Being in a psychiatric ward, you do often wonder who is the ‘craziest’ of us all.
Is it the guy who laughs manically for no reason?
The girl who does ballet down the hall?
The young man who wrestles with a broom?
Yesterday I became so angry. I was in pain, and the gastro team had yet to come and physically see me, despite several prompts from my psych team. I could barely sit up because of the pain, had not left my bed all day, and the only thing I was offered for pain relief was panadeine.
A rage fueled me and I marched ungainly to the nurses station, a catheter strapped precariously to my leg as – the icing on the cake really – my bladder had decided to stopped working the night before.
I screamed at the nurses. I told them I needed to see the doctor. Fifteen or so people stopped what they were doing and stared at me, eyes like saucers. As I yelled I could I could feel myself getting more and more out of control. I saw myself from above and suddenly I realized..
I’m the one. I’m the craziest. At least in this particular moment.
My doctor got on the phone. And within the hour the gastro team arrived.
What a pity acting crazy is sometimes the only way to get results.