A Mama's Skinny Chicken

Summer 1996

I sat outside on the front-porch working on a crossword puzzle and smoking a cigarette. It was about two in the morning, and I couldn’t get rid of the jitters and irritations caused from my earlier lines. I had been up for three nights and was sweaty, worn out, and about explode. I had been chain-smoking and crossword working for the previous hour; I just couldn’t do it any longer. I took a final drag then watched the flaming cherry disappear as I smothered it into the garden.

I stepped into my house, and was nauseated by our “warm and cozy” living room. I turned on the television in hope of distracting my thoughts enough to let me fall asleep. I watched for a couple impatient moments and was soon distracted. Without the calm of pot or the numbness of alcohol I feared tonight would the forth sleep deprived night. But I needed sleep.

It was then that I remembered the Valium and Secenol, which were prescribed to me for anxiety and insomnia. I popped a couple of pills and returned to the late night images that flashed before my tired eyes. The longer I sat watching the television, the more an irritation of impatience seemed to tickle my skin as thick syrup seemed to flow through my veins. Ten minutes later felt like sixty so I popped more pills. Like a perfunctory robot I returned to the couch. The itchiness and irritation tapered, but still I existed. I was able to watch the television for about twenty minutes this time before I grew frustrated that I had not already fallen asleep. I took a couple more pills, and watched more television. Sand dripped through the hourglass as the pills were stolen from their homes. It was not long before I found only empty bottles. Uh oh…

The room was fuzzy and my mind was flustered but calm. Finally my eyes grew droopy and the syrup that before ran through my veins was now champagne. I'll just go to sleep and deal with mom and dad in the morning. I was not in the mood to get in a fight with my parents about abusing medication; it didn’t cross my mind that the amount of pills I had taken could be harmful. My mind and body grew exceptionally comfortable as the minutes ticked. All I had wanted for the last hour was to be able to fall asleep, and now I was tired enough to do so. I crawled back onto the couch and fell asleep watching MTV.

My mother awoke me ten minutes later shaking my shoulder and yelling something that I couldn't understand. She had been awoken by the volume of the television in combination with an open living room door. My mother had already scene the empty pill container on the table, and was yelling at me about the whereabouts of the medicine. While I was aware of what was going on, it felt like a dream, like I was watching my life from a movie theatre. When I was eventually able to communicate with my mom that I had accidentally taken the pills because I couldn’t sleep she yanked me off the couch and told me to get my clothes on. I fell to the ground unable to support my own body. My mom began crying, asking me why I would do this to myself. What is she talking about? I just wanted to sleep… My mom thought that I was attempting suicide. My mom helped me up the stairs to my room where she threw a sweatshirt over my head. I tried to tell her that I didn't mean for this to happen, but I was having trouble speaking. My sister was awoken by the commotion and sleepily stepped out of her room to see what was going on.
"Michelle, are you OK?" I heard her say through a weak voice. I couldn't respond.
"Just go to bed Nini, Dad and I are going to take Michelle to the hospital." And then everything went black.

I opened my eyes. It took me a couple of minutes to realize where I was; I was in a hospital. I had IVs inserted into my right arm and my head drummed. The last thing that I could remember was being at the top of the staircase with mom and Nini. I didn’t remember eating a hamburger that a nurse had fed me for lunch earlier that day.

Mom was sitting next to me and smiled when she realized that I was finally awake. I was surprised at how easily it was for me to speak. I asked my mom what was going on. It had been two days since my parents had driven me to the hospital. After getting into the car, I went in and out of physical consciousness and was quickly driven to the emergency room at Stanford Hospital. I had to drink a large container of charcoal liquid. If I could drink it, and keep it down, I would not have to get my stomach pumped. My dad explained how I just chugged the drink right down (it probably helped that I was barely conscious). I kept the liquid down, and the doctors put me in the hospital until I fully came aware. When I heard what had happened it scared me to think that it had been two days, two days, of which I had absolutely zero memory.

All of the sudden a feeling of escape surged through me. I needed to get out of the hospital as fast as I could. With cold and abrupt words I told mom to take me home. I hated hospitals, and wanted to get as far away as I could before the dismal smell sunk into my skin. My mother responded with words that sounded unreasonable to me, but probably reasonable to most anyone else. She explained that it was the doctor’s decision when I would leave, and it was not up to her. Dr. Cheng, entered the room at that moment. He was a young and oriental man who looked to be having a good day. He asked me politely how I was doing. "I need to go home, I can't stay here…" Dr. Cheng told me that they still needed to run some tests, and that it was policy that be hospitalized until it was positive that I was stable. He doesn't understand, I need to leave. I'm fine, some doctor he is, he can't even tell that I'm OK, I've gotta get outta here…

Extreme irritation unleashed through my veins, and all I wanted was to get out of the hospital. I had to leave, and had to run, I just I had to. After attempting all types of manipulations and ideas, Dr. Cheng denied me telling me that I was still told to remain in the hospital. Dr. Cheng then asked my mother to step outside to have a word with him. These were the secret words that exist between doctors and mom. Sometimes I felt like there was an entire life that existed through these secret words that I was sheltered from.

I've gotta run. I pulled the IV out of my arm, threw open the door, and ran down the corridor towards an exit sign. As I ran, Dr. Cheng and some nurses chased me, shouting for me to stop. All of the sudden an empty metal stretcher was pulled around a corner by two nurses. I banged roughly into the stretcher as pain seared through my right leg. I guess this is why they tell you not to run in a hospital. Delayed by pain, a couple of nurses caught up with me, taking each arm in a strong hold. I was back to face the doom of Dr. Cheng. My mom took me home just a couple of hours later.

It was this event that my mother began to think of me as her “skinny chicken”. She had been just outside the door talking to Dr. Cheng when I attempted to exit. As my drug-thinned body ran, the hospital gown exposed my bare-backside. My shaved head added to the picture, and my mom refers me that summer, as her “skinny chicken.”