0 
0 By Arlene Taylor
I was Getting Out of this world and I didn’t want anyone to try to stop me.
I covered my head as I heard two nurses talking out at the station. ‘How old do you think she is?’ ‘Oh my goodness, I still can’t believe she drove off a cliff. She doesn’t have any injuries? What drugs was she on?’ ‘Nothing, they said, she’s a nurse here.’
Really?
I drove off a cliff and fell 400 feet down the hill?
I didn’t believe it, not one bit. If someone falls 100 feet – I don’t think that sounds good, but 400 is surely death, right? Or really smart, to say badly fucked up. I considered saying ‘messed up’ there but that lacked the effect I am trying to convey.
Crazy thing, I am not dead, and, CRAZIER? – I didn’t even have one scratch.
I remember when I came to, I was in the ER – ‘THE TRAUMA BAY’ UCLA, Ronald Reagan Medical Center. How was I so sure? Oh that’s easy because I worked there…
I’ll get into this branch later on, ok?
‘Released’ from work
Fine, listen, I used to work there in the Float Pool, as a Critical Care Per Diem resource nurse. I worked there from 2012 until June 2017, when I was ‘released from my appointment.’ I was released because… I couldn’t get it together to stop crying long enough after losing my mom. Six months ago seemed like 12/7/16 was yesterday. I meant to go in to work. Well I meant to schedule some shifts, but every time I touched my MacBook, it was too heavy for me to hold.
Back to now
Ok. Back on track after that bit of tangentiality. As I came to, I realized they were cutting off my clothes. It felt as if I was being held under water by so many nurses – they looked like me. I tried to yell ‘STOP,’ but it was as if they didn’t hear me. They said ‘LOOK MISS IF YOU DON’T CALM DOWN WE ARE GOING TO HAVE TO INTUBATE YOU.’
I thought, ‘Oh, this is a dream,’ or, ‘Lord, am I deaf too?’ I felt my ears. They were where they were supposed to be. I was confused: ‘What’s going on, all these nurses, looking like me, what am I doing to myself?’ I covered my mouth. Then they yelled other things, it was odd, I was unable to focus on what was being said. I remember praying then, asking God if he forgave me, then, ‘I promise I will not ever come back to this deep dark place ever again. I hate you, I love you, I’ll always be you, I am you. You will be ok.’
Memories
The last of my scrub pants were being cut off my bread hairs. Someone asked ‘FOLEY HER?’ – I yelled out ‘NO!’ Then, ‘Please,’ quieter.
They heard me, they said ‘Ma’am, we need you to calm down or we may have to give you something for anxiety.’ I don’t remember not liking that offer. Even though I am certain I wasn’t moving at that point, I held my female tightly.
I am not sure what happened after that point. Not sure how I got to a private room in the ER, with the most beautiful Princess, a nursing assistant, my 24/7 safety sitter.
I remember looking around and seeing the nursing station right in front of my feet, as I lay flat on my back. I immediately brought my mind back to the night I met Jada. She was the coolest nurse I have met in a very long time. She wore this awesome shade of lipstick – it was neon pink. Her lipstick was popping. Not too long ago, we sat right at that very station talking about various topics. From ex-husbands to future aspirations, our dreams and such; all night long. Talking to her was mentally stimulating. I enjoyed it.
DNR
I lay there on the gurney, covering my head, not sure what to do – I needed to hide. I began looking at myself, then my hands under the sheet, and I saw something dark written on my left hand. Wait, there’s more on my arm too. I pulled down the sheet, looked at my left arm, my left shoulder, and my left chest. In big bold black, letters – letters? – written with some type of permanent marker, existed the letters ‘DNR.’
I started to get really upset. Like, Really Smart – who would write DNR on me!?!!
But then, I remembered it was me. I wrote it… with my Sharpie.
I planned on giving away my organs – I knew that they would be put to good use. Not wasted on me, but for living. I was not worthy enough to have them, I was a waste.
I cried then, and I am pretty sure I wept for four days straight.
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Why did I do it?
Day #Zero, I spent in the ER. I met a really nice resident. He asked me several questions, he also answered one for me. He told me my urine drug tox screen was negative. Confused, was this even a question that needed to be answered?
‘Yes, we had to rule out drug-induced psychosis. However, we have concluded that after so many emotionally stressful and traumatic life experiences, the neuro-plasticity of your psyche collapsed. Due to the fact that you haven’t slept in more than 48 hours, we concluded that lack of sleep also contributed. It is quite amazing that at your age, almost 30, you have gone this long without impairment to functionality related to adverse mental health issues.’
I was also asked if I knew why I drove off a cliff.
‘I don’t know… the rocks were pretty?’
‘Well, maybe continue thinking about your why, why we are putting you on a 51/50 hold.’
My ‘husband’!
They called my ‘husband.’ He was my ‘in case of an emergency’ (ICE). I had no other blood family members in the state, no adult missing me. Could I be invisible? My ‘husband,’ my ICE. What a mismatch. I remember he asked me if I went down the side of the canyon because I wanted attention? I had to think about this. However, I was pretty sure I didn’t let anyone know. Not that anyone even expected me to be anywhere until the next day, when I would have to pick up my children from school.
He said, ‘You are the most stupidest bitch I’ve ever known. I am so tired of having to put up with you.’
He said, ‘Tell them you drove off a cliff because you fell asleep and accidentally swerved off the road – or you will be known as being the crazy that you are. I am trying to protect you. I won’t tell anyone on you, about the fact that you’re always depressed. That is your business, they don’t need to know. Tell the resident you swerved. Even though you are a sorry excuse for a mom, the kids may be better off without you, but for now, they still need you. Tell them, so I can pick you up to watch the kids for me tonight.’
The kind resident v ‘husband’
In came the kind resident, greeted my dear ‘husband.’ (We were still legally married at that time.) He informed us that, after much consideration, he and his attending had decided that I would be placed on a hold and admitted.
Husband said, ‘She just told me that she fell asleep and accidentally swerved. She needs to be with her children at home.’
Kind Resident said, ‘Sir, despite the question of IF she drove off a cliff because she fell asleep and swerved, she has ‘DNR’ written all over her left upper body. She has been here for 18 hours and we were unable to get a prompt response back from any persons in her contact list, so she appears to have a poor network of support. She is unable to stop crying, and she has not slept in more than 48 hours. Also, she has refused every food item offered, and she has not moved from this spot, not even to go to the bathroom. Nor has she stood up and stretched since the time she was placed in this gurney. I apologize, sir, but we feel she is clinically depressed.’
Husband said, ‘Well, so what does that mean? How long do I have to miss work, because you feel she is depressed?’
Security peeked in then, asked husband to lower his voice. Husband said, addressing me then, ‘Look, I am not about to sit up here with you in the ER, so I’ll call you tomorrow, find out how long you have to stay.’
I remember it all
I remember all of this as if it were yesterday. Interestingly enough, I felt that I hadn’t remembered much of anything else about day # Zero.
Day #1, I was still in the ER. Cry, cover my head, cry, cover my head, Sovereign Lord! My two close friends came to see me this day. I was still too tired to smile. My teeth hurt from clenching my jaw so tightly shut. My shoulders hurt from the tension of my life, my head could not stay upright on my head. And my soul was exhausted, tired of existing.
Day #2, I was moved into a holding room. Now I was a real fish, in the most depressive tank… there was a camera staring right at me. My bed was diagonally positioned, in the middle of the room. Were there only two things to note in that mental health holding room? There were, and I really wished I were dead.
No plans, I still was able to redirect most of my negative thoughts. Check. Still, this day was a blur. I slept all day long.
Moving
Day #3, I left the holding room at about… ? I had no understanding of time. I just knew that today was day three. To speak a bit about this holding room… this room – a relatively simple, square-shaped room, had three white walls. One wall with a police station grade one-way mirror, and a heavy door to the right of it.
There were two small metal rectangles, plates, covering the wall. Surely a safety precaution, this was IT, housed in this room. This room was cold, impersonal, mentally stressful for me. I wondered why the mental health rooms were so much grayer than the other ER rooms.
Leaving that room, still laying flat, covered up, in the gurney, I was pushed quickly past the nursing station. Kind Transporter and Frigid ACLS nurse rolled my gurney into a white submarine hallway. Well, that is what it looked like in there! The picture that I painted of this place in my head, it’s complex.
You know the worst thing about being a patient, on a hold, in the psychiatric ward?
I couldn’t get out.
Thanks For Reading, Art. 2018
UNITED STATES
UNITED KINGDOM
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