“And you,” I point to Ever, “Take care of her, okay?”
“I’m used to helping with hangovers,” she says. “Don’t worry.”
I close my eyes and slap the air. “We’ll discuss that more later. God.”
My drive over to the hospital feels like it takes forever, and the heaviness of my head isn’t helping. Thoughts of the scene with Tori last night were a blur as I raced over to the hotel to find Cammy, in hopes of having someone to talk this out with, but that went in a completely different direction. Now that I’m getting closer to seeing Tori, though, the real understanding of what went down last night is sickening. What do they do about serial suicide attempts? Clearly, the meds they had her on weren’t working or aren’t strong enough. Though, while on the meds she came home with originally after last year’s episode, she was like a zombie for two weeks before they adjusted the prescription.
When I arrive at the hospital, I take a deep breath, preparing for this next adventure in my day as I walk in through the main entrance. I go up to the tenth floor where the psych department is and approach the front desk. “Can I help you?” a receptionist asks.
“I’m here to visit my wife, Tori Cole.” My wife who no longer wants to be my wife, I should add. She types something into her computer and waits a brief moment for something to pop up on the monitor.
The woman looks up at me and inhales sharply. “She’s in confinement right now.”
“Confinement?” I ask, feeling the sickness in my stomach grow.
“I’m not allowed to discuss any further details with you, sir.”
“So, I can’t see her?” I ask, cracking each of my knuckles below the counter. What could have happened? I watched them put her in the ambulance.
“I’ll have the doctor on duty come speak with you. You can have a seat in through here. I’ll buzz you in,” she says, pointing to the closed doors beside the reception desk.
I walk through the armed doors and take a seat, feeling uncomfortable sitting here in what doesn’t look like a waiting area. While being modern, the whole area is bare and stark, apparently in an attempt to be devoid of anything patients could use to harm themselves or others. Patients are walking by, looking at me like I don’t belong on this floor. I can’t help wondering what each of these people did to end up in this part of the hospital. It’s one of those things people don’t usually speak about. At least, I’ve never been too aware of what happens here, how they treat a suicidal patient. Tori didn’t want me here last time either, and by the time she was brought to this floor, I was already gone. I can assume it’s embarrassing to be here.
I make my way through two magazines while I sit and wait for the doc to come out and talk to me, but I’m growing more uncomfortable by the minute, as I’ve now seen a woman being dragged into her room, crying and screaming. A man has run through the halls completely naked, and a teenage girl tried her hand at sneaking out.
“Mr. Cole?” a doctor asks, turning a nearby corner. I nod my head, and he says, “Come with me,” tilting his head for me to follow him. Silently, we walk down the hall until we reach an office, where he closes the door behind me. “Have a seat.”
I take a seat across from his oversized, dark wooden desk and interlace my fingers together, squeezing my hands tightly while I anxiously wait for him to talk. “We’ve done a number of tests on Tori, and everything has come back clear, which means there is nothing physically attributing to her disorder. It seems to be purely caused by trauma.”
“Yes,” I agree. “I would believe that’s correct.”
“Are you aware of the traumatic event that seems to have started her illness? She has given me permission to speak with you about it.”
“I am now. She told me everything, I think, last night.”
The doctor nods his head with understanding. “Our head psychiatrist was also able to have a breakthrough with her last night, as well. It definitely helps us to have a clearer picture of what we’re dealing with, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
“Of course,” I say.
“While trauma affects each person differently, it’s harsher when the trauma occurs during childhood, as adults have better coping mechanisms than children do. Tori has an extreme case of post-traumatic-stress disorder, and while we were somewhat aware of this fact, we are coming to learn how serious it is at this point.” The doctor leans back in his chair and folds his hands behind his head, expelling a long breath.
“What’s the plan now, then?” I ask, leaning forward, needing to find a way to get more air into my lungs.
“We’ve suggested keeping her here and placing her into another rehab program, which she has agreed to, but this time, we’re going to need to work together to come up with a long-term plan that will allow Tori to heal properly, which could prolong the length, as well as the quality, of her life.”