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Chapter Five
Grace
Shortly after the three of them rush out the door, a code red is paged over the intercom.The sound was one of the medical carts being turned over.The carts that carry our medication—our punishments—from hall to hall, floor to floor.After the initial crash, there was a big commotion, and then the shouting.It grows quiet at some point, but the energy, the essence of what’s happened, lingers in the air.
It takes a while, but eventually I realize they aren’t coming back, at least not right away, and I find my way back to bed.Not that I have to travel far.It’s more of a mental journey than a physical one.
I pull the itchy blanket up to my shoulders, adjust the paper-thin pillow, and turn to face the wall.Later, when the ward grows quiet again, I hear a faint mewling sound coming from the other side of the wall.
A faceless and nameless woman in the room next to me is crying.I can hear her sniffles.They’re followed by intermittent sobs.I can’t say whether it’s for me, or for her, but eventually I start singingTwinkle, Twinkle Little Star,the same way I used to do for my children.I know I should just ignore her and go to sleep, or at least pretend, if I want to avoid the medication.Dr.Branson needs to see that I can fall asleep on my own.
But in between the sobs and the sniffles, there is a light tapping on the wall, almost like it’s beckoning me to keep singing.I know the nurses will see this as an act of defiance, but I make my choice anyway.
I go through all the songs I know before moving on to nursery rhymes.Eventually, the sobs dissipate, and all that is left is a calm, eerie silence.
I am still staring at the wall when the door opens again.The footsteps sound unfamiliar, and when I turn, there are two men in black uniforms with tall, black, shiny boots.They enter my room, followed by someone in a black hooded robe.The hooded figure turns to look my way, and I can see two bright points of light where the eyes should be.
The two men grab my arms and hold me steady as the man in the robe circles around me, muttering to himself.I can see his lips moving under the hood.After about a minute, he stops and nods to the men, who release me.Without a word, he leaves.
The room is so quiet I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears.A million questions sprint through my mind.What just happened?Was that them?The men Charles warned me about?Had they come to kill me?Why didn’t they follow through?Why’d they just leave?
I sat there alone for a long time, holding my head in my hands, trying to make some sense of what had just happened.
“Mrs.Solomon?Grace?”Patient is unresponsive.
When I open my eyes, Dr.Branson is flashing his shiny light directly into them.“I think you’re having a reaction to the medication.”
“What medication?”My words come out jumbled together.I hardly recognize my own voice.He hadn’t given me any medication.Had he?
There was the code red and then I don’t remember.
Dr.Branson shines his light into one pupil and then the other.Then he pats my shoulder.“Just relax.We’re going to get you down to the hydrotherapy room.”
I wonder if this is a privilege I have finally earned.
“Patient remains unresponsive,”Dr.Branson says.“Possible reaction to Chlorpromazine.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs.Solomon,” he says, putting his face very close to mine.“The heat should help.”
The next thing I know, I am in a tub.Water is up to my breasts, and there’s a metal covering that allows only my neck and head to stick out.I try to move, but I am trapped.The covering does not budge.It’s then that I see the locks.It’s not meant to open from the inside.
It’s too hot.It feels like I am being boiled alive, like my skin is melting clear off my bones.I try to tell them the water is too hot, but no one listens.It’s obvious they can hear me, but no one moves.No one does anything.Not even when my desperate pleas turn to painful cries, which turn to screams.I lie there in the enclosed tub, my piercing screams echoing off the tile walls, wondering if maybe I really am losing it, or if this is all just some terrible nightmare that I can’t wake up from.
