That's Nuts!

I wake up groggy and open my eyes to an IV tube dangling above my head. What the hell? I look down at my body. A flimsy white and blue gown is all I’m wearing. I turn my head from side to side noticing the blank walls, and then gaze straight ahead. My eyes need time to focus. Then, the flowery impressionist painting comes into view. I know where I am. 

Looking down I see the straps. Both arms have soft ties that encircle my wrists. My legs, via the ankles, are tethered to the bed frame. 

“Hey!” I yell, as I struggle to get free. I wait a few seconds.

“Hey! Anyone there? Get me out of here!” I yell, even louder. The door is ajar and I hear footsteps tapping down the hallway toward my room. 

The door swings open.

Before the nurse can enter the room, I ask, “What am I doing here?”

She walks over to the window and flings open the curtains. She fiddles with the IV bag. “How are you feeling, Maggie?” she asks, not looking me in the eye.

The sun streams into the room. I squint and turn my head from the blinding sunlight. She points to the window. “Only in California, right?” She asks. “In the dead of winter, the sun is shining and it’s seventy-five degrees out.” She looks down at me now, smiles, and checks the tube attached to my arm.

Her black and white name tag is about two feet from my face. “Jenna?” I ask her, calmly. “What is going on? What am I doing here?” I pull at the straps again, but they’re doing their job: not budging.

“You’re in the hospital,” she says, sweetly.

“Well, hell, I know that!” I yell. She puts one finger over her lips, giving me the “shhh” signal. 

“Don’t you dare shush me!” I hiss. “And, why are there straps on me? Was I in an accident or …”

“You’re in the Psychiatric Ward, honey,” she says, with soft eyes. I feel her pity.

Then disorientation starts to hit. “Wait, what?” My head feels woozy.

“You’re on an involuntary 72-hour hold,” Jenna says. “I’ll go get the doctor. We were waiting for you to wake up.” She pats my arm and quietly leaves the room.

“Oh… I’m awake!” I say, a little too loudly. I plop my head back down on the pillow. How the hell did this happen? My mind starts to wander and think back. The only thing I remember is being on my couch in the apartment. On the computer. Maybe reading The Chronicle? It’s fuzzy.

Then, bam, here in the Psych ward. 

Everything is so great. I have so much to be thankful for; such a great life! A great job! If this is true, then why am I strapped to a bed? A danger to myself? To someone else?

The door swings open again. This time, a doctor enters. I can tell that she’s a doctor. She has that look about her. No smile. No pity. Her hair is tied back neatly, carries a clipboard, a stethoscope around her neck, and a blank look on her face.

“Hello…uh, Maggie Trainor?” she asks. 

“Yeah, hi, I’m Maggie. I’d shake your hand, but…” I say, trying to lift my arms and shrugging my shoulders.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” she says. “I’m Doctor Hirsch, a Psychiatrist here at Peninsula Hospital.” She sits down on a chair at the foot of my bed. She puts on a pair of reading glasses, looks down at her clipboard, and then up at me.

She doesn’t say anything. Tears start welling up in my eyes. “Why am I strapped down?” I ask. “Why am I here? Nobody will tell me.”

“Well, you were brought to Peninsula Hospital on a 72-hour hold…which is—”

“I know what that means,” I interrupt. 

“Okay. Let me tell you how you got to this point. From what I understand from the local police officers who followed you in with the ambulance, they found you, yesterday afternoon, in the corner of your apartment, huddled down with a knife in your hand, threatening to slit your own throat.”

“No way!” I gasp.

“Your neighbor called the police. She heard you screaming.”

“Mrs. Robertson? My neighbor next door?”

“I’m not sure if it was Mrs. Robertson. But the woman let them into your apartment.”

“She does have a key.”

“I do know that it was all the police officers could do to take the knife away and keep you safe. They had you brought here, to be evaluated and on a 72-hour hold so we could evaluate your mental health and find out what’s going on. The good news is, you don’t have any bruises or cuts on you.”

I wrack my brain, thinking, shaking my head. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about what you’re telling me,” I say, weeping. I can’t even wipe my tears away. So they dribble down my cheeks, into my mouth, and taste salty. “Can’t you take these straps off?” I finally say.

“Not until I can guarantee that you’ll be safe.”

I close my eyes. “What do you need from me?” I ask.

“Let’s start with yesterday. What do you remember about yesterday? Anything you can tell me.” She pauses, then says, “I have to say, Maggie, you seem very calm now, which I will make a note of.” I open my eyes. She scribbles on the clipboard.

“I just remember being on my couch. The last time I remember looking at the clock, it was getting close to dinner time, and I was getting hungry. The part of being huddled with a knife makes no sense. I’ve never done that before. I’ve never wanted to hurt myself in any way.”

“Hmm…so what were you doing? Watching TV?"

“No, I’m pretty sure I was on my computer, reading the Chronicle?” I ask her, and she shrugs. How would she know? “I was thinking of what to make for dinner. After that, everything else is blank.”

“Okay, what were you going to make for dinner?”

That’s a strange question. I close my eyes again and think hard. “Um,…I had some fish thawed that I’d picked up from Petrini’s and I needed a recipe…so… I went to my Pinterest…” I stop to think. I start to remember.

“Then what? What did you do next?”

“I logged in…” 

Silence. I think more.

“Ohhhh… shit,” I say, snapping my head up to look at the doctor. 

“You logged into Pinterest…so, why is that alarming?”

“Ohhhh no, no, no, no!” I start to panic. My jaw drops open.

The doctor leans forward. “I’m confused, Maggie. Why is logging in making you so anxious?” She scribbles some notes while I gather my thoughts. 

“Youuu, wo-won’t be-believe me if I told you,” I say, stuttering a bit. Sweat beads on my forehead and I feel it running down the inside of my arms, too. 

“Try me,” she says, calmly.

“Okay, this is all a huge mistake,” I laugh nervously. “I’m truly not crazy! But I have the craziest story to tell you.”

“I hear a lot of stories, Maggie,” she says. 

I take a deep breath. “Yesterday is when this all started. My best friend, Carolyn, and I attended our friend’s backyard concert in the city. They throw concerts, now and then, raising money for a local children’s charity. A great cause, right?” I shrug. Then gulp. The doctor stares at me.

“Well, the name of this local band? They’re called ‘Big Magic’, an upbeat Southern rock band. Their music is easy to dance to.” The doctor writes while I explain.

“So, just as they’re passing the basket around for donations, the band’s leader takes the microphone and says, ‘Thank you, one and all, for your great generosity and helping the children right here in San Francisco. I now grant all of you in the audience some BIG MAGIC!’. Then he holds the microphone up in the air. And everyone screams and claps and goes crazy!” I wait while she takes notes. “Are you following me, doc?”

She looks up. Nods.

“When the screaming died down the band’s leader continued, ‘You’re all my superheroes! I want you to choose your superpower, right now! Go…turn to your neighbor and tell them what yours is! And they’ll tell you theirs.’ Well, the crowd went crazy with chatter. I turned to Carolyn. This is how our conversation went:”

Carolyn: “Oooh, I already know.”

Me: “Go ahead.”

The doctor stops me. “Maggie, you don’t need to speak with different voices for each of you. I can follow who is who."

“Okay. Sorry. Anyway, she says ‘I’m tired of people being so negative all the time, so my superhero name will be The Adjustor,.’ Carolyn then holds up her arms, like a superhero would do.”

“So, Carolyn will adjust people’s attitudes?” The doctor asks.

“Yeah, I guess. With a single word from her, if someone’s speaking negatively, she’ll turn their narrative around to something positive. Pretty cool, right?”

“Sounds like a noble superhero power.” The doctor adjusts her glasses. “And, what about you Maggie? What superpower did you choose?”

“Mine, was, well, not so selfless. Mine was a bit more selfish.”

“And…?”

“My superhero name was Maggie the Manifester.” 

“What does a manifester do? And, by the way, I don’t think that’s an actual word, but go ahead.”

I turned red. “I didn’t have a lot growing up, so if I could have any superpower, I could make things happen on a whim, at my command. Maybe get all the things I want, or make my wishes come true…”

“You mean, like rubbing a lamp and having a genie pop out?” she asks.

“Yeah, except I’d be the genie.” The doctor nods and looks at me, then stares out the window.

“I can understand that. Everyone wants things they cannot have. But how was this going to happen? You’d, what? Say a word or tap your nose three times…?”

“Carolyn and I came up with this crazy idea that if I wanted something, I’d type it out on my computer or phone, and wham! Instantly it’d come true.”

“Wow, that’s powerful stuff!” She says. “I love your imagination. But how does that superpower choice relate to why we’re here?”

“Because all of it came true.” I stopped to let her digest that.

“What do you mean all of it came true? That’s nuts! Sorry…I mean, that’s impossible Maggie.”

“I’m not kidding Doc.” 

“Give me an example. What did you type that manifested into reality?”

“Well, I woke up the next morning and I was super busy getting ready for work. I didn’t have time to get onto my computer then, but after I got home, I thawed out my fish and plopped it in the refrigerator. I’d completely forgotten about my Maggie the Manifester claim, because, come on! It was just for fun.”

“Okay, that makes sense.”

“Around 5:30 I get on my computer, use my fingerprint to get online, and click on Google. I type in the search bar sfchronicle.com and of course, the website pops up. But then…the weirdest thing happened! The doorbell rings, and on the doorstep is a Chronicle paper! And then—“

“Wait,” she interrupts. “Did you order the paper?”

“NO! That’s what I’m saying. I just typed in SF Chronicle and there it was! I must have manifested it by just typing it in!”

“Mmm…hmm…” She looks skeptical. “Proceed.”

“I picked up the paper and put it on the table. Not thinking much of it. Until I got back online and typed in cute hairstyles for women over 30 in the search bar. I cruised through some options, clicking on a darling shag cut, an interesting bob cut, and one that I just didn’t like. I got up to use the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and—“

“Don’t tell me…you had a new hairstyle,” she giggles. She smiles for the first time since she sat down.

“See this highlighted, adorable, swoopy-bang-shoulder-length shag?” I try pointing with my finger, but that doesn’t go so well. So I dip my head towards my finger. I think she gets the drift. “Well, I never had that before yesterday! It was mousey-brown and hung down way below my shoulders. I was gobsmacked when I looked in the mirror!”

“Come on Maggie—“

“And it dawns on me! My Maggie the Manifester wish!” 

Doctor Hirsch shakes her head. 

“I am telling you the absolute truth!” I say, pleading with tears in my eyes. “I tried it with a couple more things, like clicking on a text from Carolyn and typing in Carolyn’s getting some flowers. She sent back a laughing emoji. Ten minutes later, I received a call from her. She thanked me profusely for the gorgeous bouquet of peonies the delivery guy just dropped off!”

Doctor Hirsch starts to walk towards the door. “I think I need a second opinion on this, Maggie. I’m going to get —“

Before she leaves, I stop her, “No! Please. Let me prove it to you!” I beg. 

“How are you going to do that?” She asks, stops, and stands with her arms crossed over the clipboard.

“Please, take these straps off and hand me my phone.” The doctor hesitates, thinking through the situation. I see by the look on her face that she’s calculating the risk of removing the straps. “Please?” I ask again. "You can bring Jenna back in here so there’s someone else in the room.”

“I’m having a hard time believing this, Maggie. But, okay, give me a second.” She leaves the room and then returns with Jenna and my cell phone. “Maggie, I’m going to remove just your arm straps. I trust that you’ll behave?”

“Cross my heart. Well, I’m crossing my fingers on both hands. I promise you Doc.”

Doctor Hirsch takes a key out and unlocks both sides of the straps. I rub my wrists and heave a big sigh. Not because my wrists hurt, but because it feels so good to be free from the cuffs.

“Can you hand me my phone?”

Jenna hands me the phone and I turn it on; I use my fingerprint to unlock it. I click on the internet app. I turn to Jenna. “Jenna, tell me something you’re craving right now.”

“Craving?” She asks and looks back and forth between the doctor and myself. “Well…I haven’t had lunch yet. A burger and fries from ‘The Habit’ would be great.” She blushes. “I’m so hungry.”

“You got it.” I type in and say aloud at the same time: Uber Eats, The Habit hamburger, and fries delivered to Peninsula Hospital, Room…? I look at Jenna. 

“Room 315,” she says.

I continue, Room 315. I put my phone down. “Give it a minute.” I can hear a pin drop. We all stare at each other. The doctor continues to take notes and I think she’s running out of room, and patience.

“Knock knock!” A man’s voice says. “ Uber Eats for a delivery?” I cheer as a man walks in with a white bag from “The Habit”. He hands it to Jenna. She gives a thumbs-up and leaves the room as she digs in the bag.

“What the—“ I look at Doctor Hirsch. Her eyes are big and she turns to look outside. “Maggie,” she sighs. “You know this entire manifestation theory is, well, mystifying, quite frankly. Sorry to use such non-technical terminology, but I find all this very hard to believe. Let’s go with the idea that it’s true. This band leader anoints the crowd with superpowers. Yours is Maggie the Manifester. It still brings me to my original question,” she turns to me. “How did you land here? What did you type that bought you a ride in an ambulance?”

“Doc,” I bow my head. “After my beautiful new hairstyle and the bouquet for Carolyn, I was so excited! I had a superpower! I thought about all the things I could type and ask for. This was going to change my life! I could finally be set; no more worries!”

“But that can be dangerous, Maggie.”

“I know. It was. I was so hungry and it'd been a long day at work. I went to my computer to find an easy fish recipe. I clicked on Pinterest…and it’s the only app that requires my password, every time.”

“What’s your password?” She asks.

“MaggieT5150” I start to cry.

“Oh my gosh, Maggie!" She exclaims. "5150?!” “That’s the code for involuntary psychiatric hospitalization if you’re a danger to yourself, in California! You...oh Maggie.." She sighed.

“Yep,” I say, wiping away my tears. “And here I am…”

Doctor Hirsch plops the clipboard on the chair and unlocks my legs from the tethers. She smiles. “We need to get that band leader here, stat.”