BARE HUNTER

“Hey, what does a fellow have to do around here to take a shit?” I asked a male aide.

“I’ll pass you a bedpan unless you think you can make it to the bathroom,” he replied.

“I think I’ll go for the bathroom.”

“Let me check with the nurse’s station to see if you can walk with your IV.”

He returned in a few minutes and assured me I was no longer a prisoner of my bed and helped me maneuver the tubes and bags as I rolled into the bathroom. Strange and frightening sounds emanated from the 6’x 6’ tiled cubicle.

[redacted for national security]

When I returned to bed, after brushing my teeth and washing my face and hair with the provided soap and toothpaste, the aide helped me order breakfast. After ordering the ‘Hot, Big Daddy Breakfast,’ and wondering who the sicko was that made the menus, the aide left me to my devices.

Dr. Carpenter stopped in, looking a little worse for wear. “So, how did you sleep?”

“Great. The best I’ve slept in ages.”

“Good. Good. I hear there was some commotion here last night. What happened?”

“Some guy said his name was Dr. Porter, tried to put something in my IV drip.”

“Your psychologist wasn’t available last night, so I put an order for them to visit you this morning before you leave. I don’t know any Dr. Porters. This guy’s name is Dr. Hin, and she’s a she, about yea tall with long black hair,” he said, indicating someone waist high to him with his hand.

He hurried on his way, and I got dressed, or as dressed as I could, around the IV tubes. Then, I waited for Dr. Hin to rubber stamp my imminent release. Sure enough, Dr. Hin looked like a teenager. She was, indeed, yea high and wore her long, silky black hair in a ponytail that bounced when she walked in.

“Hello, Mr. Bronsky, I am Dr. Hin. Dr. Carpenter was concerned about your condition when you arrived and asked me to talk with you before your release. Are you comfortable speaking with a woman?”

“I’m sure you know what you’re doing. Ask away,” I invited.

She opened a notebook and looked up at me, “When you arrived at St. Elizabeth’s yesterday, you had Paroxetine, Lexapro, Zoloft, Rizatriptan, and a huge quantity of residual Thorazine built up in your blood samples. Can you tell me how all these drugs ended up in your system? No judgment. Just curious and need to check off some boxes to get you out of here.”

“Everything but Thorazine was prescribed legally by my primary VA doc, Mike Mitchell. He works out of the Cortland clinic.”

“I am an affiliate with the VA Cortland Clinic. If you feel comfortable after today, we might be able to continue sessions there at no cost to you,” she informed me, handing me a business card from her notebook.

“Oh, no. I’m just following Dr. Carpenter’s orders today. I don’t share this shit with anyone.”

“Okay, I understand. Sometimes, things are too personal and painful to share. That’s not a problem for me. My family is from Korea. I have my own secrets,” she shared.

“You must have heard some terrible stories,” I said.

“Yep. Not sharing them, though,” she chuckled darkly.

“We might get along better than I thought.”

“I hope so, Mr. Bronsky. I’m not looking to expose your inner turmoil. I simply want to help you process feelings that you can’t process on your own. Have you felt hopeless and down lately?” she said, pen poised above her notebook.

“Every day for the past ten years, since something happened in Afghanistan. I mustered out shortly after the, uh, the incident.”

She made a quick mark on a paper, then continued, “Do you try to relieve your recurring thoughts with drugs or alcohol? By drugs, I mean illicit drugs or overdosing on legally prescribed drugs.”

“Well, I thought the prescriptions were for just that. I do take more than I should. Sometimes, one doesn’t cut it.”

Again, she jotted something down. “When do you find you need extra meds to cope?”

“More and more often, it seems. I have PTSD, migraines, and night terrors. Sometimes, I just want to sleep without jumping up screaming in the middle of the night, you know?”

“Yes, I do know,” she said, chewing on the end of her pen.

“Mr. Bronsky, Dr. Carpenter fears that you are suicidal and was going to put you on the mental health floor under watch. Tell me honestly, do we need to do that to keep you safe?”

“Oh, hell no. I’m in better shape today than I’ve been in a long time. Mostly, I want to see my friend who was admitted yesterday. I think her ex-husband found her and injured her. I’m worried. If I can see her and make sure she will make it, I’ll be fine.”

“Why do you say you are in better shape today?”

“I talked with my boss and he took some of the work pressure off me. Then, I had the best discussion with my ex-wife in years. I wouldn’t say we were friends, but we aren’t enemies anymore and that’s such a relief.”

“So, may I write that you are leaving the hospital feeling hopeful about your future?”