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Hospital socks

My brother and sister had done the impossible. Extremely manic, my siblings had gotten me into the emergency room and the hospital had begun the process of conducting a psychiatric evaluation. The moment they drew my blood, I knew I was going to be admitted. I had been off my meds for around a month, give or take, at the turn of the new year in 2019. Without any lithium showing up in my blood , with no doctor, and with my family insisting on getting me help, I was surely going to be a new psych patient at Swedish Covenant. Usually in these circumstances I say and do whatever needs to be done to make sure I stay out of an extended period at any given mental institution. Today was different. My guard was let down, and I was simply too far gone to put up any fight. I was so far gone, that once I met the doctor, I forgot there was even an evaluation going on. For a person who was internally debating whether he was the reincarnated soul of King Tut, my chances of getting a clean bill of mental health were at serious risk.


My first conversation with the doctor made it clear that I was living in LaLa Land. After the blood draw, I was brought to my hospital evaluation room and told to undress so as to put on hospital gowns as any normal patient. I was in my boxers, orange beanie, and an open back hospital gown. For some reason I was feeling so good I was exuding energy. I was in a giggly confident mood, and was completely unclear why I was in the place I was in or what exactly was going on. With my guard let down it was easy to extract information from me even though I was acting suspicious and coy in all of my answers. The doctor was getting nowhere with her questioning. I would make nonsensical remarks about simple things -- Do you live alone?, questioned the doctor.

-Well, right now I do, but…

-Do you have roommates?

-Not exactly.

-So you have a roommate?

-Might actually end up with two. -- The doctor couldn’t help but smile as every question she asked she was getting a non-committed, confusing reply or remark. The doctor was simply going through the preliminary questioning. She witnessed a possible psych patient just bomb the first round. She might not have been getting anywhere with the questions, but she had heard enough. I was happy, giggly, and ridiculous in all the right ways to qualify for a stay in the psych ward. You’d think it was over.


My time with the most fun psych evaluation doctor ever was over, and I was soon to be wheeled away on a hospital bed. I had no clue why or where I was going. I wasn’t dazed and confused; I was feeling a sense of achievement as I was some sort of chosen one for making it to the next stage of the on-boarding process. The victory lap past my brother and sister was taking place. I was on the throne of hospital beds and being wheeled toward an elevator. My hat had to come off and I was tossed a couple of hospital socks on my lap. I rolled passed my siblings -- they were feeling incredibly bad at what was going on knowing that I was going to a psych ward; a place they know I loathe more than anything in the world. I looked down at my newly acquired blue socks. I immediately inspected these light blue hospital socks and felt a feeling of inquiry followed my disgust. ‘What are they doing putting the white rubber no-slide grip arrows on both sides of the sock,’ I thought quickly. Enough thinking. I had a eureka moment. I held up the socks with both arms held high and socks clenched in my hands. As my brother and sister sadly watched me get carted away they saw and heard a relieving sign. “WE’RE GONNA BE RICH,” I cheered. “They’re making these socks all wrong.” I explained my billion dollar sock idea right then and there; an idea to take over the hospital sock industry by printing the no-slip sticky white rubber stuff on only one side of the sock.


I know what you’re thinking -- ‘What’s it like being rich’. If only it was that easy. Unfortunately, I was checked into another psych ward not three weeks later. There I learned the sad truth. There happens to be a hospital sock company doing exactly what I laid out that day at the end of my psych evaluation. Go figure.


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Contact me directly at will.c.morro@gmail.com to set up Zoom chats and discuss possible meeting arrangements to further the dialogue on mental disorders and Bipolar Disorder in specific. 

 

Looking forward to hearing from all parties. We’re in it together. Let’s continue to explore and navigate a landscape that needs to be addressed as it affects our own lives, our families’ lives, and our friends’ lives.

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