"Please press the button and take the parking ticket," says the electronic female voice.
I push the button and it spits a ticket out.
"Please take the parking ticket," she reminds me. I grab the ticket.
"Please enter following the guidance."
The barrier gate arm raises and I drive in. I'm kind of compulsive so I drive up to Level 5 and park in my usual spot. I walk to the elevator vestibule and press the down button. I get in the elevator and a different female voice says, "Going down."
I get off on Level 2 and follow a walkway that takes me to the skyway entrance. I walk across the glass-and-steel skyway to reach the Family Pavilion. I often see a Service Ambassador in a red blazer giving people directions. I walk briskly past her because I know how to get most anywhere in the hospital. I take a right and traverse another short skyway to reach the main hospital. I enter the second floor and the door to the Behavioral Health Clinic is on my left.
I'm not sure why the term behavioral health is used instead of mental health. Perhaps the term behavioral health seems less stigmatizing or perhaps it's simply more encompassing.
In addition to the behavioral health clinic, the hospital has psychiatric outpatient clinics and psychiatric inpatient units. The services one uses depends on his or her needs. A psychiatrist is a medical doctor where as behavioral health counselors include a diverse group of healthcare professionals. For instance, my therapist is an ARNP (Advanced Registered Nurse Practitioner).
If you had told me...
Have you ever heard someone begin a sentence with that phrase?
If you had told me in my younger days that as an adult I'd be seeing a therapist on a weekly basis I would never have believed you. In fact, in college I majored in psychology and had considered becoming a therapist or counselor myself.
I enter the waiting room/reception area and walk up to the desk to check in. The same receptionist/administrative professional usually checks me in. She's very nice and has been performing her job for many years. Over the years she's been accompanied by other receptionists. Sometimes these assistants are pretty college-aged females. One of these woman had a high-pitched breathy voice kind of like Marilyn Monroe. She was beautiful but didn't seem conceited at all. She was really sweet. I'm usually quiet but when one of these young women are handling my registration I seem to find my voice and go into conversation mode.
"How are you? Nice weather, huh?"
I guess it's a guy thing.
One day while I was sitting in the waiting room a young man walked in with a member of his support staff. I assumed he was living in a group home or facility of some sort. He had a replica championship wrestling belt slung over one of his shoulders. It made me smile. I thought Hell yeah! Be proud and confident! Show them what you're made of, man!
Sometimes I see pretty young women - like the cute ginger haired woman-sitting in the waiting room and I assume they're eating disorder patients. I'm usually right because eventually Dr. B comes to the door and retrieves them for their counseling session. Dr. B and my therapist oversee the eating disorders program at the hospital and do individual therapy as well. Occasionally I see patients in the waiting room that I was on the inpatient unit with at one time or another.
The first thing my therapist does is
check my weight. I always step on the scale backwards because that's
how they do it on the inpatient unit. They don't want you to see how
much you weigh and become obsessed about it. Of course, in this
case, I already know what I weigh because I'm living in the real
world and can weigh myself at home. I don't actually know if it's mandatory to step on the scale backwards with my therapist. I think it might be the patient's choice. But, I still step on the scale
backwards anyway.
No, I'm just kidding. There's no couch. This isn't psychoanalysis with Sigmund Freud. I just sit in a chair and we talk for about an hour.
So, here's the deal...
Nothing magical happens in therapy. At least not for me. I've never had any eureka or aha moments. I've never been struck by sudden insight although I've gained some insights from our weekly sessions. I've never had any sort of extraordinary catharsis where I screamed or wept although I have felt relief at times when sharing my thoughts and feelings in a safe and nonjudgmental environment.
I'm not disparaging therapy. Therapy helps many people. I just think that some people have the idea it's miraculous when it's usually not. It's not a magic bullet and it doesn't offer a "cure" per se. It can involve some hard work and commitment if you take it seriously. I've had little choice at times as to whether I wanted to go to therapy sessions because of legal reasons.
It often seems as though I get nothing from therapy but I continue to go. It's been part of my life for a while now and if I go without it for too long my life seems to eventually fall apart. If nothing else I guess it's nice to know that someone is keeping an eye on me. As long as I have to meet with a therapist weekly my weight is unlikely to get dangerously low again. I know if my weight gets down to a certain agreed upon level I'll be sent back to the hospital whether I want to go or not.
My therapist is pretty laid back. She has long red hair and fully admits to being an old hippie. She doesn't shock easily. If I want to talk about sex, for example, it's no big deal.
Sometimes I ask, "What I say in this room stays in this room, right?" She always answers in the affirmative. I know our sessions are confidential and I don't have any reason to ask but I still do at times. Sometimes she can relate to what I'm going through with an anecdote of her own. Or, sometimes she simply assures me I did the right thing in a certain situation.
Sometimes we need assurance. We need someone on our side. When a former college girlfriend's parents made her break up with me it was hard to take. I called a friend just to tell him what had happened because I didn't know what else to do. Being a good friend he said, "What? Well, fuck that! Get in your car and come over here and hang out with me." That's just what I needed to hear at that point. I didn't need someone to tell me I would get over it. I just needed a little support.
My therapist doesn't always agree with my actions and often points out distorted thinking. She is an advocate for cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT). She cares a lot about my thoughts, beliefs, and perceptions and their effect on my feelings and behaviors. She doesn't give me homework assignments although I do share mood logs, thought records, and journal entries with her at times. If I have a situation between counseling sessions that really triggers some strong emotions I often think to myself Well, at least I have something to share in my next therapy session.
Sometimes I'll write or say something that impresses her and she looks at me and says, "Why don't you write a book? Why don't you have a PhD? Don't you want to find love and get married? Why aren't you doing more with your life?" I guess it just saddens her sometimes to counsel someone she thinks could be doing more with his life.
One time at work I mentioned to a coworker that I had been in treatment for depression and an eating disorder. Then my coworker shared her own story of a suicide attempt and being on a psychiatric unit. I was surprised because she seems so together and happy and energetic.
One evening not long ago a coworker came to my work area to talk to me after her break. I was feeling kind of down and in a moment of weakness I blurted out, "I still see a therapist on a weekly basis. What do you think of that?"
She said, "It's no big deal. I think everyone has to deal with stuff." Then she admitted that she had suffered from anxiety when first moving to Iowa and being so far from home. She had met with a therapist herself a few times to help get a handle on her anxiety.
It's interesting how accepting and supportive people can be. It's also interesting how many people have utilized therapists and psychiatrists to help them with mental health issues.
Sometimes before or after my therapy session I visit the Patients' Library. I just walk down the hallway and get on Elevator F and take it to the 8th floor. I like to go there sometimes to use the desktop computers. Plus, I used to volunteer there so it's nice to stop in and say "Hi" to the library director. She always seems happy to see me.
The Rooftop Café and the outdoor patio are nearby on the 8th floor as well. I used to meet with a men's eating disorder support group in the lounge by the café. Sometimes, weather permitting, we would meet out on the patio.
Sometimes while walking the halls or riding the elevator I see young adults wearing badges that read Doctor. It makes me feel funny sometimes. I'm not really jealous exactly. I never wanted to be a doctor anyway. I think I'm intelligent enough that I could have completed a PhD program. I guess I'm just jealous that everything seems to be working out for him or her and at such a young age. Of course the doctors I see in the hall may be dealing with any number of personal problems as well. I know everyone has to deal with stuff even my therapist.
Sometimes while on the second floor I glance toward the hall where the occupational therapy kitchen is located. I had to cook many meals there. The treatment team wants patients to know how to buy groceries and cook meals when they're back on their own in the real world after treatment. Just beyond the OT kitchen are a couple of psychiatric units. I don't like to think too much about the time I spent on those units.
Sometimes I encounter psychiatric aides or recreational therapists I know from inpatient treatment. I usually chat with them briefly and let them know how I'm doing. Sometimes I pass by doctors that I think know me. Perhaps they don't remember me or they think it's best to keep a distance if I'm no longer in their care.
I see food service workers pushing stainless steel meal delivery carts. I know the carts are filled trays of food. On the unit we had to place our empty trays back into the cart after each meal. It's hard to see a food cart and not think of the inpatient unit.
Recently I ventured into the new children's hospital.
What is this? Am I in a mall? A department store? A space ship? All of this space and glass and light! Artwork! A children's library! A theater! A café, coffee shop, and gift shop!
And that's just the lobby!
That reminds me of something I read in a book a long time ago.
"After you finish reading this sentence, close your eyes and imagine a perfect place for healing, for recovering from any disease. Did the place resemble a typical hospital? Or did your imaginary healing place include sun, light, humor, laughter, music, fresh air, warm people, warm colors, patient involvement, joy?"1
Of course I know many children and their families are grappling with painful and serious health issues. But, I know some miraculous healing is taking place as well. Why be stuck in a place that feels industrial, cold, sterile and depressing? Do we need to have a dismal, sterile atmosphere to heal?
A lot of artwork can be seen in the halls of the main hospital thanks to Project Art. One piece of art I used to pass a lot looked simply like a big blue glass bowl. In fact, although the work is untitled, I think the piece is known as "the blue bowl" and was created by artist Dick Huss. I seem to remember Danielle joking that it was her cereal bowl. I met Danielle in inpatient treatment and one of her favorite foods (when she was willing to eat) was cereal. So, whenever I see that big blue bowl I still think of Danielle.
As I prepare to leave the hospital on the second floor, I pass some artwork just before entering the skyway. It's entitled Windows Project.
"Windows by artist Jane Gilmor consists of a series of metal drawings and writings made in collaboration with pediatric patients and their families. In a series of weekly workshops over a one-year period, children at UIHC were invited to create images and writing related to their experiences, feelings and fantasies while hospitalized."2
Originally a structure was made of the metal panels. Now, pictures of some of the panels hang on the wall at the hospital. I stop and read my favorite panel sometimes.
"I'm Chris and I want to be a conservation officer and a carpenter and have a phd. I want to save animals. I'm drawing this with my wrong hand because of my I.V. is in my good hand due to just having a pacemaker put in yesterday. I love eagles."3
It always makes me smile to read those words because it represents hope and youthful optimism and enthusiasm. It's inspiring how this pediatric patient was still enthusiastic about future possibilities.
When I stop at the cashier's booth on the way out of the ramp I am greeted by a real person. I hand them my ticket and pay my fee. The attendant usually tells me to have a nice day and I tell them to do the same even though he or she is stuck in a small metal box.
On a good day my weight is stable and I haven't been threatened with hospitalization. Perhaps I've even gained some insight that day or at least had the opportunity to vent. The sun is shining and a good song is playing on the classic rock station. I breathe a sigh of relief and smile knowing I have gotten through another week of this crazy thing we call life.
Notes
1 Pearsall. Paul. Super Immunity: Master Your Emotions and Improve Your Health. Ballantine, 1987.
2 Gilmor, Jane. Windows 95. Public Art Archive. http://www.publicartarchive.org/work/windows-95#date. Accessed 5 March 2018.
3 Gilmor, Jane. Windows 95/Windows Pass. http://janegilmor.com/gallery.php?dir=Archives/1990/6&image=10. Accessed 5 March 2018.
