Detour from Normal (30 page)

Though it had once been a place of horror for me, room 1149 ultimately was my salvation. With the light off and both doors closed, the darkness was nearly total and my isolation from the world of Gracewood complete. The sleep I found in room 1149 was like a gift straight from God.

Angels Among Us

One of the patients at Gracewood was an older woman who was a very sick anorexic. She was so weak and frail that she had to be helped around, and she shook constantly as if her nerves were all misfiring. Frequently family members would visit and try to spoon-feed her. At meal and snack
times, she was never to be seen. One day I was sitting by the nurses' station on my favorite sofa while her family was attempting to spoon-feed her. It was always a battle, and in the end not much ever was accomplished.

That particular day I focused my thoughts on her and in my mind told her that she could get better but that she had to choose to do so herself. She had her back to me at the time, and her daughter's arm was resting on her shoulders, but she somehow turned all the way around and looked me straight in the eye for a moment as if I'd spoken aloud.

That afternoon at snack time, she came out with everyone else and I swear she was salivating and licking her lips. I whispered words of encouragement to her in my mind, and sure enough, she accepted a snack and ate it all. Over the next few weeks, she never missed an opportunity to eat. I watched her gain weight and become a semblance of the beautiful woman she obviously had once been.

I can't explain that incident. Perhaps we do have some kind of ability to communicate with others in a heightened state. My dogs certainly seemed different around me, after all. I'll always remember that incident. It's the one time in my life I truly felt like an angel.

Sadly, despite all that she'd accomplished, her family continued to attempt to force-feed her whenever they visited, and at those times she retreated into her shell. Just before I left, she was forced to undergo electroshock therapy.

Getting Out AMA

As time passed Rich drifted further and further from reality on Dr. Davis's treatment plan. At one point he complained of the lights being
too bright, so one of the other patients gave him some cardboard, fold-up 3D glasses to wear. He happily donned those. Still having glare problems, he managed to talk another patient out of a baseball cap.

The 3D glasses and baseball cap solved the glare problem, but then he had another issue. He disappeared into his room for a while, and then reappeared with a makeshift turban made from a T-shirt wrapped around his baseball cap. He claimed it made him feel better. He could then frequently be seen worshipping the ceiling speakers near the TV with his 3D glasses, cap, and turban, particularly if there was a loud movie playing. He'd face upward with his arms outstretched and sway back and forth.

Eventually, things got nasty as Rich's withdrawal took him to the very bottom. During that period, Rich was a firecracker with a short fuse. The least provocation would send him into fits of rage. One day, during a particularly bad outburst, he threw an oak chair across the room, narrowly missing the windows, which were protected by tough screening. Everyone scampered as Al and George rushed to gain control of the situation.

At that point in Rich's withdrawal, Dr. Davis put the next stage of his plan into action and began flooding Rich's body with new drugs. Rich's mental function rapidly morphed in new directions. I noticed in particular that he talked constantly. It was difficult to distinguish whether he was having a conversation with himself, with someone else, or just verbalizing his thoughts. Gradually his behavior settled down, but he continued to have outbursts. During one such outburst, he decided he'd had enough and wanted out. He walked around the facility asking everyone what he needed to do to get out. Finally, a patient told him he could fill out an AMA form. Rich went to the nurse and she reluctantly gave him the AMA paperwork to complete.

I wasn't paying a lot of attention at first, but what transpired from there migrated toward the sofa on which Grace and I were sitting, and was unavoidable. Nick had seized an opportunity to have some fun and decided to put on a show for us. In a serious voice, he began directing Rich in his attempts to fill in the required information on the form. Periodically, he would secretly wink at us during the process.

Rich was so mentally incapacitated that it was impossible for him to actually read or write anything, so Nick would feign reading the form for him, fabricate some outrageous instructions, and indicate to Rich where to sign. Rich would then spend five minutes painstakingly scribbling everywhere but the signature line. At first I thought Rich was just playing along, but he was dead serious about getting out and totally focused on completing that form. Both Grace and I were soon rolling with laughter, which didn't affect Rich in the least, making it all the more hilarious. Nick tried so hard to keep a straight face as he continued to make up things that there were tears streaming from the corners of his eyes, and, though he needn't have bothered, he'd turn his head before wiping them away so Rich wouldn't notice. Soon a small crowd had gathered. Rich remained as dedicated and oblivious as ever, and before long everyone was laughing until all our bodies ached.

When Rich finished entering all the information, he scrawled a big, nasty-looking X on the final signature line, as per Nick's instructions, to complete the document. I had him take it to the nurse to make a copy for me to keep in case Gracewood lost the original, but in reality I wanted the copy for myself to remind me of that hilarious time.

The Scandal

After I'd been in my new room for a while, it bothered me that all the girlie pictures were still on the back of the door to Rich's room. I didn't want to put them on my new door but felt that they were mine somehow, so one day I walked in and took all but Rich's down. I folded and stuffed my favorite one—a pretty brunette with striking blue eyes—in my left pants pocket and put all the rest in a stack. I took them to my room and hid them in some of my clothes.

Those pictures weighed heavily on my mind. I don't know why; they were just cosmetic ads after all. Over time I felt guiltier and guiltier for stealing them. So one day I grabbed the emptiest magazine from the table, took it to my room, and filled it with the girlie pictures. I returned it to the table and put it at the bottom of the stack of magazines, satisfied that I'd done the right thing.

A few hours after that, Nick opened the door to our room just as I was about to walk in.

"Uh, you might not want to go in there right now," he whispered.

"What's going on?" I whispered back.

"I just walked in and Len was choking the chicken," he whispered, trying his best not to burst out in laughter.

"What? You've got to be kidding."

"I swear to God. He's got a magazine from the table, and he tore a whole bunch of chick pictures out of it. He's got them scattered all over his bed and is going at it like a madman."

I almost died. Rich was the only other person who knew about those photos, and he was in another world. No one but me knew that they'd made it back into the very magazine Len had stumbled upon. By
accident I'd created an excruciatingly good scandal. Word got around as to what he was doing, and in record time, a couple of nurses burst into the room to do a contraband check. Len lost all his treasures and cursed and swore for days. On top of that, all the magazines disappeared from the table and were replaced by black-and-white coloring books and a tin of Crayola crayons.

The Cat Lady and the Evil Asian

We called Sara "the Cat Lady" because she was obsessed with the health of the stray cats in her neighborhood. She fed and cared for fifty of them. We tried to convince her that the cats were feral and could fend for themselves while she was away, but she wouldn't listen. Sara was gaunt and wild-eyed. She looked and acted like a meth addict: speaking rapidly, repeating herself over and over, and yelling as if everyone were deaf. It was impossible to block out her incessant babbling as she phoned acquaintances seeking aid for her cats, sometimes using both of the wall phones at once.

As fate would have it, Sara was assigned a new roommate, a short Asian woman. She was very creepy looking with wide, unblinking eyes, a permanent scowl, and an impossibly tight bun of black hair atop her head. She had a shuffling gait and her arms, which seemed abnormally long, hung limply at her sides. She never spoke a word. Since they were roommates, Evil Asian (the only name I knew her by) promptly assumed the role of Sara's minion.

Sara's incessant babbling on the phones infuriated Grace, and she made that clear to Sara on many occasions. Grace and Sara were soon
at each other's throats verbally on a regular basis, sometimes yelling across the room at each other while Sara simultaneously managed conversations on both phones. Their mutual dislike was obvious.

One day we were all minding our own business when Evil Asian crossed the room with a large cup of water. It was filled to the brim, and she walked slowly and carefully so as not to spill a drop. I was mesmerized by her peculiar behavior and couldn't imagine what she was up to. She continued along her path until she was right behind Grace, and then appallingly, she poured the entire contents over Grace's head. Grace, who'd been sitting with her puffed-up feet on the armchair in front of her watching television, sputtered and coughed and let out a string of profanity from her toothless mouth that made everyone's ears burn. I sprang to her aid, protecting her from further harm with my own body. "Get away!" I screamed venomously, inches from Evil Asian's face. Stunned by my swift response and aggressive demeanor, she stumbled backward several steps. Her lifeless eyes blinked for what seemed the first time, and an odd look crossed her face as if a spell had just been broken.

She was different after that. Perhaps she'd been under the influence of some drug that was just then wearing off. She began to talk to people. She let her hair down and even put on makeup when her family visited. A few days after the water incident, she slowly approached Grace. My senses buzzed in alarm, and I readied myself for the worst until I observed the tears streaming down her cheeks. She stopped next to Grace, hung her head, and humbly apologized. As the Asian woman wept, Grace embraced and comforted her as if she was her own child. From that day forward, Grace and the Asian woman were friends.

Jimmy

Jimmy was the only patient who I felt was truly healed during the course of my stay. He was schizophrenic and generally kept to himself except when we all attended our "goals" meeting at the end of each day. At that meeting we'd all share our achievements with the rest of the group and set a goal for the next day. Most of the patients couldn't care less about goals, but a few, like me, tried to come up with something inspirational. It gave me something to strive for and look forward to. Each meeting, when the group leader called on Jimmy, it was always the same. Jimmy never paid attention and he never had goals. "Jimmy...Jimmy...JIMMY!" the group leader would yell. Eventually Jimmy would respond with gibberish. No one could understand a word he said, and once started, it was impossible to shut him up. We'd almost have to wrestle him to the ground to get him to stop. At least he contributed—that was very important to the group leader, and after getting him to shut up, she'd always thank him for sharing.

At recreation time one morning, I was tossing Nerf footballs with some of the guys when along came Jimmy. With his bright eyes, big grin, slicked-down black hair, colorful plaid shirt, bowed legs, and big feet, he looked like he'd walked straight out of a cartoon. I loved to try to engage people, so I tossed him a ball to see what would happen. He snapped it up like a pro. Jimmy was quite talented passing and throwing, and soon both of us were running for "long bombs." All the while Jimmy never said a word—he just played ball.

After that day I made sure to include Jimmy whenever I could. In time Jimmy started joining me for lunch. As soon as they handed him his tray, he'd look around for me, and if I was alone, he'd join me. He
didn't say anything in the beginning; he just grinned like always and ate his meal. Eventually I attempted to engage his mind. I'd ask him questions about his life and, to my surprise, he would answer. His response would at first be intelligible, but he'd ultimately transition to gibberish. It seemed that he couldn't help himself and that he was very frustrated by it. Over time the gibberish portions of the conversations grew shorter and shorter until, without either of us even realizing it, they disappeared completely. By the end of our time together, Jimmy and I were having completely normal conversations on a regular basis.

Chapter 25

UTOPIA: PUTTING PENCIL TO PAPER

May 27, 2011: I'd thought about Utopia a lot. Now, it was time to put pencil to paper and record my thoughts to share with the world. There was plenty of time to kill at Gracewood. I literally had no responsibilities at all. I didn't have to go to any groups I didn't want to; I didn't have to shower or change my clothes. I didn't even have to make my bed. So I had plenty of time to write. It was awkward lying on my bed and writing, so I'd often write later in the evening at the tables in the main area. During the day, there was just too much noise and too many distractions out there. If I'd had a computer keyboard, it would have been wonderful. Instead I was stuck with two-inch stubby pencils and white printer paper. I asked the nurse once why we couldn't have pens, and she said it was because people broke them apart and used them to crush and snort pills that they'd secreted or acquired in various ways.