Acute Mania

Acute Mania
by Heather Roscoe

Lyssophobia- abnormal fear of becoming insane.
-Olgies & -Isms, A Thematic Dictionary.

This weekend my grandfather (aka Pepe) had a heart attack. He was taken to a community hospital in a small, depressed looking town which will remain unnamed. Not feeling inclined to write anything requiring mental exertion, I decided to document my hospital neurosis.

The hospital looked like a penitentiary, perched on the pinnacle of a wooded cliff, overlooking a Walmart, a lumberyard and a harbor full of rusting ships. The exterior walls had shed a considerable amount of paint, triggering an uneasiness, a feeling which increased as I slinked through the wide halls.

I have an extreme hospital phobia. Somehow, I know that I'm going to get contaminated, I'll break out in a rash and my skin will fall off. Or perhaps I'll just drop dead on the sidewalk. Not only that but I can't stand to be around so much scary body fluid.

Saturday, 4:30 PM

I'm sitting on a footstool in the ICU wing, next to my heavily drugged grandfather. This wing is dimly lit, quiet and annoyingly pink. I can't stand the color pink and the walls here have been slathered with it. I feel like I'm being suffocated in a baby blanket.

I'm tired after my long drive, and there is a horrible retching noise coming from the room next to me. So far, the paranoia hasn't hit to hard. My backside has touched this footstool but no other part of my body has come in contact with the hospital.

Saturday, 9:50PM

Took Meme home so she could rest for a while. I grabbed a blanket and stumbled up the path to the beach. I sat for a few minutes and looked at the waves, then fell over and slept for about two hours. I woke from a disturbing dream that I was being chased by Nietzschie who was wielding a glass hammer and yelling at me.

Took Meme back to the hospital and now I'm sitting on my footstool again tapping at this computer. Pepe is awake, slightly drugged and yelling at the anchors on the evening news.

My trusty bottle of waterless hand sanitizer is perched next to me on the counter. I keep thinking that I'm itching. Feels like insects are crawling all over me and I'm breaking into a cold sweat, but I'm trying not to let the nurses know.

Saturday, 11:12PM

I'm going to spray my laptop down with Lysol when I get home.

I've been contaminated, I know it. My skin is going to turn purple and start to drip off of my body. My feet are going to shrivel and my hair will turn gray! I'm starting to shake in my footstool, thinking about this.

A little later...

My mother grabbed me and pulled me into a small room with couches and a lamp. "What's on these couches? There's probably lice in here! Get me out! I'm getting sick! I can't breathe, look, are my eyes dilating?!" She dragged me out the door and made me pace the halls with her.

Now I'm better. All the lights are off except the blue of the screen reflecting off my pale face and the green of Pepe's heart monitor. Someone's heart monitor is flatlining in the room across the hall.

The nurse giggled when I asked her if this paranoia was normal. She said that some family members wouldn't visit patients because of fear of germs and even fear of facing their own mortality. "The person who's visiting feels out of control." She said.

The nurse didn't however, mention excessive hand washing or outright hysteria, which leads me to believe that there's something wrong with me.

Sunday, 12:15PM

Last night, as I was feebly dragging myself out the door I walked through the ER waiting room. A young state trooper, sitting in a plastic chair looked up from his magazine and smiled. Sitting next to him, a long-haired man, feet in shackles, hands in handcuffs, wearing an orange jumpsuit with a number on the sleeve. My eyes widened at the sight of the jumpsuit and the man grinned as if to say, "Scared ya, didn't I?"

This morning, taking a paper towel and opening a drawer in the wall revealed gauze, thermometers...isopropyl alcohol prep pads. I glanced around for a nurse. There was one lurking in the shadows outside the room. I waited until she wasn't looking and stuffed some in my briefcase. The hospital didn't smell like antiseptic, but I certainly did after my fortunate discovery.

Several minutes later I saw a urine container spill. With shaking hands I pulled out a alcohol pad and started swabbing myself, mumbling about airborne pathogens.

Sunday,2:45PM

We wheeled Pepe put of the hospital this afternoon.

"That nurse is awfully nice, she likes me!" he said to me, "What are you laughing at?"

I'm just thankful that I can walk away from the hospital laughing instead of crying. I still have Pepe, and I regained my sanity.

All is now right with the world.