By Nicole Cater
Getting admitted to the ER on a psych charge is so not hard. You merely have to walk up to the desk and say “Hi, my name is _______ and I feel as if I may hurt myself and/or others in the immediate future.” Being able to name the flavor of your particular craziness helps immensely.
Triage: The process of determining the priority of patients' treatments based on the severity of their condition.
Guess what bitches? You just got bumped to the top of the list. BOOM!
Now you go to the safe room. This is where the fun begins. Lots of people come in and out and check your vitals and ask you the same questions over and over. This just pisses you off more, making you want to jab a ballpoint pen in the eye of the cop that’s been assigned to you. Yes, you get your own cop. Trés chic!
The safe room is nothing like a panic room a la Jodie Foster. It’s more like a room with one of those big brother mirror domes in it so you can’t hide from your cop and therefore, can’t harm yourself or anyone else. And there are no fireproof blankets or snacks, sugar free or otherwise. But you spend a lot of time in the safe room because as we all know, ER workers are very busy. They never sound very busy, and you never catch them doing anything very busy, but they are always very busy. Whatever… So you’re admitted to the ER. Now, they have to determine if you’re actually loony toons enough to warrant being admitted to the hospital. This is not the fun part.
A nurse walks you approximately 32 miles to the other side of the hospital, where they keep the crazies. Your cop follows at a subtle distance. I don’t know why. I know he’s my cop, but maybe he’s practicing his subtleness or something. But in any event, he comes too and stands outside the waiting room that you’re deposited in while they get the Head Whack Shack Chick. When she finally comes and talks to you, she looks at you like you must be faking. You have to be faking. After all, you are the first person to ever be thought of as crazy, ever. Big faker! Okay, maybe you aren’t faking.
So you get admitted, but its shift change, so it takes a while. We know all about shift change, so we won’t go there. Anyway, the first thing that happens is you’re issued your super cool new clothes. Spiffy they ain’t but they sure are comfy! Then you get asked a bunch of questions. The funniest of which are the questions regarding periods, pregnancies and hysterectomies, which the staff are required to ask the men too. Hey, at least there’s no sexism.
Then you sign your life away. And they forget to give your meds for the evening, so you still feel like killing someone. Awesome!
This is our new Wicked Short Stories page with submissions from various Authors. Please look for bio-snippets about the Author at the bottom of the various pieces. Enjoy!