Morphine Haze

Euphoria --shattered: myriad bits of fantasy were forever disrupted in a corner closet. I hid there shaking violently. I wondered what happened, I once thought of my house as my own never-neverland: a safe place. Now it felt corrupted with putrid sensations. Morphine haze blinded my eyes. Click -- he hung up. He said he was going to get me some help. I just wanted him to keep talking. I wanted to know I was not alone -- alone in this house: once a familiar place, now foreign ground. I clung to the phone as if it were a life raft—a raft that would save me from drowning in a filmy river.There was only cold static on the other end. I remained locked in the closet --trying, in vain, to keep myself company.

I tried to remember. Everything was jumbled. Something was blocking my thoughts. Did I take rat poison? Was it mixed with the morphine I took earlier? Perhaps I was dreaming. Everything blurred together—distorted and contorted in a nether reality. Confusion gripped my mind. It ate away my fear--like the alleged poison was doing to my entrails. I was stuck in a void. It sucked my air supply. I became aware of my breathing -- no longer involuntary. Certainly,I would be dead in moments. I couldn't feel my body. A rocking sensation threatened to put me to sleep, despite my crazed fear.

Someone was putting thoughts in my head. They were telling me I ate rat poison. Deep down inside I knew I didn't. But there was this persistant doubt in my mind. It spread like wild fire. I couldn't be sure. Doom was upon me. I was going to die. I couldn't shake the thought. Somewhere within the tangled illusions of my drugged mind, haunting voices whispered. I was driving myself insane, fragment by lonely fragment.

A loud knock jarred me. “Knightdale Police Department.” A man’s voice boomed.
Panic awakened my disorientated body. “Just a minute.” Cautiously, I stumbled from the closet, to the door.

Two police officers entered my wasted" never-never land." I felt relieved not to be alone anymore. Yet I was terrified of policemen. “You doin’ alright tonight ma’am.” The officer asked kindly, when I opened the door.

“uh-huh.” I barely whispered. I slipped on the couch and crawled in the fetal position.

“Your boyfriend called us. He sounded very concerned. He said you might have ingested rat poison?” The officer prompted gently.

I said nothing –only whispered softly to myself.

The officer tried again. “Did you take rat poison?”

“No...I don’t know. I don’t know. .”
The question baffled me.

The officers looked at each other quizzically.

They began searching my house. They said they were looking for rat poison. This bothered me. I hated them going through my stuff. Ever since I was a child, it disturbed me when people went through my things. I could remember flying in a rage when my mom cleaned my room. But these were police officers --opening up new windows of terror. They could take me to jail if they found anything questionable. I couldn't remember what was in my house --legal or illegal. My mind was vapor --inaccessable to me.

I rose from the couch and began pacing—stumbling about the living room ritualistically. The cops found it entertaining.

“What are you on?” asked one of the cops.

I ignored him. My mind became a vacuum --sucking all my thoughts, leaving only disoriented traces of reality.

After a good half hour of this, a CIT(crisis intervention team) officer arrived. They specialized in police work with people with mental illness –a new program in North Carolina. She was a girl I knew from high school. “Hey Kristen what’s goin’ on?”

“Oh nothin.’ I think they might have put somethin’ in my morphine.”
I liked her approach. She was calm and had a gentle manner. But I was in no state of mind for conversation.

“Whose they?”

“Oh I dunno.”

“Can I call your parents?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know their number.” I lied.
I didn't want my parents to see me like this.

“Well I think we’re gonna have to get you checked out at the hospital.”

“No!”

“You can either get in the ambulance or these guys can cuff you. It’s your decision. Either way, you’re going to the hospital to get checked out.”

“How will I get home?”

“We’ll make sure you get home.”

“I really don’t wanna go to the hospital...”

“Then let me call your parents.”

“No!”

“This isn’t an option. Your boyfriend called. He was very concerned you might have taken rat poison. We don’t know if you did or not. You don’t seem to know if you did or not. We have to get you checked out,” she said patiently.

The words jumbled in my mind. I hated hospitals. Sleep was feeling like a much better option to me. Morphine was starting to take its toll.

The ambulance crew arrived and took my blood pressure.

“Blood pressure looks good –just a little low.”

“She says she took morphine.” One of the cops offered.

“How much morphine did you take, dear?” The EMT worker asked.

“Three.” I answered.

“Three what?” she asked, sounding slightly impatient.

“Pills, you know the little blue ones.”

“Okay.”

“Did you have any rat poison tonight?”

“I don’t know.”
Confusion danced a waltz in my head. I could see sugar-plum faires more clearly than the EMT worker, who was right in front of me.

My CIT angel chimed in,” She doesn’t know if it was mixed in with her morphine tabs.”

“Okay.” The EMT worker stated.

“Well it looks like we’re gonna have to take you to the hospital tonight.”

“I’ll need my medication.” I said –looking for any pie in the sky excuse not to go to the hospital.

“We’ll get your medication. “Where is it?”

“On top of the fridge. In the pill box.” I said, feeling deflated.

They loaded me up in ambulance. I felt naked in my pajamas on the crisp December night. On the way to the hospital, the EMT worker asked me questions about my insurance and my medications. I was unsure about my insurance. I knew I had some though. I did better with my meds --although I couldn't remember the doses. I sat silently the rest of the way to the hospital. The hum of the road tuned ceaselessly in the bog of my mind.

I had never felt so alone as when they left me at the hospital. Dread overcame me. I was discarded in an emergency room cubical. It was complete with my bed, some medical equipment(which I had no interest in), a television(for which I also had no interest), and a phone. I bee-lined for the phone. I wanted to call my boyfriend and tell him there was a mistake. I had not taken rat poison. I was fine after all. I didn’t want him to worry.

But I was stopped dead in my tracks. A nurse, who seemed more like a prison guard approached me. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Just making a phone call.”

“I don’t think so. Get back in bed.”

“When can I see the doctor?” I asked on the verge of tears.

“In due time.” He said harshly.

Then he disappeared into the hustle and bustle. I was glad.

A sitter came in to sit with me. I thought it was probably to make sure I didn’t use the phone anymore. But still, I was grateful. I didn’t like being alone, especially at hospitals.

I thought this the perfect opportunity to get some shut-eye, but the hospital staff had other intentions. A girl came to draw my blood. I was a hard stick, and she didn’t seem to have much training. But after much poking and prodding, blood was drawn. I liked her. She wasn’t like the “jail warden” nurse who came by earlier. She had a warm smile and seemed to care. I thanked her before she left.

After what seemed like hours of nervous waiting, the doctor appeared. The “jail warden” nurse was close at his heels. “Well I hear you ate rat poison.”

“No, I thought I did. but I didn’t.”

“Well.. the report here says you came in because you ate rat poison.” He said in a "matter of fact" tone.


“Am I going to the loony hospital?” I asked with dread.

“I’d say there’s a good chance of that.”

Panic seized my body. It felt like an elephant landed on me.

“I didn’t eat rat poison. I was confused.”

“Well.. if you’re that confused, you need some help.”

“No, I was under the influence of morphine.”

“We know that. We have your blood work right here.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“You need help.”

“Which hospital would I go to?”

“Probably Dix.”

That was as much as I could take. Dix was the state hospital. Only the worst of the worst or people with no insurance went there. I had never been to Dix. From what I heard from friends, Dix was a scary place. I had no intention of going now.

I was dressed only in a hospital gown with no back, but I made an attempt to bolt anyway.

“Get her!” the “jail warden” nurse bellowed.

The doctor ordered restraints. Big men came running down the hall. They grabbed me and placed me back on the hospital bed. They tossed me as easily as I were a doll. The “jail warden” nurse seemed happy to tie me up in restraints.

I heard the doctor saying, “ I need some haldol, benedryl, prolixin, and cogentin, for this patient. She isn’t going to cooperate.”

I knew what this was. I had read about it. It was the “knockout cocktail.” It was going to happen to me. I felt sick. But maybe if I was going to be in a place where people were so cold, I’d rather be knocked out. The nurse came with the needle.

I pleaded with him, “ Call my mom. She doesn’t know where I am.”

“I’ll call her.”

“You don’t have her number.”

“What is it?”

I gave him the number. He gave me the shot. The world went black. I don't remember my mom coming in that night. She later told me, she tried to awaken me but it was impossible. After forty-eight hours of drug induced sleep, I woke up in another hospital room at the same hospital.

The restraints were gone. My mother was by my side. I was confused. I didn’t remember what happened. I didn’t know where I was.

“Where am I.” I asked my mom. Scanning the cold anti-septic hospital room.

“The hospital.” she replied.


“Why?” I asked.

“You thought you ate rat poison.”

She was cut off because the on- call hospital psychiatrist came in. He had kind eyes and graying hair.

“Hello Kristen. Our tests don’t indicate any rat poison in your body. As you recall, you didn’t take any, right?”

“That’s right, Mr.” I said feeling grateful. Someone finally understood.

"Well it looks like you had a rough night for nothing." He said. "I'll write up the discharge papers and you'll be on your way."

He had a kind way about him and I liked him.

“That sounds great!” I said feeling a wave of relief take over my body. I felt ten pounds lighter. No loony bin for me! I thought the "prison guard" nurse would be dissapointed. It seemed he delighted in making my stay at the hospital miserable. I decided not to think about him anymore. I was going home!

My mom brought some street cloths for me. I got dressed. I went to the hospital courtyard and smoked a much needed cigarrette. My mom handled my discharge logistics. The winter wind teased my hair. It felt good to be outside --away from doctors and cold hospital rooms. I was free again!