowly coming out.
I've been working on rewriting this journal since a couple of weeks ago. I began last new moon. It's very slow going. I've been trying to make it interesting but I'm not really sure if it is or not. I can't decide. I've been cutting and pasting and putting old stuff that I've written into it. I don't know if I like that or not yet either. I'm still just experimenting with things to do with it. It's a lot of material. It may turn out to be one of those lifetime projects. So far I'm only at day two in the hospital. I'm not really satisfied with how it's going so far. But I'm going to keep working on it.
I've gotten pretty much reaquainted to living back in the real world by now. I guess I'll survive. But I still miss the simplicity and innocence of the asylum at times.
Gayle called me this morning and asked me to remove all her writing from my computer. I gladly agreed to. I need the extra space on my hard drive.
I fired Gayle a few weeks ago. I don't remember if I've written anything about that. I couldn't take her demanding attitudes. She and I are both such strong personalities that we just didn't work well in a working relationship. When we got together sparks inevitably flew. We both realized that but she still needed my services so I typed for her as long as I could. Finally I got fed up with her paranoia and stressfulness and asked her to find someone else to help her edit and type her stuff.
When she called me today she said she had found someone else, but she said that I had done a better job. She asked me to erase all her writing from my computer. I erased it all a few minutes ago. I did save the first article she wrote that I helped her edit when we first met for my "memoirs." Everything is gone now. I feel cleansed. I told her there were no hard feelings. We made a lunch date for later this month after she gets back from New York.
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