The Visit

Content warning note: Mental Health and passing of a loved one.

Diphtheria, meningitis, RSV, Pertussi-. “Mike, what do you think bud, you want to go?” Pertussis, Measles…. “Uhh um give me just a few minutes dad, I need to think on it just a bit longer.” “Alright Mikey, you just come get me when you’re ready.”

July 24th 2014 Entry

Well, here goes nothing. So I don't know how to start this diary but my therapist and my dad think it’s gonna be helpful to maybe work up the courage to put myself out there and get my thoughts on paper and everything. I think they just want me to be a little more normal and do whatever it is that other 17 year old boys might do this summer. My therapist says the goal is to write out any disruptive thoughts I experience and just let them sit on the page without any rumination or compulsions, so I guess this will be me giving that a shot. Okay so here it goes: Diphtheria, meningitis, RSV, Pertussis, Measles. Diphtheria, meningitis, RSV, Pertussis, Measles. And this loop basically just plays and plays and plays.

These thoughts have stemmed from the idea that my great grandmother is in the hospital right now. Things aren’t looking good and dad and I both know we should go see her soon as her condition worsens by the day. Well, dad has already been, but for me, well I have never been to a hospital in my life. Ever since I can remember I have been afraid of disease, germs, bacteria. Well, and all these things that I am not supposed to keep on a loop, well they are all airborne.

The thing is, I want to see my great grandma, I KNOW I should see my great grandma, but the illness, disease, bacteria, contamination, well I just, I don't know. I know it hurts dad that I don’t go.

July 26th 2014 Entry

So I had therapy today. I still don’t know yet if I like my therapist. She’s harmless enough, but sometimes I cant get a guage for how the fuck I am supposed to listen to someone about thoughts that feel like they will kill me, when it appears they might actually have no clue what that feels like. Like sure there's therapeutic silence and empathetic comments or gestures but nothing really makes me FEEL as though there's any level of connection or deep understanding of what I could possibly be experiencing. And it’s horrible, telling some lady in her mid 30s that I can’t get myself to go see my dying great grandmother who has been there for me my entire life because I am fucking scared of fucking meningitis.

It’s hard with dad too, I mean I love him and he loves me but I know he’s distraught when I tell him these things. He doesn’t really get it. I can’t tell if the sadness in his eyes when we try and talk through what a visit could look like is desperation, lack of hope, or trying to understand.

July 30th 2014 Entry

I am writing this the night before I try to go with dad to the hospital for the first time. I say try and it feels like I know I am convincing myself I can, when really I feel frozen. I have tried all the tips my therapist gave, mostly visualizing myself walking into the hospital. My therapist says that visualizing and sitting with the anxiety that comes up and trying to work myself down from that anxiety in the comfort of my home and thoughts first, can help me normalize the idea of going into the hospital, She said to try and focus on this first step and so for three nights now before bed, I sit here replaying that loop of my ideal self walking in there to see Mimi. I see myself in this daydream lighter on my feet, normal pace and stride, walking alongside dad in a hard moment, being able to be there for him, make peace with Mimi, tell her I love her. I can’t help but sob when I write this, I think Mimi will be proud of me if I can just get in there. Mimi understood it better than dad, I sometimes wonder if they talk about it or if her condition has worsened beyond that point. It made me wonder if it is the reason dad is so patient about it this time around. Growing up there was not much understanding around why Mikey can’t go to DisneyLand, why Mikey can’t go to the grocery store, why Mikey keeps calling out of school sick, and skipping class, and the list goes on and on and on. But this time is different, dad is both broken by my inconsistent efforts to drive to the hospital, and also the most patient I have seen him in my entire life.

“Alright dad, I think I can go.” “You sure Mikey?” He says almost breathlessly as he stands up from the recliner chair, turning the T.V. off. “Yeah, dad, I want to do it.” “Alright Mike, let’s go son.” And so we do. I get in dad’s car, I pick the music, he makes the first right out of the neighborhood. This drive catches me by surprise. I suddenly notice so clearly all the signs, road signs, business signs; I notice all the spots from when I was little and think it has to be the first time in years I have looked at them with this kind of focus and fixation.

The drive is mostly silent, dad looks over at me teary-eyed occasionally. I presume he wonders if I will make it in, I wonder if I will make it in. Dad pulls right up to the front of the lot at the hospital. He does this, I am sure, because he knows this is a comfort of mine, a rule almost. Never far from me should there be an escape. And so for the first time, I open the car door, I step out, and I am in the hospital parking lot.