First Night

Rosie lay across from me in the cold, dark ward. She was agoraphobic; and when she laughed, her hands fluttered and she tapped her feet against the floor.

It was late when they carried me in. I had no name; just a plastic bracelet with a barcode and my patient number, address and date of birth. N447584. But the doctor and nurses just called me “the O.D girl”.

She smiled at me as they attached wires and a heart monitor; as they dressed me in a white hospital gown with the ties undone, leaving my spine naked and exposed.

Somehow I can’t find the strength to tie it up, though I’m afraid of the strangers’ hands on me. A gentle smile that keeps me from shattering.

Rosie, with her tiny, emaciated body; frail and drawn against the pale sheets. I didn’t know how she’d gotten here. The man next to us had fallen; broken his ribs and injured his mind.

I was falling into nothing; I had nothing to hold me in the freezing hospital but the soft, sweet smile of a stranger. The nurses drew my blood for testing. Toxicology. They put needles into my body and attached more wires.

A black tourniquet takes my blood pressure, while my heart beat is a jagged green line on a screen for everyone to see. I’m beating at 165bpm – the danger zone. “The O.D girl’s tachycardic.” They inject two needles of Valium into my vein to sedate me. I’m hyperventilating. My hands and feet are curled from lack of oxygen.

I have a name, now. They’ve written it on my chart in blue. They cut off my coded bracelet, and put on a new one in a different colour. It’s red, and I don’t know what that means.
N447584.
“Can you tell me where you are?”
I can’t breathe.

…

The nurses dress my wounds and take the oxygen mask away. Butterfly stitches and bandages kiss my skin, sew me together again. I’m paralysed with fear. They check all over my body and keep asking question I can’t bring myself to answer. The doctor says my leg keeps “fluttering” and “spasming” and I don’t understand why or what that means.
“Why are you so bruised?”

My mind feels so fragile it’s disappearing as they speak. I’m bruised all over and my chest is searing with pain.
“What happened?”
“Where did all of your scars come from?”
“A scalpel. A scalpel?”
They can feel my fear. I can’t speak and they can see I’m terrified. They say I’ll be send to psychiatrics in the morning and I’m so afraid; too deep to cry. I’m catatonic.

…

I’m under observation and the nurses continue their night shift. The hospital is as silent as a tomb; except for the gentle whirr of wires and equipment, and the soft cries of lonely hearts.

Rosie is asleep now. I don’t know her yet; she is just a coded patient, like me.
I’m alone in the horror of the night. Trapped in my vital signs, too shocked to move or make a sound. My mind’s in shut down. My pulse and blood pressure are checked every hour, and more wires are pressed against my chest. (My flesh).

The nurses’ hands are cold against my skin.
The hours are never-ending
And the clock ticks backwards.
There are so many strangers touching me.

…

Morning breaks; somehow I know, despite the darkness. I’m too afraid to sleep, and I’m frozen underneath the nurses’ hands. I can’t stop shaking and she says I’m going into shock. My ribs feel like they’re splitting and I’m so cold.

The other patients are waking.
Nurses and doctors flitter passed the corridors; stretchers carrying precious patients are pushed passed the ward into the light.

The nurses pull my curtain back. They lift my arms and take off my gown. A light blue hospital dress is slipped over my body as I shake in their hands.
Break my bones, hold my body.
Tread softly...

Rosie is awake now.
“Ruby.” She whispers. “Is your name Ruby?”
I can’t speak, and she just smiles, sadly.
Understands.
My name sounds different in her mouth.

Two doctors and six interns walk into the ward, surrounding me.
They write on my chart and examine me. I feel trapped.

My heart beat is 148. They tell me that my pupils are dilated, that my pulse is still too rapid.
I have an anxiety disorder and I’m scared and alone. A failed suicide surrounded by strangers and I don’t feel like I exist. They don’t understand why my heart is ready for flight? Why I’m scared?
Sleep… now…
My…
Little one…
Until… morning… is… here…
Safe… in… my… arms…

Rosie is teasing the other patients now. Her laugh is fearless, and I’m so desperately afraid.

She lives alone.
Her husband
Died
Two years ago.

…

I’m lifted into a chair; to weigh me. A monitor records my measurements, and the nurses write into their clipboards. How much does my soul weigh?
I can see one page of my case file and what’s written there makes me nauseous and feel violently sick.
They lift me back into bed, and wrap the blankets around me until I’m cloaked in blue.
I’m so cold.

Rosie asks me if I’m okay, and I try to smile, but I can’t remember how.
She says she needs to call her daughter, and I wonder why her daughter isn’t calling her.

The physios come for Rosie, and they help her stand. One side of her body is weaker than the other. She steps shakily onto the floor, walking with a strangely awkward grace.

The medication room is just outside the ward,
Down
The corridor.
I know that if I walk very
Calmly
And Carefully,
I can lock myself inside and
Drown my heart beat with
Pretty
Pills
Before anyone can find me.
It’s the morning rush
And the medication is unguarded,
Untouched.

Rosie stops by my bed and smiles a little.
“Are you okay?”
I’ll never be okay.
I’m
Broken.

…

A nurse strips away my gown, her hand pressed against my collarbone to take my pulse.
“Would you like a shower?”

The water is
Cold.
It trickles down my skin
And I tremble
As the water drops
Fall
Into my eyes.
I feel dead,
Empty.
Disconnected.
Paralysed.

The towels are bone white, bleached.
I’m afraid to touch them
in case they change colour
underneath my hands.

A doctor
Knocks
On the bathroom door.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Your heart beat’s racing. I just wanted to check.”
Okay, I’m okay. I’ll be okay, we’ll be okay.
I dress, and I’m taken back to bed.

My robes are blue.

…

Night falls. It’s cold and dark.
The nurses turn out the lights in our ward, but Mary’s lamp is on.
She’s been in surgery.

The nurses control the darkness we breathe,
The light we feel,
The light we see.

I try to sleep, but I’m breathing to fast.
I’m tired, so tired.
My eyes are swollen and shadowed.
They look strange and bruised.
My mind feels broken.

My cannula starts pouring blood.
A beautiful red ink from my veins, it’s so bright.
It’s soaking through my sheets into the mattress, and I’m frozen and panicking.
I can’t move.
My heart’s beating so fast I think I’m going to faint.
Every pulse sends blood trickling down my arm into the sheets.
I’m watching it spread into flowers of blood over the pale
white.
I can’t move, why can’t I move?
My blood has started dripping onto the floor.
I know I should call a nurse, but I can’t speak.
My eyes are closing and I’m going to faint.

Then I hear Rosie, crying. Her voice is shaking from behind her blue curtain and I can feel her fear. It’s seeping under the curtain, drowning us. She’s hit the switch beside her, because the light goes on outside the ward – calling for assistance.
Seconds pass, and it feels like an eternity.
Why isn’t anyone coming?
She’s crying, why isn’t anyone coming when she’s so scared and alone?
My arms are damp with blood and I try to get up.
I’m swaying and I feel like I’m going to collapse.
I press the sheets against my arm, to try and soak it, so I won’t scare Rosie.
Then I get up, and slip through her curtain.

It’s so dark, but I can see the tears in her eyes. She’s trembling.
“Rosie? Shh, it’s alright, it’s alright.” I hold her close to my chest, and she’s sobbing into me.
“Are you scared?” I whisper.
She’s crying so much, my hands are shaking.
She keeps saying that I’m beautiful.
She can barely speak.

A nurse tears the curtain aside, and tries to pull me away.
“You’re bleeding all over the floor, and your pulse is 150. What’s happening?
“Rosie’s upset, she needs someone.” I feel weak and strange.
The nurses drag me back to my room. Two more of them are waiting for me.
Someone should be with Rosie.
I’m told to take deep breaths, and close my eyes.
I can’t hear Rosie crying anymore.
Is someone with her?

They speak very slowly, calm.
“Where is the blood coming from, Ruby?”
I show them my arm, and they pull the loose cannula out of my vein, and press a bandage to it to stop the bleeding.
“Were you upset because the lady was crying?”
They change the sheets and clean the blood off the floor and off my skin.
One of them tells me that they’re sedating Rosie, because she’s distressed.
A low grade tranquiliser.

One of the nurses takes off my gown. It’s stained with blood, and I don’t understand how it’s gotten all over me. She slips a blue hospital dress over my head.
She’s very beautiful, and her hands are gentler than the others.
Her skin is dark, almost ebony.
The lights go out, and the nurses leave.

When they’re gone, I slip back through Rosie’s curtain, and she sits up, as though she’s been waiting. She smiles, tears running down her face.
“Thank you, darling. Thank you for being here.”
I ask her if she’s okay, but she just says I’m sweet to worry, and she’s fine.
“I’ve had some medication, and I’ll sleep soon.”
I ask her if she wants me to sit with her for a while and hold her hand.
She laughs a little, through tears.
“I’m the one who should be sitting with you, love, after the blood you lost. I’m okay, dear, really. I’m just a silly old woman; you go back to bed now. I get a little lonely at night, I’m fine dear.”
I tell her I’ll stay with her, to keep her company, but she insists.
“Quick, go back before one of them catches you.”
Goodnight, goodnight.
Goodnight, Rosie.

…

Psychiatrics.
I’m so afraid.
My therapist is here. I can’t bring myself to look at her.
The psychiatrist asks me to follow him out of the ward, for a risk assessment.
Hail, Mary, full of grace…

He takes me to an empty room. My chest is aching with pain and fear, and I feel like I’m going to pass out. He tells me his name, but I can’t remember it.
This is a conversation I’d never wish for anyone.
I’m so guilty and ashamed. I am a disease.

He is gentle and so kind, and I’m so afraid.
But every moment, it’s getting easier to talk.
He asks about my disorder, the psychosis, the nightmares.
He tells me about a nightmare he used to have for a long, long time.
He is a stranger. But I think I can trust him.
He isn’t the first psychiatrist I saw. Last time, in the hospital.
The one that told me I was better off dead.

We talk, and I’m less scared now.
I’m taken back to the ward.
Doctors and nurses will go through his notes, discuss my case history.
My eyes feel alien from crying, and I look like a tragedy.
I’m inside out and I’m at the second ice gate.
Tread softly…
This I can’t talk about.

…

I walk through the hospital corridors this night.
One of the nurses crosses me.
“Where are you going, love?”
I tell them I can’t sleep.
I’m exhausted, but the hospital looks so dangerous tonight,
I’m too scared to sleep.
The beautiful nurse takes me to the patient lounge, and leaves me to rest.
I can’t stop shaking, so I walk and walk.
I find a book, but I can’t read the words. The ink runs in my head.
I think it’s a romance, but it doesn’t make sense.
They check on me every two hours, in case I’ve used one of the computer chords to choke myself to death.
Tourniquet. My blood pressure is written away.

…

When morning breaks, they take my blood pressure again, and take me back to the ward.
My bones feel soft, fragile.
I don’t have a soul.

I read the romance until the other patients are awake.
It’s a hospital trash romance. A nurse in love with a psychiatrist.
My eyes won’t focus, and it’s hard to understand.
I just want to sleep.

…

A doctor tells me that I’m being released.
I don’t know how to feel.
My insides are empty
And I feel… nothing.
Just emptiness.

The other patients’ curtains are pulled back, and Rosie isn’t there.
I ask, and they say she’s with the physios again.
It takes hours for my paperwork.

Rosie comes back to the ward, and holds me very close.
Her voice is soft on my neck, and she tells me I can never come back here.
Never, little one.
She tells me that I’m beautiful, that I have to promise her to take care.
I promise, and she promises too.
She thanks me for being there for her, and I thank her in return.
Mary is asleep, and I whisper goodbye to her too.
I’m leaving with Rosie’s smile held in my chest.
It’s curled around my heart to give me strength.
I wish I could have told her.
Darling, you saved
My
Life.