Daryl and I sat on the number 7 Adams bus headed west to Cook County/Stroger Hospital.
I worried that once there we'd be treated dismissively, or written off as a nuisance.
Daryl did smell of alcohol but i was certain that it was not the cause of his problem, but an extension and aggravation of it.
He kept his arm around me, caressing my side-roll, and although no one likes to be reminded that they can "pinch an inch" (does anyone remember that long ago Special K slogan?)i just thought of a child who pats his mother's back or absent-mindedly strokes a parents hair. Daryl was not a child and it had been a while obviously since he had been one but he seemed as helpless as one. Perhaps I was being more maternal than was necessary.
He started to become restless, and started to get a bit more touchy than i would prefer so i had to constantly tell him no don't do that, yes we're almost there, no don't do that and yes, we are really almost there.
My patience was now beginning to thin. I committed to getting him to the hospital and i meant to do it.
The bus driver was very kind too. We finally arrived at Stroger and he held the passengers from boarding the bus until i could wrangle Daryl off the bus. This was a bit of an ordeal because he was pretty confused. Crossing the street, Daryl stumbled out of his shoes (they had no laces, recall) and so i had to step into traffic to keep an impatient driver from being rude. I held Daryls hand, held my other hand up to the driver to wait until Daryl could pull himself back together and drag him down the street to the emergency room admitting.
ER:
there was only one person in front of us at the registration desk. I asked Daryl if he had any I.D. as it would be needed and he pulled out a thick wallet. I was surprised by this because for one thing, i didn't imagine he had one and also i wondered what he could have in it.
He opened his wallet and i saw a library card, some id's and a State of Illinois i.d.
I'm not sure if it was a Drivers Licence or State ID but here was a man with an address, who was as decent and normal looking as you and i. My heart felt for him all over again. Mental illness ravaged this guy. The registrar asked him his name.
He was unable to answer, he mumbled, stumbled and made no sense. I handed her his I.D. and told her his name, Daryl T.
She asked what the trouble was. I told her he boarded the train upset, ranting that someone was trying to beat him, he was schizophrenic and needed help urgently.
She looked him up and down and replied "drunk, more like it." I said yes and schizophrenic on top of it. He needs help. She paid little more attention than she had to, put a bracelet on his wrist and sent us to a waiting room to await a blood pressure reading.
This bothered me. How exactly does a person having a mental illness breakdown get the help they need. Do we have to wait until they harm an innocent bystander or go mad and shoot up a classroom full of students? When exactly does a uninsured schizophrenic person get help?
I wasn't so worried about Daryl hurting others but i was worried that others would hurt him or worse, he hurt himself. This is why i made it my mission to get him to the hospital.
Sadly, i left DAryl in the waiting room with a hundred or so other uninsured Americans waiting for their turn and i imagine he probably wandered off and was thrown out before anyone could see him or bother to do anything for him.
I had to leave him because i was already two hours late for work and had no intention of sitting in a hospital waiting room for hours on end. I guess that is where i got selfish or unwilling to help. I don't know. I promised Daryl someone would call his name, to listen for it and to ask for help. If anyone bothered him he should talk to security. I tried to leave him calmed enough to get help. Did it work? I won't know unless we meet again on the red line. I keep my eyes peeled and hope for his sake that i don't find him again frantic and scared, drunk and out of his wits.
PostSCript:
I was on the CTA Red Line 2 days later and a man boarded and sat near me. In short order he started laughing madly and then mumbled to himself. I looked up from my book and thought, sorry brother....i'm not going through that again.
No comments:
Post a Comment