“I’ll let Dr. Jameson know that when I tell him you’re awake,” Her bedside manner needed work with the annoyance in her tone. It’s not like I asked to be her patient and complicate her life.
She didn’t use any pleasantries as she left the room, not that I needed to hear them, but it would have been nice for her to at least offer to help me get a sip of water. Secretly I hoped her pinched face stayed that way and left her with enough permanent frown lines that she never recovered.
Shifting around in the bed led me to believe I had bandages on my right arm with the way the tape was snagging on the blanket and pulling at the fine hairs trapped under the adhesive. Though my movement was restricted I was able to get the blanket to shift down enough so that it wasn’t sitting high up on my chest. It wasn’t a heavy blanket by any means, but the gentle pressure it was putting on my chest was just enough to cause my mind to start to freak out about being confined.
A few more minutes had passed before a tall middle aged man entered the room. The pristine colorless lab coat led me to believe this was the doctor. He had dark hair that was graying around his temples and no facial hair, his sharp jaw still chiseled despite how old he appeared. Tanned skin suggested he spent plenty of time outdoors despite the long hours that I’m sure he worked as a doctor.
“Miss Devlin, I’m glad to see you’re awake,” He smiled slightly at me in a sympathetic way, his tone warmer than what the nurses had been. His voice was smooth with no trace of a southern accent that was prevalent in this area.
“Is there any way you can undo my arms? Please? I promise I’m not a violent person.” I pleaded, hoping the pity I saw in his gaze was enough for him to want to release me.
Dr. Jameson walked around to the left side of my bed where the nurse had stood. He didn’t carry a tablet, or make notes like she had, only observed my erratic heart rate on the monitor. Hishands were casually shoved in his trouser pockets and they made no move to help me out of my current predicament.
“Are you in any sort of discomfort, Miss Devlin? You’ve been asleep for over twenty four hours.”
Shaking my head I said, “Not really, I just don’t like being confined.”
My eyes met him in a knowing gaze. I wasn’t lying, not exactly, but I wasn’t being completely honest. Anxiety and depression had plagued me most of my life, but they weren’t something I typically jumped to talk about, even with medical professionals. If he was already hesitating to release me, opening up about being prone to panic attacks was just as likely to backfire as it was to work.
“Do you know why you’re here, Miss Devlin?” He wasn’t accusatory, but the question still made me uncomfortable.
“My ex-boyfriend tried to kill me,” my voice came out barely above a whisper, the fear from knowing I was going to die at his hands sending chills that pebbled goose bumps against my skin down my body despite the warmth the blanket was giving me.
His sigh was heavy as he drew up one of the chairs next to the bed. Bad news always meant sitting down, but at least he was being empathetic, if not a complete neanderthal, for ignoring the facts I kept trying to tell him. If only he could have given his nurse a lesson in how to act around a patient, bonus points for Dr. Jameson.
“No, Miss Devlin, a Mr. Craig Grasso is the one who found you in your home after your suicide attempt. He is the one who called the ambulance to help save your life.”
My heart sank as my pulse started to speed up, and I shook my head violently, my hair falling haphazardly in my face. I wasn’t crazy. I knew I wasn’t crazy. Mental health was always something I had struggled with, but I had a firm grasp on reality ever since I started distancing myself from the claws Craig had held in my mind. There was no way he could believe that, was there?
“No, you have it wrong, he’s the one who tried to kill me.”
He shook his head as my panic started to rise, his face full of sympathy as he continued, not listening to anything I had to say.
“Miss Devlin, Mr. Grasso is the one who applied first-aid to your arm before the EMTs arrived. He saved your life after you experienced your episode.”
“My arm? What episode?” I racked my memories of what had happened before he had tried to end my life, grasping tightly at the flashes that played through my mind. Broken scenes like they were playing on repeat from an old VHS tape with poor quality. The altercation between us hadn’t lasted long, but I couldn’t recall any injury occurring to my arm.
“You had severe lacerations that appeared to be self-inflicted; they required stitches, and we put antibiotics in your IV to stave off any infection that might want to set in. He stated that he hadstopped by your house to check on you and found you in the middle of a psychotic episode again.”
“But I didn’t -”
“Mr. Grasso informed us during your admittance that you had a history of self-harm,” as he continued, I could feel my face heat at his words, embarrassment eating away at what little argument I had with the doctor. “We gave you a full examination upon your arrival. There’s a significant amount of scarring covering you. Enough to suggest that he’s telling the truth. Regardless of what happened in your personal life with him, you're now under the hospital's care, which includes a psychiatric stay in the Behavioral Health Clinic on the other side of the campus.”
The machine started beeping steadily faster to match my rising pulse. I no longer felt confined to the bed but to these walls. Walls that were slowly getting smaller, trapping me between them, never letting me leave.
“A stay? What do you mean I have to stay? Don’t you have to have my consent to keep me in a clinic? I have a dog at home that needs to be taken care of!” Riley was my first concern. From what I recalled, Riley had bitten him. If Craig had stuck around after I was unconscious, there was no telling what he would have done to my dog.
“We have in your chart that your sister, Michelle Devlin, is your emergency contact. When she was contacted, she said she would go take care of Riley, that’s why she hasn’t come to visit you sinceyou’ve been admitted. We can allow you to call her once you’re transferred to the Clinic and you are properly supervised. As far as your admission, legally speaking, we can hold you for psychiatric care for up to two weeks before you can voluntarily sign yourself out. Given the severity of your attempt, I think it’s safe to assume your psychiatric team will probably recommend that you stay the full time before you’re discharged.”
“What do you mean by the severity of the attempt? I didn’t attempt to kill myself! I may have cut in the past, but I’ve never attempted suicide. I would never leave my dog!” Tears were now freely flowing down my face.
Freedom was being stripped away faster than I could process what had happened. Cutting was always both a release and a punishment. It was the only way I knew how to deal with the anxiety and intense emotions that I never knew how to properly process. In no way had it ever been an attempt at suicide or a way to express my desire to end my life. Had I considered it before? Had I fantasized about what it would be like to leave this world just to end my internal suffering? Yes. But I never would have willingly left my dog or my sister.
My stomach sank as my brain swelled, taking up too much space in my skull. Too many thoughts were happening at once. The beeping kept getting faster, the sound making the blanket itch against my skin. Being unable to move my hands to free my body from anything touching it made my hands shake in the restraints.Breathing became too difficult as black spots started to dot my vision. There was no calming the panic that was taking hold of me; once it reached this point, I lost all control. No amount of breathing exercises or calming thoughts would bring me back from the edge.
I could hear the doctor talking to me, but his voice was far away, like I was trying to listen to him underwater. Muffled sounds filled the room as he rose from the chair quickly. Dr. Jameson pulled a vial out of his lab jacket along with a syringe. After he filled it, he found the port on my IV line and drained its contents into the fluid going into my vein.
Unlike the last time when the darkness took me forcefully, this time it was gentle, slower, as it soothed me under to block out the panic ringing in my ears.
