No Hope at Good Hope

Sometimes the doctors aren't always right. True story.

No Hope at Good Hope

Written by T. L. O’Neal

 

    I used to have a problem with drinking, the problem was that I liked it too much and it didn’t like me at all. Then in 1997 after a couple of failed efforts to quit, I finally did for a while. Of course as it always goes in life, you get rid of one problem and another usually takes its place, so now I was suffering from depression and lack of sleep now. I tried to count sheep but they just kept moving around too damn much, thank God they weren’t talking because that sure would have been irritating. Because of the depression, the head shrink put me on some antidepressants to see if that would help in my situation. I was glad of that and all for that, since I had about enough of all this misery I was feeling.

 

    I was starting to feel better from them, actually… I felt damn good, too good to be exact. I was staying up for days on in, full of energy and just plain happy as hell with a stupid grin on my face all the time. I didn’t worry about it too much till one night I found myself up in a tree in the middle of the night, naked, and swinging from limb to limb, doing monkey calls. I found this to be a bit strange, of course I was always a bit strange, but I was having a good time at it anyways. I mentioned it to the doc the next time I was in there to see him.

 

And he said, “We got to get you off of those pills right now, you’re going manic.”

 

I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that, but I knew I sure felt good.

 

“I’m fine, haven’t felt this good in years,” I said to the doc.

 

Well to make a long story short, he put me on a mood stabilizer and started cutting the antidepressant one back.

 

   I was one of those types of people that always liked to eat before going to bed you know, and still am for that matter. Anyway, at the time it was usually cereal. But what he neglected to tell me was that this new medication has a reaction with milk… a bad reaction. After several times of falling to the floor in a gut wrenching pain that felt like eating glass, acid, and rusty nails all put together, I finally figured it out. “DON’T DRINK MILK, MILK BAD.” If that wasn’t bad enough I started having seizures, and the big a*s kind too. Geez, it felt like I was getting fried by 220 volts all through my body and then it was like I was hit in the head with a sledgehammer, once I regained consciousness that is. Now this got my attention and quick, so here I go calling the doc again telling him what was going on.

 

   “Lord!” he said, “you might have had a stroke or something, you need to be put in the hospital for some tests.”

 

   Now I always had a fear of such places, along with clowns, Santa Claus, spiders, crowds, the dark, and a few other things that escape me at the moment. But he told me that I needed to go and don’t you suppose to listen to what your doctor tells you anyway? I was beginning to wonder.

 

    Well I arrived at Good Hope Hospital, as some used to call it around here “No Hope,” and they where waiting for me. The name of the hospital, nickname that is, didn’t exactly put a lot of confidence in me about the place, but I was there. So they led me this way and that, down some long corridor to a part of the hospital that looked like it hadn’t been used in years, I was totally lost. We arrived at this big metal door with a little glass window in it. They buzzed the door and when I got in that place I knew something was wrong.

 

“Where are we?” I said. 

“This is the mental ward.” was the reply.

“I don’t suppose to be here.” I said, but it was too damn late.

 

   I was there and the door behind me locked tight. I tell you what, that’s a badass feeling hearing those doors lock behind you too. The hairs on my neck were standing up, and that was a sight to see too, considering how long my hair is. Note:( Since it was the mental health center that sent me, that’s where I had to go.)

 

     So I went in to see the head doctor, and he seemed to be a nice enough guy I guess. What I did find a bit odd about him was that he had all these patches on his arms, six to be exact. He said they were nicotine patches. This made it twice as odd being that he was smoking one right after the other.

 

“Being a psychiatrist shouldn’t you know that’s not good for you, mixing them like that I mean? I asked.

He said, “Yea I know.”

Well, if it didn’t bother him, I sure wasn’t going to let it bother me none.

So I asked hopefully,“ Do you mind if I smoke too?”

 

   He didn’t care, so we just sat there, the two of us, chain smoking and talking and having a big time. I really needed one too after finding myself in that place. Let me tell you, that office looked like something from a Cheech and Chong movie with all that smoke hanging in the air. But it was ok; at least I was calming down a bit. 

 

   He was smart fella too I tell you what; right off the bat he said that the other doc took me off the antidepressants too fast and that’s what caused the seizures. Well, I was glad that was over with, now I can get the hell out of here. Then I heard the words that struck the fear of God into me.

 

“We’re going to keep you for a week and run some tests just to be sure.” That doctor said.

 

I Suwannee, I have the worst damn luck. Up to that point I liked him pretty good, but now I was starting to have my doubts.

 

“Look!” I said, “ I don’t have any insurance, and I damn sure can’t pay for this s**t, just let me go home, I’m fine.” That plea fell on smoky, deaf ears.

 

    So I settled in for a week in the nut ward at No Hope. They stuck me in a room with some guy, and the first thing I noticed was the most putrid funk I ever did come across.

 

“Hey, what the hell is that smell.” I said.

 

He said it was his feet, some fungal thing or other. They had a yellow look to them and were pealing like paint on an old plaster wall, and they looked as bad as they smelled too.

 

“Can’t you wash them or something, spray Lysol, or put on some damn socks.” I said with an obvious pissed off voice.

 

   He said that he did wash them but nothing seemed to work. I could already see it was going to be a long a*s week. I could tell this guy was depressed too, if my feet were in that kind of shape, I would be depressed too I guess. Anyhow, he told me that he took a lot of Tylenol with some alcohol and tried to kill himself. He was more depressed than anything because now… he couldn’t ever drink again, because he just about completely ruined his liver. He didn’t know that Tylenol would do that if he mixed it with alcohol, I think he didn’t watch the news that much. Anyhow, when your in those places like that, everyone likes to share what they’re in there for. Kind of like a pissing contest you could say. There were some screwed up people in there for sure but I was the only naked tree climber and monkey impersonator that I knew of.

 

     That being said I settled into the routine of the day, nothing to do, crappy meals, three smoke breaks a day, a lunatic woman who though I was her ex-boyfriend Johnny some-damn-body. You know, the regular nut house s**t. That woman was a strange one too, talking gibberish and cussing all the time, and she also had a beard that any eighteen-year-old boy would’ve been proud of. So they put me on some meds and I went fast to sleep when “lights out” came.

 

    When I awoke in the morning I found a note lying on my chest. How it got there, and who put it there was beyond me. So I opened it up and read it. This letter contained a hodgepodge of incoherent lines, I love you Johnnies and I’m going to kill you, you sorry b*****d. Needless to say I knew who put it there then. I received them every night while I was there, oh joy.

 

I said to the head nurse, “Can’t you do something about her, she’s nuts.”

 

   She said she would try and took the letters and put them in the woman’s file. Nutty had to go by the nurse’s station to get to my room each night, but they never did stop her midnight deliveries. A couple of days later, with still no tests run, I was on the phone talking to my then girlfriend, and crazy girl came up to me. I guess she was jealous or something because she stabbed me repeatedly in the neck right then and there, yelling,

 

“I hate you Johnny, you cheating b*****d!”

 

   Luckily for me, all she had was a straw, but it still hurt a little. She was carted off to that little padded cell and I never saw her again. I don’t know who this Johnny guy was but I would like to kick his a*s, because I was catching all of this s**t meant for him… the cheating b*****d. 

 

    After several days of this mess, and still no tests run, I was starting to feel like a possum trapped in a rabbit box. My girlfriend at the time did come to see me once to get my ATM card for groceries but she never came back after that, too busy or something. I managed to talk them into letting me go to Wal-Mart for an hour to pick up my glasses that I was having made for me. You suppose to have a family member to take you out, but since I was a model patient and the trouble with the crazy girl that they couldn’t stop, they let me go.

 

     First thing I did was light up a smoke, and then another. Hell I smoked a full pack in that hour; the old doc would of been proud. I did make it to Wal-Mart and got my glasses. It all felt a little surreal, being on the outside again. When I went back to the hospital, I didn’t have a clue on where to go. They let me out a back door to the parking lot and I didn’t pay any attention to where it was. I was just glad to see the light of day again. So I was running this way and that, trying this door and then another. I thought about going on home but I decided to tough it out. At this time I was getting a bit scared because I didn’t want them to send the cops out after me. I tried all these outside doors and then decided to just go inside and I finally had to ask someone.

 

“Where’s the mental ward?” I asked.

 

They asked, “Are you supposed to be there or something?”

 

I said, “Yea, I’m a patient there.”

 

Well they had this horrified look on their face, and don’t you know that they got me a security officer to escort me back. I thought that was mighty nice of them to do that. I was a bit late and they were freaking out about it on the ward but I explained it all, and it seemed to be ok after that.

 

     They never did get all those tests done; they said they would have to do them on the weekend. I would be damned if I was going to be stuck here another three damn days I thought. So I begged and pleaded and sweet-talked that doc into letting me go home on the promise that I would come back for the tests, which I did do. I always try to keep my promises, especially this one, I just wanted to get out and stay out.

 

    When I got back to my girlfriend’s house, she acted kind of weird, like what are you doing back? She thought I escaped or something I guess. I explained it all to her but it didn’t seem to do that much good. So she asked if I would cut the grass, and I did. Then I cooked supper, and then after eating as we were sitting there smoking at the table, she broke up with me. She already had my s**t packed too, very sweet of her. I wanted to ask why she let me cut the grass and cook if she was going to break up with me, but I pretty much already knew. You don’t pass up free labor. I also found out later when my bank statement came that the price of groceries went up a bunch, I mean a damn bunch, but if she can live with it… so can I.

 

   Oh and if your wondering, all it was is that doc #1 took me off the meds too quick. But it sure cost me a lot for that little screw-up, over $6000 to be exact in medical bills, not including what the girlfriend took of course. But you live and learn.

 

Reviews

[Melinda Smith]

Wow... sounds like you have had your share of bad times! Very interesting story, and it goes to show just how little the docs warn you about the meds they push at you.

By the way hows the girl who wrote you the love notes?;)

crazy girl comes up to me. I guess she was jealous, because she stabbed me repeatedly in the neck right then and there, yelling, �I hate you Johnny, you cheating b*****d.� Luckily for me, all she had was a straw, but it still hurt a little. She was carted of to that little padded cell and I never saw her again.

~That is hysterical!

[E]

having a bipolar mum and a bipolar boyfriend and a family rich with mental s**t, i feeeeel this.

i liked reading this, one of your more powerful pieces love. really phenominal.

[Krystal Waters]

Wow and powerful. The power a doctor has over your life is just too much. Did I tell you I hate doctors? The reason being, is that whatever you say is not heard, it is only what they say is GOD"S word! And I don't like being pin pointed because some stupid doctor has nothing better to do but put his revenge upon you. So I say... Stay far away from doctors. Go to them only if dead or dying. Take their medicine only if it helps. Most of this synthethic medicine kills you slowly anyway. Like Vioxx!!! lol "Let's just give you Vioxx and kill you slowly, make sure we put in your files that you are also a hyperchondriac so if in case you do say something about your symptoms, or new symptoms, we can always say you are dellisuional!" HOG S**T to all those doctors!

Nice write... sorry you had to go through so much. Really, seems like they shoud cover the cost since you never got any of your tests when they said. Didn't even tell you where you were going! You were tricked! Now that's a load of bull s**t.

Krystal

[Moonlight]

*hug*

I read this once already T.L.

I'm glad you sent it out again.

M.L.

[Leah Simone]

Humor in the face of tragedy - well done, my friend - This was real and emotive - you expressed yourself very well - Leah

[David P. Eckert]

Unfortunately your story is far too real. Some docs are good and some are not. Even the good ones make mistakes, and unless there is some financial repercussion, no one is in a rush to have anyone leave. Some of that is leftover from when psychiatrists had greater power to keep someone locked up. The laws have changed some so that there has to be a good reason for patients to be made to stay, but there still can be some confusion. It's great that you put the story out there. It's one that is worth people hearing.

[Bedlam The Gypsy]

I agree w/ Michael Anyanwu down there- and I've said as much to you before (about putting a book out there). And also about not trusting doctors. That's not to say there aren't a few good ones out there, but you have to go through too much to find them. However, you really do have a gift for finding the humor in any situation. Most of it is so awful, that you had to go through it at all on another's mistake, and yet, look at what it gave you. A phenomenal feat- your retelling, your view, your perseverance.

[Paul Grimsley]

you have a real storyteller's voice and not every writer has that. it seems to make the reader feel instantly at ease with what they are being told about, regardless of what that may be. i wish i didn't always do this but i have to make a comparison and this one reminded me of Richard Brautigan. that kind of wry humourous way of looking at life which seems to allow a perspective with a wider remit than someone buried up to their neck in the drama of the whole thing. i really enjoyed reading this and given the subject matter and where it could have gone that is a definite thing to be more than pleasantly surprised about.

[Adam Greenfield]

I felt this one. It feels like I've been there before. Good writing. And funny, too. I like the doctor that smoked while on the patch. I also like some of the other characters in here, like the guy with the feet and the girlfriend. Well, ex-girlfriend. Great piece!

[Antony]

Hey T, Wow! what a nightmare. I would of kept going once I hit Walmarts, monkey business or not. Drugs certainly can alter our lives.
Tony

[Inmate 72866]

Scary. I would have been out of my mind. Medication can really screw you up if the doctor doesn't know what he or she is doing. I just changed shrinks. Pray for me!