May 10th 2017–FROM MY JOURNAL

        Greta got into bed early and started watching Feud, a new series about Bette Davis and Joan Crawford, played by Jessica Lang and Susan Sarandon. The film etches overcoming a middle-aged woman’s obstacles in life:  men, finances, rejection, and loneliness.

       A knocking at the door, ‘Oh no, I don’t want to see anyone.’

  “Police, open up.”  You couldn’t cut her tension with a semi-truck head-on. She opened the door to five male Policeman and a Medic. 

       “ Greta we are here because someone is very concerned about your welfare. I understand you made a reference to taking your own life.”

       “ Who called you? It was Aaron right?”

   “Yes. He said you made a remark that disturbed him and he wanted us to check on you. Did you say you wanted to take your own life?”

  “Not in the way he interpreted. I’m not going to commit suicide I just need a break  from tortuous gaslighting.”

” Who is gaslighting you?”

” My ex-partner of thirty-five years and his demonic girlfriend. 

“How can you resolve this?” 

“I don’t know, I’m trapped.” Then I noticed they were not convinced.

“I think you should come with us for an evaluation.”

“No, that’s not necessary, Really, look at me. I’m enjoying a movie. ” Greta got back on the bed in a gesture of defiance. 

“We think it is.”  We have an ambulance out front.

“What? Oh God. No, I’m not going.”

“You don’t have a choice. It won’t take long, if the Physiatrist thinks you are not in danger they’ll release you.”

“I’m not going in the ambulance.”

“Okay, you can ride with me in the patrol car.”

“Well, let me put on some lipstick. A girl can’t go to the Psychiatric Ward without lipstick.”’  They smiled, and in her pajamas and robe, she slid down into the back seat of the Patrol car avoiding neighbors’ observance.  

The ward was a take-off of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.  One woman was shaking and mumbling herself out of a drug withdrawal,  the nurses were telling jokes, one man was in a hospital gown striding up and down the corridor, talking to himself and Greta seated on a chair watched.  In the distance, she recognized Lally, a potential renter of her home.

 ” Lally, can you come over a minute?” 

“ How are you? What’s going on?”

“ Oh God, I said the wrong thing to a friend, and he called 911.”

“ I’m sorry to hear that. Are you here for evaluation?”

“Yeah, can you do it?”

“ No, I’m assisting in another department. Don’t worry… I’ll talk to the Physiatrist so you get through quickly. It’ll be fine. Just wait here.”

I thanked him and ten minutes later I was led into a private room with bars on the bed. A nurse took my vitals, then a Doctor asked a few questions like,’ What day is it?’ and then she left without adding anything very comforting. Another knock on the open door and a petite female tiptoed in.  She infused sincerity and concern into that bleak sanitary room, and I opened up the story from start to finish. She used expression, voice, and patience to keep me talking. She didn’t inflame the rage against Dodger, she suggested I find counseling and asserted that I was indeed in a very traumatic situation.  ‘ I will call the the department supervisor and suggest you  be released.’ 

 The six hours Greta was in the hospital centered on the absence of a phone call or email from Dodger. Aaron must have told him to get the address.  It’s about two am and Greta is thinking about her birthday; another sort of ménage of meaning, she feels like ten years have passed rather than one. Another doctor came in and released Greta, with a promise to call for counseling. She slipped into a cab in her pajamas and went home. Never had been so terrified of losing control. 

The next afternoon brightened when Audrey showed up with roses, champagne, a gift basket, and a happy birthday balloon.  She sang the entire birthday song and danced around Greta as she opened the gifts. 

 “It is a big deal!  I always was taught to celebrate friends’ birthdays with everything,” her smile remained and Greta’s surfaced. She told her the story of the previous night and Audrey just sat there, eyes widened like two camera lenses, and told her. “I know you would never commit suicide.‘ She cradled Greta as they walked downtown for dinner. One of her gifts was five hundred dollars. Greta was so stunned she tried to return it, but Audrey blatantly resisted.  At our dining table, she waved at guests and waiters with her long arms, “It’s her birthday.” She reminded Greta of her childhood when her father hired magicians and clowns to entertain at her parties. Greta felt sensationally spoiled, and that’s not always an indulgence, sometimes it is the only path to joy. The end of the evening placed her in front of Facebook where friends posted birthday wishes.  It was a blessed day and a reminder that she is loved.  Aaron was trying to help, and Greta felt his concern with appreciation. There is no replacement to cure your mental doubts than a visit to the Physiatriscat Ward.

Six years later, upright, achieved, and grateful for that day.