This was my patient. I sat with her, held her hand, coaxed her to share pieces of her life story from underneath the covers.
I could not stop the voices in her head. The ones that told her to hit herself, to cut herself with a bottle cap, to swallow half of a styrofoam cup picked off piece by piece.
I could not stop the security guard holding her down. I could not stop the nurse storming out of room huffing, “I don’t have time for this,” returning with a needle full of haloperidol.
And I tried. I swear, I tried.
A few days later, she was discharged. She was giggling, spinning, twirling in the lobby excited to go home. She laughed as I started dancing with her for all of the patients and staff to see.
When I think about her, I have a hard time remembering that. I can only seem to remember her pinned helpless to the bed, and me helpless in the corner.
I should have tried harder.
Image credit: “Depression.” (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0) by Mary Lock- Goldilock Photography
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