“You’re under the care of a physician, and he makes all the decisions for you. So, yes, we can force you. And we will.” He held the door open for me to walk out.
“You’re making a big mistake. I’m not sick!” I felt like the only way out was to force an escape, which was ridiculous, considering my husband was in the room.
“Mrs. Wasden, you’re actually very sick,” the man responded.
“I am not crazy!” I screamed. I was tired of him saying I was “very sick” when I knew what he was suggesting.
He stood right in front of me and folded his arms. “No one is saying you’re crazy, Mrs. Wasden.”
“Yet you’re forcing me into the psych ward.”
I reached out and grabbed Mitch’s arm again and started shaking him. Why wasn’t he saying anything, doing anything?
Mitch finally wrapped his arms around me and whispered into my ear, “You can do this. Things will be better, I promise. The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll get to come home to the kids and me.”
I didn’t want to leave his embrace. I snuggled closer, wanting to disappear into him. But when I opened my eyes, the hospital floors were still beneath me. I leaned into Mitch.
“Please don’t make me do this. I can get better without going to the hospital, I promise. I’ll do yoga or deep breathing. Please!” I shamelessly begged.
He stepped back and lifted my chin with his thumb, but I kept my eyes down. “Look at me, Sonja,” he gently requested.