Days of Remedy

Part 8

The suitcase on the back car seat keeps rattling on the way to the hospital. The sunlight flickers through the front window, wrinkling my forehead, and Yumi Matsutoya's songs that play on the loop, as always, make me sleepy. Mum hasn't said anything since we left the house, giving me space to reflect on the past few days. Yesterday evening, I filled out the questionnaire provided by the head psychiatrist, which only made me more nervous. It took ages to write everything down since they asked about my health history, upbringing, school life, even relationships. Although I tried to keep my answers brief, it was a nuisance nonetheless.

Thirty minutes later, a blue roof peaks behind the tall trees, and so do the direction signs at the side of the road. As we get closer, it doesn't seem much different from a regular hospital; however, the ordinariness puzzles me as I expected a horror house with bars on its windows. The small building is surrounded by a garden and a sports field, all enclosed by a red brick fence.

"Do you need help with the suitcase, sweety?" Mum calls out as she keeps looking for the wallet inside her purse.

Shaking my head, I grab it and head toward the entrance. The light, sandy color of the reception walls reminds me of our kitchen, which makes me miss my home even though it wasn't even an hour since I left it. A nurse welcomes us, asking about the documentation and while my mum handles the papers, I examine the bulletin board. Some information notices are highlighted so they wouldn't get lost next to the patients' artwork, but other than that, there is nothing that would catch my eye for longer than a short glimpse.

Suddenly the nurse waves at me to come closer: "Alright, as a last thing, we will need to check your suitcase. You will have it back after your meeting with Dr. Yoshida, so don't worry; you won't be without your stuff for too long."

"My suitcase?" I utter.

Mum looks at me and grabs my shoulders: "Kumiko, please don't be difficult; it's for your own good. I have to go now, but I promise to call and see you on the visiting day." She pulls me into a deep hug and kisses my left cheek. Then, as she turns to leave, she sniffs and rubs her eyes with the back of her palm.

******

A plump lady with graying hair welcomes me to the office, introducing herself as Dr. Yoshida. Her dimples show up as she directs me to the baby pink sofa next to a round coffee table.

"So, as you know, this will be your home for the next couple weeks. I understand such a big change can be scary, but we will try our best to make your stay comfortable," she says.

My skepticism must be radiating from a mile away, so she continues to reassure me: "Your feeling are very important to us, so if anything concerns you can speak to me or any of the nurses, but maybe I should talk about how things work around here first."

Her voice is very soft and calm as she introduces me to the rules and hands me a piece of paper with the daily schedule. Every day patients do group activities, mostly arts and crafts or sports, and they also do therapy sessions and health checkups. The rules don't seem as bad as I thought, but they are still pretty strict. A lot of attention is paid to punctuality; also, patients are restricted from using the bathroom for an hour after a meal or medication. Many objects are banned, including electronics, so phones can only be used under supervision for an hour a day. Even though Dr. Yoshida tries to present the hospital positively, I still have a lot of doubts.

While I skim through the schedule one more time, she changes the topic: "Since we are a bit more organized now, we can begin our first session and set up your medication plan. Maybe you could tell me something about yourself, so we can get to know each other better?"

Confused, I ask about the questionnaire I filled up since that should be more than enough information about me.

"Oh yes, we can go over it right away if you want. Patients usually feel a bit uncomfortable if I jump right to that. Well then, you mentioned you changed schools recently. How was it so far?"

"Ok," I say indifferently.

Furrowing her brows, she tilts her head slightly: "Teachers, classmates...are they also ok?"

There is no point in pouring out my heart to a stranger, especially since I am just another patient she needs to put on medication, so I shrug my shoulders. She understands I am not very interested in talking to her, but she doesn't give up on the conversation and asks me about the roof.

"I wasn't going to jump," I say, clenching my teeth.

"That's good to hear; life has so much to offer. It would be a shame to give up the opportunity to explore it."

"You don't believe me do you?" a  sarcastic giggle escapes my lungs.

She smiles: "Of course I believe you, but we could talk about it, so I know the whole story. What happened?"

Melting into the sofa, I hesitate to open up: "I don't know...everything just felt weird, so I stood up on the fence."

"What do you mean by weird?" she presses further.

"It was just weird. I felt sick, and I couldn't breathe. My head was spinning."

"And why do you think you felt that way?"

I actually try to think of a constructive answer, but instead of saying something, I cry, and the more I try to cover it up, the more out of hand the situation feels. Shallow breaths swell my neck; twitching fingers don't take long to follow, and the question of how I could have ended up like this keeps popping up in my head once again. Dr. Yoshida rushes over to her table, taking out a syringe. Then, she gives me a small shot, calming me down.

"What was that? I feel numb," I ask.

"That was to stop your panic attack. Don't worry, you won't feel numb for too long. Did something like this happen before?"

I nod.

Writing down something in her notepad, she asks me if I have been sleeping well and if I have any problems with concentration.

"I am tired a lot," I answer.

"And how about your moods? Do you feel excited or sad?"

This question catches me off guard. Sometimes my body hurts, but inside, it's nothing most of the time, or at least I don't know if there are words to describe it.

"Well, it's hard to say. Everything has been so mellowed down that I haven't noticed feeling something special in a long time." I mumble.

"Mellowed down?" She repeats.

"Yeah, like underwater...almost? As I can't feel the world around me properly." I try to explain.

Then Dr. Yoshida puts on a serious face asking me if I wanted to hurt myself on the roof, and I just smirk awkwardly, not knowing what exactly happened that day and what to say to her.

"Koyama, please trust me when I say hurting yourself won't help how you feel right now. Based on what you said, it looks like you are suffering from depression, anxiety, and panic attacks. We can help you with medication and therapy."

Hearing about medication doesn't thrill me, but it's not like I didn't expect it. I don't want to end up as a walking corpse wandering around the halls of a mental hospital. Still, I kept quiet since she could prescribe me a horse tranquilizer if I protest too much.

"You will take two types of pills, one in the morning and one in the evening. Most people don't have major problems with it, but we will see how you react," she smiles.

After writing a few more things down and calling the nurse to pick me up, she ends our meeting with more words about the importance of life, not realizing I had already shut myself down from this conversation, wanting to run far, far away.