Page 42 of In a Haze

“Anna, honey, take your pills,” Rose says, sounding sweet and kind as always. I look in her dark eyes and try to smile but my mouth won’t move that way. She’s always been so nice to me.

Finally, I get my hand to move, pinching the tiny paper cup between my finger and thumb. Somewhere in the cobwebs in my brain, I remember I don’t actually want to take them, and I hear Joe’s voice in my head:You shove them between your teeth and cheek.

My mouth feels coated in dust, so I say, “Can I have some water, please?”

The med tech snaps, “After you swallow your pills.”

She’s a bitch. Even in my altered state of mind, I know this. If I had more gumption, I’d ask who ruined her day. “I can’t swallow them without water.”

“Oh, we have another princess. Isn’t that nice?”

I can’t even frown. Not that it would matter. My emotions don’t seem to run that deep right now.

But she seems to relent, because she is actually prepared. A mauve pitcher of water and a stack of small plastic cups are on her cart, so I halfway wonder why giving me something to drink is such a big deal—but these thoughts are exhausting, using up most of my mental energy, so I let it go.

As she pours the water, I put the plastic cup up to my lips, because I need to start moving those pills into that pocket beside my teeth. I hope I’m as subtle as I think, but I don’t know for certain. By the time the woman hands me the water, I’ve got three pills hidden, but two are still sitting on my tongue. When I tip the water cup, I’m able to fit one more on the other side, but one pill I’m going to have to swallow.

Otherwise, I’ll be found out.

I realize as it goes down that it’s the one with the bitter taste. When I hand back the cup, she says, “Open up.”

I know this drill, even though I don’t remember ever doing it. I open my mouth wide, sticking out my tongue. I’m painfully aware of those pills against my cheek, but they’re not popping out. If she sees them, I’m positive I know what will happen—they’ll either give me a shot, or they’ll force them down my throat somehow.

She scrutinizes my mouth and, if I weren’t so dazed, my emotions so muted, I would be panicking by now.

Finally, she says, “Okay,” and turns, wheeling the cart out.

Rose says, “Ready to go to the bathroom?”

I nod, but I suspect I might even be able to get away with talking with those pills in my cheeks. Now, though, I’m starting to think this is more like my “old self,” the person Joe was used to talking to.

Once I’m in the bathroom and by myself in the stall, I sit on the toilet and use my tongue to remove the pills I was able to hide.

This is my new experience. And now I think I’m beginning to understand why I can’t remember a fucking thing about my old life.

The question is if I will be able to do anything about it.

*

At breakfast, Joe finds me. Rose actually comes to our table and says to him, “Do you mind keeping an eye on her, Joe? Her therapy yesterday took quite a bit out of her.”

“Sure thing.” Once Rose is out of earshot, he says, “No shit, Sherlock.” Then he looks at me. “How you holding up?”

I tell him, “I feel like I’m in a fog.” The way he looks at me, I sense that I’m definitely out of it.

“What about meds?”

“They watched me today and made me open my mouth. I was able to hide all of them but one.”

“So you had to swallow it?”

“Yeah. But maybe if I can shake this feeling of being completely out of it, I can get better at hiding them.”

“You can always practice here, too, tucking food in your cheek. It’s not exactly the same, but…” He takes a bite of hash browns. “I don’t know if coffee would help the way you’re feeling now.”

“I’m having some but, yeah, I don’t know, either.”

After we eat in silence for a while, Joe says, “Before they snatched you away for ECT yesterday, you were telling me about your visit with your husband.”

---