A "peach" of a day

Intake:  After vitals, several vials of blood being drawn, a cold styrofoam plate of fish microwaved for 45 seconds, I trudged to the phone - my only outside form of communication to the world for the next 7 days.  I dialed JT.  It was only probably 20-30 minutes after he had left me.  Voicemail.  I dialed again.  Voicemail.  I left the most desperate message I have ever left in my entire life.  I now know the dynamics of what a parent/child feels when they leave their loved one in a rehab facility for their own good and they beg to come home.  I mainly just remember sobbing into the phone asking why he didn't answer and how much I needed him and how scared I was.  It's honestly gut wrenching to think about it to this day.  It was even more wrenching for him when he called back and wasn't able to speak with me.  Finally, an hour later, I spoke to him and listened to him cry, cry tears of sadness for me, for us, for this illness, for our loneliness and for anything else we could think of to cry about.  I can only tell you I slept the next several hours and remember very little.  I awoke at some point and met my roommate, "M" who was a sweet sweet girl in her 20's diagnosed with Bipolar and Depression.  We considered ourselves lucky that we were both "normal."  During my deep sleep, apparently I missed a fight in the Day room.  I love some intriguing soap opera drama but this would have sent me running for the hills had I witnessed that in my first few hours at "The Peach."     

6:00-6:30 am:  I lie awake in my tiny wooden bed with blue plastic mattress, flat plastic pillow underneath my rough sheet and pilled hospital blanket.  Why am I awake you might ask?  This is because there is a gigantic set of lights from the hallway shining in my eyes (24/7 open door policy) along with the chatter of the staff who are 2 doors down from my room combined with the every 15 minute check in to ensure I am still breathing.  They push a button with a flashlight inside my door.  The medicine "t" has worn off and I am hungover from the aftereffects but the alternative of not taking it and staying awake all night is incorrigible.      

7:00 am:  "Natalie!  Natalie!  Time for vitals!"  Ugh, roll over and shuffle to a chair for BP/Temp check and the daily, "Do you have any pain anywhere?"  I then shuffle to a chair trying to avoid talking to anyone and fill out my self inventory assessment with one of those tiny yellow pencils you use to fill out your offering envelope in church.  The assessment includes questions such as did you attend groups?  Do you feel suicidal?  Do you feel homicidal?  Do you have any comments regarding your treatment plan?  And so forth and so on.  

7:10 am:  I shuffle back to my bed and by the time I am in a deep sleep I hear "Natalie T!"  You are your first name plus initial for "confidentiality" reasons.  Ugh, yes I am going to breakfast.  Yes, I am going because otherwise I will eat leftover cold grits, eggs and zero coffee.  I throw on some jeans and line up. 

7:30 am:  Breakfast.  I must say I cannot complain about the food at Peachford.  Anytime you didn't like something, there was a hearty supply of Fruit Loops, Corn Flakes and other cereals to chow down on.  It may have been the worst cup of coffee I've ever encountered but by God it tasted like the best.  Think in terms of the cafeteria at your local Elementary school and that's where I was.  The first morning I was "allowed" aka cleared by my Doctor to go to the Cafeteria I was so excited about seeing the Diet Coke fountain.  Hmmm, not so much.  It isn't turned on until lunch.  Such a let down.    

7:30-9:45: Sharps.  Includes "checking out" a hairdryer, flatiron, razor but only with a Doctor's order.  You've never seen a happier person than me drying my hair in the hallway with no mirror.  It's the little things people!  

9:00 am:  Goals Group.  A gathering in the "day room" in chairs with a few tables of all of the patients with the periodic scream of "Code 1, Unit 7" over the intercom.  I finally learned all of the codes - fighting, medical emergency, housekeeping, etc.  I can't really detail any of the groups as they are confidential.  I'll sort through some in my mind and perhaps try to share some at a later date.      

11:10 am:  Lunch.  Yes, that early.  Non eventful.  Sit at the first 2 tables only and don't speak to anyone except patients in your unit.  Fish? Baked Chicken?  I do my best to not sit with anyone with horrible eating habits.  I had no idea how weak my stomach was until I watched people who don't know how to hold their forks and chew with their mouths opened.     

12:00 pm:  Meds & Spades!  Our motley crew of Spades players was the best! We became known as "the fun table."  Honestly, I haven't laughed without abandon that much in a long long time.  I will always look back on those times with those 4 women as some of the most memorable in my life.      

1:00 pm:  Expressive Therapy.  Yahoo!  Coed gathering in the gym for karaoke. (story at a later date)  I don't know if there are enough words in the English language to explain how funny it is seeing "crazy" people karaoke.  I'd kill for a video to upload of the monotone "Sarah, Sarah, no time is a good time, Sarah, Sarah," sung by a man with no expression at all.  I later mocked him with a banana as my microphone with my Spades peeps.  I'm sorry but laughter is the best medicine when you are amongst people talking to a fence and pausing for the fence to answer back.  Yep, true story.     

2:15 pm:  Group Therapy.  An coed assortment of truly giving people wanting to help each other out with advice during the darkest time of their lives.  

4:40 pm:  Dinner.  Yes, that early.  Non eventful.  Well, I take that back.  My friend "S" decided putting two oranges under her shirt would be hilarious.  The staff, not so much.  Again, hilarious.  It's the little things.  

6:30 pm:  Reflections.  This was my favorite because it was an hour spent in our room to journal, pray or sleep.  I did a lot of praying with the prayer journal my sweet Lynn gave me.  It was so special since it had all of her notes and verses from almost 20 years ago.       

8:00 pm:  Group therapy. 

9:00 am:  Night meds

9:30 pm:  Spades!  Cereal munching. Singing. Laughing. Crying.  All therapeutic.  

10:30 pm:  Lights out!  Or if you were one of the fun people like me, you were afforded the luxury of staying up until 11 to finish your Spades game.  It felt like a child being given extra money for ice-cream in the lunchroom.  It's amazing how one's perspective changes in a different environment.  

2:45 am:  Awoken to a scream of a constant chant of, "Oh my God! That ain't right, that ain't right!" over and over and over.  Then, a door slamming over and over and over.  Quick, I thought, get under my bed!  Hmmm, no under the bed existed -- a cheap board surrounded the plastic mattress.  Psst!  M, are you awake?  Yes, I'm scared.  From 2:45-3:45 am, the chaos continued until finally I lean out of my bed and see two men carrying off the patient while she screamed.  Clearly, the words "calm down" weren't cutting it.  

6:00 am:  Do it all over again.  

There is a large dry erase board in the Day room with a schedule written daily.  I suppose a routine is best for mental health patients.  I was fine with it because I was happy not to watch a clock or answer an email or a text.  There is plenty of time to read, chat with the other "crazies", watch TV or simply exist.  I failed to mention there are 4 phones in the day room.  I only called JT mainly several times throughout my day.  I needed separation from the outside world.  I needed to heal.  I needed no phone.  I needed no watch.  

In conclusion, I don't necessarily recommend Peachford like one would recommend The Westin in Palm Beach on Trip Advisor, however, I will say that it was a great place for me.  I am a firm believer that "you get what you give."  I gave and I got.