Chapter 5: July 16, 2000, 5AM, Cafeteria (John Carter's Point of View):
I look down at my tray as I sit at a table.
"How nutritious," I mumble to myself. It is a carton of orange juice. That's all. "At least I have my Vitamin C."
"Hey, Carter." It is Peter with his own tray of food: a bagel with cream cheese, and a carton of skim milk. He sits across the table from me. "Is that all you're going to have?"
"Yeah, I'm not really hungry"
"I've noticed." Peter picks up his bagel but quickly sets it back down and continues, "I think we need to talk, Carter."
"About what?" Butterflies are forming in my stomach, but I try to act normal.
"About you. Something is wrong and you need to let us help. We can all see it. And we are all worried."
"You have nothing to worry about, Dr. Benton-"
"Damn it Carter, we can all see that you are depressed!" Peter hisses, "You are always down, and you stopped eating a while ago. Either you are depressed or you have an eating disorder. What are you now? 160? 155?"
I am staring at my tray when I respond, "145."
"Shit," Peter mutters under his breath. "I need you to promise me something Carter. I need you to promise that you will start eating more. It is dangerous for someone your height to be this thin."
"Okay."
Peter quickly eats his bagel in silence. He stands up but before he leaves he continues, "And also promise me that if you get too depressed you won't do something stupid."
I look up. "What do you mean 'stupid'? Yeah I might be a little depressed. But what do you mean 'stupid'?"
"I didn't mean anything. I just want to make sure that you are safe." I can tell that Peter is nervous. That rarely happens.
"Safe? Do you.... Do you think that I'm suicidal? I can't believe you." I am furious. I stand up. But before Peter can correct his words, I walk away and am out of the cafeteria. As I race my way through the ER, I accidentally knock into Dr. Dave Malluchi, who had been speaking with Doug, but I am more stunned than the two other doctors, I can tell.
"You okay there, buddy?" Dave asks me.
"Why is everyone asking me that?" I demand. What is wrong with everyone today?
"Slow down Carter," Doug adds. He is on one side of me while Dave is on the other. I frantically look around the ER for an exit. They have trapped me in, and I am not sure which way I am facing. Doug continues, "Why don't you just go into the lounge and relax for a few minutes."
"I don't need to relax! Why can't everyone just leave me alone and let me do my work?!" From my outburst Kerry Weaver and Mark had come. Benton saw all of them around me apparently and joined in. I am surrounded. "Oh, this is great," I say, "Who's attending to the patients?"
"What's going on here?" Kerry asks. "Carter, go home for the rest of your shift and get some sleep."
"I don't need sleep," I respond to her, practically shouting. "I came here today to work, but you people won't let me do that. You keep bombarding me with questions and advice. But if you really want me to leave I will." I tried getting away, but I must have done something wrong. I vaguely recall rubbing my wrist. What do they think? Do they really think that I am suicidal? Before I know it, Mark, Doug, and Peter have me restrained. I call out, "Kerry, Dave, stop them."
But Mark calls out, "Malik, get a gurney and soft restraints!" They load me on it. Patients are watching as one of County Hospital's doctors is tied up. I am so embarrassed. Peter and Doug are pushing me toward the elevator. I have given up thrashing, but now I hear Kerry shouting at Mark, "What the hell is all of this about? What do you think you are doing?" Dave was probably still standing there confused as always. Then I hear Mark respond, "He is suicidal. We need to get him some help before he blows."
That makes me snap. Right before I am wheeled into the elevator I shout out, "I am not suicidal! I never have been! You don't know what you are talking about!"
In the elevator Peter says to me, "Just calm down, man." 'Man' is something Peter only says to someone he truly cares about. But I don't want him to care about me right now. I want him to let me go. My back is throbbing from being thrown onto the gurney, so I stop moving. I close my eyes and breath deeply, trying not to think of the pain.
"Are you okay there, Carter?" Doug asks me.
I don't respond. I simply take a deep breath and blow it out through my mouth.
I hear Doug mumble to Peter, "At least he doesn't need to be sedated."
"Yeah," is the only response Peter gives.
They put me in the psych ward. I don't belong here. People like Paul Sobriki belong here, not me. Paul Sobriki: If only I had gotten him up here sooner, none of this would be happening. But like I said, I can't change the past. So I cooperate. Within minutes a psychiatrist is with me, sitting beside my gurney.
"My name is Dr. Montgomery. Can you tell me what happened today John?" she asks. I can't see her very well because of the angle I am laying at, but she sounds young.
"No, actually I can't. But I can tell you what I think happened." Stay calm, stay calm, I keep reminding myself. Act like nothing is wrong.
"Okay, please do."
"First, is there anyone else in the room besides you and me?"
"No, it's just us. Would you like someone else here?"
"No, no." I take a deep breath. "I was in the cafeteria eating breakfast with Dr. Benton, and he accuses, no that's not a good word for it, he believes that I am suicidal and tells me not to do anything rash. I am not suicidal, Doctor, nor have I ever been." That was a lie, but she didn't need to know that. Anyways, I'm not that bad.I just think about it sometimes. "I got a little too upset and stormed off, and in the ER I felt like I was ganged up on by all the doctors and practically tackled onto the gurney." I close my eyes for a dramatic ending to my short story.
"I know that you have had a hard few months-"
"Everyone goes through tough times."
"Yes, but I know what happened to you. I think your co-workers are just a little concerned about you. How have you been feeling since the attack?"
"I've had my ups and downs. But I think I am handling it pretty well now. I have to accept what happened. It's in the past, and I can't change it," Wow that sounded convincing, even to me.
"You look a little thin. How has your appetite been recently?"
"It's starting to come back. I'm not going to lie to you," This whole conversation has been a lie so far. I continue, "I wasn't eating much for a while, but I am again, slowly."
The doctor says to me, "Can I see your wrists?"
"Sure," I respond. I should do whatever she says. My track marks were almost healed and I had a story planned for them anyway. The doctor peers at my right wrist first. There are no marks on that one. After walking around to the other side of the bed, she takes off my watch and clears her throat. While she was inspecting my wrists I get a look of her. She is about thirty five, I'd say, and somewhat attractive, although she doesn't look like my type.
She says, "I see a couple of marks here, right around the vein. Can you tell me about them?"
"Yeah, when I was healing from the attack I was given lots of time off, so once I felt up to it, I spent a week at my family's cabin in Wisconsin. Sometime when I was up there I got a couple of spider bites. You'd never guess how much those things hurt. I have one on my leg too, if you want to see it." That one was a real spider bite from the trip. Yes, I did go on a trip to Wisconsin. Spider bites really do look like track marks. I discovered that with Chase when he told me that one of his was a bite and I fell for it. I am a doctor and I fell for it. Perfect plan.
"No, that's okay." She sighs, "Well, I'm glad to say that you seem okay to me. But you shouldn't have gotten so upset downstairs."
"I know."
"I suggest you take a couple of days off from work. The ER can be a stressful place."
"You're telling me." I smile.
"I'll get a nurse to take these restraints off of you, and you will be free to go. But please promise me that if you need to talk, you won't hesitate to come up here. There is always someone free in this ward, just for that."
"I will, and thank you, Doctor." I say, and she left.
Within fifteen minutes I am released from the psych ward and back down in the ER. I find Kerry and tell her, "I am going home for the day, orders of the psychiatrist I was forced to see in restraints. In fact, she said I should take a few days off from work and I think I will. You know, just to cool off from this whole incident."
"I am very sorry about all of this, John. Is there anyway that I can make this up to you?"
"You didn't do anything. Just let me cool down."
"Ok."
"I'll call you tomorrow and tell you my plans." I walk outside without hearing her response and I light another cigarette.
I look down at my tray as I sit at a table.
"How nutritious," I mumble to myself. It is a carton of orange juice. That's all. "At least I have my Vitamin C."
"Hey, Carter." It is Peter with his own tray of food: a bagel with cream cheese, and a carton of skim milk. He sits across the table from me. "Is that all you're going to have?"
"Yeah, I'm not really hungry"
"I've noticed." Peter picks up his bagel but quickly sets it back down and continues, "I think we need to talk, Carter."
"About what?" Butterflies are forming in my stomach, but I try to act normal.
"About you. Something is wrong and you need to let us help. We can all see it. And we are all worried."
"You have nothing to worry about, Dr. Benton-"
"Damn it Carter, we can all see that you are depressed!" Peter hisses, "You are always down, and you stopped eating a while ago. Either you are depressed or you have an eating disorder. What are you now? 160? 155?"
I am staring at my tray when I respond, "145."
"Shit," Peter mutters under his breath. "I need you to promise me something Carter. I need you to promise that you will start eating more. It is dangerous for someone your height to be this thin."
"Okay."
Peter quickly eats his bagel in silence. He stands up but before he leaves he continues, "And also promise me that if you get too depressed you won't do something stupid."
I look up. "What do you mean 'stupid'? Yeah I might be a little depressed. But what do you mean 'stupid'?"
"I didn't mean anything. I just want to make sure that you are safe." I can tell that Peter is nervous. That rarely happens.
"Safe? Do you.... Do you think that I'm suicidal? I can't believe you." I am furious. I stand up. But before Peter can correct his words, I walk away and am out of the cafeteria. As I race my way through the ER, I accidentally knock into Dr. Dave Malluchi, who had been speaking with Doug, but I am more stunned than the two other doctors, I can tell.
"You okay there, buddy?" Dave asks me.
"Why is everyone asking me that?" I demand. What is wrong with everyone today?
"Slow down Carter," Doug adds. He is on one side of me while Dave is on the other. I frantically look around the ER for an exit. They have trapped me in, and I am not sure which way I am facing. Doug continues, "Why don't you just go into the lounge and relax for a few minutes."
"I don't need to relax! Why can't everyone just leave me alone and let me do my work?!" From my outburst Kerry Weaver and Mark had come. Benton saw all of them around me apparently and joined in. I am surrounded. "Oh, this is great," I say, "Who's attending to the patients?"
"What's going on here?" Kerry asks. "Carter, go home for the rest of your shift and get some sleep."
"I don't need sleep," I respond to her, practically shouting. "I came here today to work, but you people won't let me do that. You keep bombarding me with questions and advice. But if you really want me to leave I will." I tried getting away, but I must have done something wrong. I vaguely recall rubbing my wrist. What do they think? Do they really think that I am suicidal? Before I know it, Mark, Doug, and Peter have me restrained. I call out, "Kerry, Dave, stop them."
But Mark calls out, "Malik, get a gurney and soft restraints!" They load me on it. Patients are watching as one of County Hospital's doctors is tied up. I am so embarrassed. Peter and Doug are pushing me toward the elevator. I have given up thrashing, but now I hear Kerry shouting at Mark, "What the hell is all of this about? What do you think you are doing?" Dave was probably still standing there confused as always. Then I hear Mark respond, "He is suicidal. We need to get him some help before he blows."
That makes me snap. Right before I am wheeled into the elevator I shout out, "I am not suicidal! I never have been! You don't know what you are talking about!"
In the elevator Peter says to me, "Just calm down, man." 'Man' is something Peter only says to someone he truly cares about. But I don't want him to care about me right now. I want him to let me go. My back is throbbing from being thrown onto the gurney, so I stop moving. I close my eyes and breath deeply, trying not to think of the pain.
"Are you okay there, Carter?" Doug asks me.
I don't respond. I simply take a deep breath and blow it out through my mouth.
I hear Doug mumble to Peter, "At least he doesn't need to be sedated."
"Yeah," is the only response Peter gives.
They put me in the psych ward. I don't belong here. People like Paul Sobriki belong here, not me. Paul Sobriki: If only I had gotten him up here sooner, none of this would be happening. But like I said, I can't change the past. So I cooperate. Within minutes a psychiatrist is with me, sitting beside my gurney.
"My name is Dr. Montgomery. Can you tell me what happened today John?" she asks. I can't see her very well because of the angle I am laying at, but she sounds young.
"No, actually I can't. But I can tell you what I think happened." Stay calm, stay calm, I keep reminding myself. Act like nothing is wrong.
"Okay, please do."
"First, is there anyone else in the room besides you and me?"
"No, it's just us. Would you like someone else here?"
"No, no." I take a deep breath. "I was in the cafeteria eating breakfast with Dr. Benton, and he accuses, no that's not a good word for it, he believes that I am suicidal and tells me not to do anything rash. I am not suicidal, Doctor, nor have I ever been." That was a lie, but she didn't need to know that. Anyways, I'm not that bad.I just think about it sometimes. "I got a little too upset and stormed off, and in the ER I felt like I was ganged up on by all the doctors and practically tackled onto the gurney." I close my eyes for a dramatic ending to my short story.
"I know that you have had a hard few months-"
"Everyone goes through tough times."
"Yes, but I know what happened to you. I think your co-workers are just a little concerned about you. How have you been feeling since the attack?"
"I've had my ups and downs. But I think I am handling it pretty well now. I have to accept what happened. It's in the past, and I can't change it," Wow that sounded convincing, even to me.
"You look a little thin. How has your appetite been recently?"
"It's starting to come back. I'm not going to lie to you," This whole conversation has been a lie so far. I continue, "I wasn't eating much for a while, but I am again, slowly."
The doctor says to me, "Can I see your wrists?"
"Sure," I respond. I should do whatever she says. My track marks were almost healed and I had a story planned for them anyway. The doctor peers at my right wrist first. There are no marks on that one. After walking around to the other side of the bed, she takes off my watch and clears her throat. While she was inspecting my wrists I get a look of her. She is about thirty five, I'd say, and somewhat attractive, although she doesn't look like my type.
She says, "I see a couple of marks here, right around the vein. Can you tell me about them?"
"Yeah, when I was healing from the attack I was given lots of time off, so once I felt up to it, I spent a week at my family's cabin in Wisconsin. Sometime when I was up there I got a couple of spider bites. You'd never guess how much those things hurt. I have one on my leg too, if you want to see it." That one was a real spider bite from the trip. Yes, I did go on a trip to Wisconsin. Spider bites really do look like track marks. I discovered that with Chase when he told me that one of his was a bite and I fell for it. I am a doctor and I fell for it. Perfect plan.
"No, that's okay." She sighs, "Well, I'm glad to say that you seem okay to me. But you shouldn't have gotten so upset downstairs."
"I know."
"I suggest you take a couple of days off from work. The ER can be a stressful place."
"You're telling me." I smile.
"I'll get a nurse to take these restraints off of you, and you will be free to go. But please promise me that if you need to talk, you won't hesitate to come up here. There is always someone free in this ward, just for that."
"I will, and thank you, Doctor." I say, and she left.
Within fifteen minutes I am released from the psych ward and back down in the ER. I find Kerry and tell her, "I am going home for the day, orders of the psychiatrist I was forced to see in restraints. In fact, she said I should take a few days off from work and I think I will. You know, just to cool off from this whole incident."
"I am very sorry about all of this, John. Is there anyway that I can make this up to you?"
"You didn't do anything. Just let me cool down."
"Ok."
"I'll call you tomorrow and tell you my plans." I walk outside without hearing her response and I light another cigarette.