psych ➳ muke

19

Her name is Yvette, she's an older woman, her thin hair going gray. But I barely see her, all I can see is

hate

hate

hate

This is the woman that will tear me from my sweet Michael, whom I haven't seen or heard in an hour. They carted him out of the main door, into the actual hospital, for further treatment.

I feel guilty, knowing that it was I that caused the voices to act out, to talk - to taunt. From what I gather, they were talking about me. About how I was leaving him, but it isn't my choice. I did not ask for this to happen.

"So Luke, what have you learned here?" She asks.

I glance up at her, "Like coping skills? Um, I suppose I learned how to control my anger a bit and ways to calm myself when my anxiety is too high."

She nods and smiles, seemingly pleased with my response.

"You're here with me because both of your doctors, Dan and Grace, have decided that you are well even to be discharged. Your medications seem to be working for you so far. Basically, we are going to go over some paper work, you'll sign a few lines, and then we'll give your mum a call."

Her words spin and swirl about the room, getting lost in a sea of sound. My heart is beating strong and fast, I can hear it thudding in my ears.

Paper work.

Signatures.

Call Mum.

I mull over the list a few times in my head, hoping that it will stick. Yvette lays a few papers down on her desk and I lean over to study them.

"These just layout what we have spoken about already. This one outlines your treatment plan, what medications you are now taking as well as how your body reacted to them."

I nod along, quietly taking in the information. She continues, discussing what each of the papers say. One is for the coping skills I have learned and I sign it in agreement that I will try to use them. Another is a safety plan, stating that if I feel like harming myself again I will come directly to the hospital. I sign that also.

"Everything seems to be finished here, Luke. Now, we just have to phone your mum and see when she would like to pick you up."

When she would like to pick me up.

It all seems so real now, it's finally happening. It's over. My time here, on the psychiatric floor of Douglas Memorial Hospital, is ending.

She dials my mum's number, leaving it on speaker so I can hear as well.

"Hello?"

"Yes, this is Yvette Williams, am I speaking with Mrs. Hemmings?"

I know it is my mother's voice on the other end, but it is protocol for it to be confirmed. Just in case someone else were to answer the line, not that there was anyone else whom could.

"This is she."

"Hello, Mrs. Hemmings, I work for Douglas Memorial's psychiatric ward. I am your son's social worker."

"Oh, lovely! Pleasure to meet you, has something happened?"