Page 46 of Husband to Go

“We’re here, ma’am.” I manage to pay without incident and step out onto the curb with my baggage in a small heap behind me. The hospital looms before me, its gated entrance imposing. But this is where I belong. After all, when I was trying to figure out where to go, I thought about speaking to a psychiatrist. But the more I pondered, the more I realized I needed something a lot more intense.

A deep dive on the internet brought up this place. North Cross Hospital specializes in treating sexual deviancy as part of its in-patient program. I’d always thought places like this were fictional, but after going through my own issues, maybe this is exactly what I need. I take a deep breath, hoist my bags up by their handles, and begin my trek to the front doors of the insane asylum.

15

Kylie

Iwalk up to the large glass doors of the hospital and press the intercom.

“Hello?” I ask.

“Hi, how may I help you?” The voice, even though it’s coming through kind of crackly, is a lot warmer than I expected.

“Um, my name is Kylie Mitchell. I called earlier, and I’m here to check myself in.”

“Yes, please come into the main office.” A loud buzz sounds, and I make my way through the glass doors before stepping up to reception. The first thing they do is take away my bags.

“I’m sorry, Miss. But we have to go through your things and make sure everything you brought is on the approved list. Do you have any weapons?”

“In my bag?” I gasp.

The guard nods.

“Yes. Or mace, illegal narcotics, or drug paraphernalia?”

My eyes go wide. This is more serious than I expected, but then again, what was I expecting? Any in-patient program isn’t going to be cakewalk.

“No, it’s just clothes and a few personal items,” I say in a shaky voice. He nods and confiscates my things, disappearing into the back. I have a feeling I might not be seeing my personal items until I check out.

Then, another woman takes me into a smaller office, and flicks on industrial-strength fluorescent lights that make the polished floors gleam. It feels like those hospitals featured in movies. If I was into foreshadowing and all that, I might think this is a sign for more ominous events to come, but it’s probably just how all mental institutions look.

“Please wait here for the doctor,” the woman instructs.

She leaves me alone, and I look around. There are degrees hung on the wall along with a couple of paintings. They’re all serene landscapes, probably used to keep incoming patients calm. It works a little, and I try to breathe deeply in order to calm my mind.

The vibe of the office is very homey which gets rid of some of the fear I had initially. Even if this place ends up being godawful, I won’t leave because that’s what I deserve. But coming somewhere that at least looks nice on the outside helps lessen the pounding in my heart.

The door opens behind me, and a friendly-looking middle-aged woman comes in.

“Hello, Miss Mitchell. How are you today? I’m Doctor Rogers.” She takes a seat across from me, clipboard in hand.

“I’m okay,” I answer. “I mean, I could be better, I guess,” I add to clarify.

The doctor smiles at me, putting her clipboard down flat on her desk.

“Well, that’s what you’re here for. I’m here to do your intake, but before we start, can I get you some water? The A/C in this place can dry you out, and I’m often parched.”

I shake my head.

“Okay then,” she says cheerily, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Has anyone told you what an intake is?”

I shake my head.

“You’re collecting basic information about me?”

She nods.

“Yes, but we’ll also be using this time to find the best doctor for you so that you get the best care possible. I’m going to ask you a set of questions, and I’ll just need you to answer truthfully. As long as you do that, everything will work out, and you’ll be back to your healthy self as soon as possible. Sound good?”