reprimanded once again for reacting to Cat’s taunts in such a volatile manner and was given my first warning. Warnings were followed by write-ups and then patients were moved to the next level of care. In my case, if I continued on this path I would be moved to the second ward with individuals who were more troubled.
I took the opportunity to ask the doctor if my letters were mailed and he assured me that yes they were. I didn’t trust him entirely or the facility and it’s method of care. More than ever, I needed to get out.
Emily urged me to try harder. She seemed to care about my welfare more than anyone and didn’t make me feel edgy or nervous like the doctor.
“I tell you what, let’s have a picnic by the lake again tomorrow. Would you like that?”
“Thanks, Emily. I would like that.” I would look forward to it and until then I would plot a way to get home.
I wrote a third and fourth letter home over the course of the week, asking, or rather, begging my parents to respond to me. I asked them how Hetty was and told them I missed her presence. I asked about the baby and signed off with love as always. I didn’t hear from my mother but by my forth week at the hospital a letter arrived from my father.
Dear Iona,
We have received your letters and have also had correspondence with Dr. Macy. He tells us your violent spells have become worse and that you are in no shape to come home.
I would ask you not to torment your mother with your letters. She is only now starting to realize how much you needed to be treated. She is recovering from the guilt she has felt and I ask that you allow her this peace.
Yours,
Father
My heart broke all at once. A fountain of tears cascaded from my eyes and did not cease for hours. I cradled my knees and rocked back and forth on my bed, alone. I had never felt so betrayed or unloved. What had I done that was so ghastly that my parents would send me away and ask that I not correspond with them? I was sorry I acted irrationally and cut my hair, sorry for setting traps too, but nothing deserved this treatment. Surely not my counting spells.
I decided I would write instead to Hetty, my only friend and ally. I didn’t know her exact address but the post-master would get my letter to her. Also, I would write to my mother once more. If she wrote to tell me she didn’t want my correspondence then so be it.
***
Emily checked on me regularly during the week trying to motivate me to take part in activities with the other patients. When I refused to leave my room she scheduled an appointment for me to be seen at once with Dr. Macy. The power of my parents’ hatred caused me to decline and become more agitated and reclusive.
“Iona, I understand you are overcome with melancholy. Please tell me what I can do.”
“Yes, I am sad, Doctor Macy. I had a letter from my father.” I reached into my pocket and retrieved the crumpled note so the doctor could read it for himself.
“It seems pretty clear to me that your parents just want you to get well. Iona, take part in the process and then maybe you can go home.”
“Maybe?” I asked nerves getting the better of me once more.
“Well, we have some things to discuss yet, some topics I had hoped not to delve into until you developed trust in me and faith in our institution. Now that trust is shattered because you have seen that your parents and I correspond and you feel betrayed. It is true, I did tell them you had a few occurrences that were not entirely your fault, but nonetheless, they did occur. Is this a false statement?”
“No, it’s not.” I still didn’t trust him.
“Let me tell you a story about our very first patient at Willard. Her name was Mary Rote. She arrived on October thirteenth of 1869 by steamship. She was escorted by several men down the gangplank because she was both deformed and demented and unable to walk without assistance. Her hands were held together by chains. She was considered a
I took the opportunity to ask the doctor if my letters were mailed and he assured me that yes they were. I didn’t trust him entirely or the facility and it’s method of care. More than ever, I needed to get out.
Emily urged me to try harder. She seemed to care about my welfare more than anyone and didn’t make me feel edgy or nervous like the doctor.
“I tell you what, let’s have a picnic by the lake again tomorrow. Would you like that?”
“Thanks, Emily. I would like that.” I would look forward to it and until then I would plot a way to get home.
I wrote a third and fourth letter home over the course of the week, asking, or rather, begging my parents to respond to me. I asked them how Hetty was and told them I missed her presence. I asked about the baby and signed off with love as always. I didn’t hear from my mother but by my forth week at the hospital a letter arrived from my father.
Dear Iona,
We have received your letters and have also had correspondence with Dr. Macy. He tells us your violent spells have become worse and that you are in no shape to come home.
I would ask you not to torment your mother with your letters. She is only now starting to realize how much you needed to be treated. She is recovering from the guilt she has felt and I ask that you allow her this peace.
Yours,
Father
My heart broke all at once. A fountain of tears cascaded from my eyes and did not cease for hours. I cradled my knees and rocked back and forth on my bed, alone. I had never felt so betrayed or unloved. What had I done that was so ghastly that my parents would send me away and ask that I not correspond with them? I was sorry I acted irrationally and cut my hair, sorry for setting traps too, but nothing deserved this treatment. Surely not my counting spells.
I decided I would write instead to Hetty, my only friend and ally. I didn’t know her exact address but the post-master would get my letter to her. Also, I would write to my mother once more. If she wrote to tell me she didn’t want my correspondence then so be it.
***
Emily checked on me regularly during the week trying to motivate me to take part in activities with the other patients. When I refused to leave my room she scheduled an appointment for me to be seen at once with Dr. Macy. The power of my parents’ hatred caused me to decline and become more agitated and reclusive.
“Iona, I understand you are overcome with melancholy. Please tell me what I can do.”
“Yes, I am sad, Doctor Macy. I had a letter from my father.” I reached into my pocket and retrieved the crumpled note so the doctor could read it for himself.
“It seems pretty clear to me that your parents just want you to get well. Iona, take part in the process and then maybe you can go home.”
“Maybe?” I asked nerves getting the better of me once more.
“Well, we have some things to discuss yet, some topics I had hoped not to delve into until you developed trust in me and faith in our institution. Now that trust is shattered because you have seen that your parents and I correspond and you feel betrayed. It is true, I did tell them you had a few occurrences that were not entirely your fault, but nonetheless, they did occur. Is this a false statement?”
“No, it’s not.” I still didn’t trust him.
“Let me tell you a story about our very first patient at Willard. Her name was Mary Rote. She arrived on October thirteenth of 1869 by steamship. She was escorted by several men down the gangplank because she was both deformed and demented and unable to walk without assistance. Her hands were held together by chains. She was considered a
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