Micah Found It

Micah Found It

  a shock treatment short story

  Cole Bishop

  Copywrite 2014 by Cole Bishop

  This is part one of a series.

  Please check back for new parts to the series!

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  CHAPTER ONE

  He wasn’t sick; he wasn’t mentally ill, or crazy, or insane. Sometimes he wondered if he was, but then as he would listen to the idiots at work or on the subway ride home he realized just how sane he was. As they would yammer on about nothing in particular, he’d realize more and more, as the train ride felt longer and longer, that he was far from mentally ill. He was, at least, on the saner side of the spectrum.

  Micah wasn’t an avid talker, and he had an unfortunate habit of listening to people when they spoke. Most conversations Micah ended up one-sided, or awkwardly forfeited in exchange for an uncomfortable silence. The silence didn’t make him uncomfortable--it was uncomfortable for anyone else though. People hate silence. Micah wasn’t lacking social skills; he was actually very articulate. Still, it was unbearable for him to converse with strangers or even acquaintances; about the news, the weather, or their new diet, or their friend’s grandkids, or their lame hobbies. He hated all of it. He absolutely despised the thought of even thinking of it.

  The circular routine of strangers finding other strange people and sharing their own strange lives with each other was enough to sicken him and make his chest tauten with restless anxiety. He didn’t make many friends. He didn’t make many acquaintanceships either; he had no patience for even the small amount of time it took to break ice. He didn’t fit in this world of shootin’ the breeze, jibber-jabber, and small talk.

  So no, he wasn’t sick; but he was indeed sick of humans in general. He’d started to develop a strong resentment towards people--all people. This frightened Micah. He didn’t enjoy the feeling of hating humans, seething at strangers or feeling apprehension towards acquaintances.

  Sometimes he would find himself visibly shaking his head when he heard the stupid shit that fell clumsily out of people’s mouths. And it seemed the ones who talked the most in the world knew the least in the universe. It seemed to be a requirement for one to be ignorant; that one would talk for minutes and painfully irritating hours on end.

  Micah indeed was not sick, but he was pretending to be.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Micah was putting one over on the docs, claiming to suffer from what the doc labeled as “clinical depression,” where in reality he just suffered from a rabid displeasure for human interaction. The reasoning behind pretending came out of a plan Micah thought of about a year ago; half-baked as it was it was still a plan, and now he would soon see it come to fruition.

  The morning sun shone through his window and his cell phone chirped with the 8:30 AM alarm. He turned it off and checked a new voicemail. The nurse’s voice over the phone sounded high and whiny:

  “Hi, this is Julie from Dr. Aberg’s office. Dr. Aberg would like for you to come in on Thursday at 9 AM. We are going to run a few tests; blood test, EKG’s, etcetera and then go through a few preparations before Friday. Friday will be your first ECT treatment. If you have questions—“

  Micah hung up. Finally it was time. “Yes! Yes!” he cheered. “Yes, baby, yes!”

  He would be receiving electroconvulsive therapy—shock treatment.

  This was a procedure used for a small amount of the population who otherwise could not ease the symptoms of clinical depression or other mental illness. Now it would be used to numb Micah.

  “They’re gonna numb me! They’re gonna numb me, baby!” he yelled at his old orange cat, Max. “Max! They’re gonna numb daddy, Max!”

  Max the cat simply stared at his owner with a look of curiosity mixed with his usual attitude of indifference. Micah could always rely on his cat to be the level head in the room.

  It was time to cut his last real tie to the world of socialization: Work. He wouldn’t need to work anymore. Being able to receive this treatment was a big win; it almost ensured that he would be qualified to receive government assistance. He would continue to feign depression long enough and hard enough to be labeled “disabled.” Though he would only receive enough help to live well below the poverty line, he would still be able to manage without work—he hoped. He had been saving up, like a squirrel stashing nuts for the winter. All in the hopes of someday being able to make this phone call; he smiled as he dialed.

  “Yeah, Andrew? It’s Micah. How’s the breakfast rush so far? Oh, OK. Well I’m just calling to say I quit--I’ll talk to you later buddy,” Micah said in a tone that came out a little more unfriendly than Micah intended.

  “Wait, you’re quitting? Micah--” Andrew, one of only three line cooks at Penny’s Diner, was elbow deep in orders. The ticket printer was rolling out orders in long sections and Andrew could barely string two words together before Micah hung up and fell backward onto his firm mattress, letting out a triumphant sigh on the way down.

  Micah really didn’t give a damn about Penny’s Diner anymore. In the short time it had come under new management, all the people he’d worked with in the past were promptly replaced with employees who were willing to work for less. The few who weren’t fired ended up quitting; everyone except him and Andrew. Though Andrew often would confide in Micah and tell him all the reasons why he would soon be walking out. Micah grinned a large goofy grin; he actually thought he heard a tinge of excitement in Andrew’s voice.

  Micah was more than ready. His only motivation, as ludicrous as it may have sounded, was to dull the sharp pain that came with human interaction. Was that asking too much? He thought not. He was ready to live a different life. He did not how life would present itself once he was numbed, but a new life sounded good like a sentimental song. He didn’t know how that song would sound; he hoped it would sound like a soft, peaceful symphony of solitude.

  This who ordeal had taken a lot of effort and a solid poker face. To sit through psychiatrist and psychologist visits and describe symptoms he had read online; to pay for medication he never actually took. He saw what people were like on medication, and he didn’t find it attractive.

  The consistency of his effort was remarkable. For him to check in weekly with doctors to tell them how “nothing is working” was probably the hardest task for him. He hated to hear disappointment and frustration in the voices of the people who were actually trying to help him. He felt like he was failing them, and they felt the same. But Micah reassured himself: it wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t really depressed, because it’s the part they forced him to play in order to qualify for a simple, brief pulse of electricity which would hopefully numb him to the maddening monster that was human interaction.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Thursday came quickly. Micah lugged his new luggage case into what would be “his” room at the hospital. He sat on the perfectly clean hospital bed and grabbed a magazine that had been left on a petite and sanitary looking side table. Dr. Aberg knocked on the frame of the door. Micah greeted him warmly; the doctor was one of only a few people Micah didn’t despise and, surprisingly, Micah actually enjoyed the doctor’s company and he even knew the doctor’s first name. Dr. Steven Aberg had an amused air about him as he walked in. Micah noticed.

  “Well Micah, you finally made it. You pulled the wool right over our eyes, huh?”

  Silence. This time silence was uncomfortable for Micah, but not the doctor who wore a knowing grin. The hospital room with its bland and light blue walls began to close in and blur. Micah’s heart seemed to dance up and down violently in his chest. The doc onto him? Panic crept up.
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  Micah said, “Doc, I need this treatment.”

  “I know that Micah; do you know that?” the doctor asked.

  What was his deal? What was the he trying to get at?

  Dr. Aberg continued, “Micah, I’ve known you for over a year. It’s become evident to me that even though you are trying to fix your problem, you might not know what your problem is in the first place. Basically, you’re searching for a way out, but I don’t think you know what you are in.”

  Micah took a sharp breath and lied, “I’m depressed.”

  “Micah, I know that you’re depressed.”

  They shared another brief silence.

  Dr. Aberg spoke again, softer now, “You’re running in the right direction, but I think you have no real idea what you’re running from.”

  Micah nodded, with nothing to say. He started to question the mental stability of the doctor; was he nuts? The doctor smiled and shook his head as to say he’d said his part. He then explained the procedure.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “After we get all these tests done we will clear you for the treatment. We just need to make sure you’re healthy enough to receive the treatment; you probably are. At about seven we will be taking you to our procedure center on the second floor. The treatment is very simple: we are going to intravenously give you a medication which will relax your muscles; this will keep you from hurting yourself during the seizure. Right along with that medication we’re going to give you a med to get you off to sleep—so you won’t feel anything.”

  Micah nodded attentively, and in the back of his mind he imagined what it would be like if the medication didn’t work; if he could feel it. Would it feel good? It would probably feel like sticking your head in an industrial light socket.

  Dr. Aberg continued on, “You’ll be hooked up to a unit that produces an electric charge. We’ll put in a bite block to prevent any chipped teeth, and it will keep you from biting down on your tongue.”

  Micah swallowed spit and took a deep breath. The doctor continued.

  “You will have electrodes on your scalp, and we will send electricity through your head with these. It will pass through your brain until you start seizing. The seizure will hopefully last just under a minute. When you wake up you will be back in your room. You’re going to most likely be confused and little dizzy; your head is going to hurt and we’ll give you some medication to help with that. Our nurses are all trained very well and you’re going to be comfortable through the whole recovery process. Right now you’re on the schedule to have ECT every other day for this month. Then we will begin to taper the treatments.”

  Micah’s jaw dropped and he blurted out, “I thought it was a one-time thing!”

  The good doctor replied, “No.”

  Micah did his best to recoup from that fact, while listening to Dr. Aberg go on about waivers and pre-treatment procedures and post-treatment procedures. It was all a blur. Later in the day, they poked at him and prodded at him; he had to turn his head and cough; he had to take deep breaths in and out as a freezing stethoscope pushed against him; he stayed “very still” during scans and imaging and whatever else they threw at him. He was polite to everyone and they were all congenial towards him as well. He wondered what they thought: did they feel sorry for him? Were they envious? That would be something if they were envious.

  As the sun went down and the tests were coming to an end, Micah began to feel exhausted from the amount of human contact he’d been subjected to. It was soon past 9 PM and it was time to just wait. He tried to sleep, to read, and to meditate; he could do none of it. He began to write in the small notebook he brought along, and the act of writing soothed him some. It felt good to write. He wondered if it would still feel good to write after 7AM tomorrow. He drifted to sleep.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Then, in a flash, it was 7 AM. Micah was expecting to have a long walk down to the elevator at the end of the hall, and down to the second floor, but he was wheeled in his bed instead. The trip didn’t take long at all, and Micah wished it had. He was wheeled into the procedure room to find four doctors awaiting his arrival. Dr. Aberg was there, and he introduced the anesthetist and the others by name.

  “Good to meet you,” Micah said, “there is a lot of you.” And the doctors all laughed, even though Micah didn’t exactly find it amusing. They wheeled him into position in the middle of the room.

  Dr. Aberg talking soothingly to Micah, explaining everything that was going on. They began to strap the electrodes to his head. There seemed to be a cold, gel-like substance on them; this must have been a sort of conductor the electricity passes through. He felt Dr. Aberg secure the electrodes with some sort of strap, but he couldn’t see. They explained each and every sticky item they secured to his head and body; one to measure brain activity; one to monitor his heart, and so on. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what was what.

  “There’s a lotta stuff connected to me,” he said, which produced only a polite smile from the anesthesiologist. He looked up at the ceiling; he waited; he was afraid.

  “You’re going to get sleepy now, Micah.”

  He was ready. His IV had already been connected to the fluid bag fixed to his bed. He saw out of the corner of his eye that the anesthesiologist was playing with the tubing. Whatever he was putting in felt good; not in the way most people would appreciate though. It burned. It was running into his vein starting from the top of his right hand, up his meaty forearm, and through his bicep. It burned quite a bit; a whole hell of a lot, actually. It climbed up to his shoulder.

  “Bring it on,” he said. Or he thought--did he say that or just think it? He couldn’t tell… He was confused.

  He decided to take a look at the IV, but it was gone. “Where did it go?”

  He looked straight ahead and did a double-take when he realized he was looking right into the eyes of a nurse. She was a little blonde, and she was kind of cute. He looked around; he was in his room.

  “What happened? Did I get my treatment?” he asked.

  “Yes, you got your treatment Micah.” She said and smiled.

  His head and teeth hurt—badly. The blonde nurse handed him two pain pills and a small paper cup of cold water.

  “Wait--did I get my treatment?” he asked the nurse, forgetting that he asked already.

  She responded with a comforting tone, “Yes you did, Micah.”

  He simply stared ahead at the grey wall on the other side of the room; still confused, and not entirely sure he even believed the nurse.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next day was a blur. The one after that was even blurrier, but Micah was writing as often as he could so he could make sense of things when these series of treatments were over. Monday, unsurprisingly, was a blur. Wednesday. Friday. Monday. Wednesday. Friday. Monday. The entire world blended into an intangible sludge, a paste. Every time the burning anesthesia raced up his arm he would pass into nothingness just to find himself again in his hospital room with the grey walls. The whole month was like this; a counterfeit existence of sorts.

  After his fourteenth treatment, fourteenth splitting headache, and fourteenth time waking up confused and dazed in his room; Micah found it.

  He walked into the crowded waiting room on the second floor, where he would wait to pick up a hand-written prescription from Dr. Aberg. He took a seat by the window, where a large, crystal-blue glass piece hung delicately against the window pane; catching the rays of the sun and amplifying them. Micah could overhear the chatter; talk of the forecasted weather ensued. Micah rested his gaze upon the glass piece. It was beautiful. He laid his arm on the windowsill. Micah overheard two patients comparing their aspirin regimens with one another, while another man pontificated about the health benefits of “whole grain--not just wheat: whole grain!” An old couple to his right chattered on about their grandchildren.

  The bright and bold crystal-blue radiated off of the glass piece, as it swayed to the left and made a miniscule, tiny tap sound agains
t the window pane. Micah heard it, and he felt lucky to hear such a delicate sound in a room full of chatter. People were talking everywhere around him. Close and far they all talked; Micah listened. He looked up at the glass piece and listened to the world around him, and began to weep; the anger was gone.

  His mind drifted to Penny’s Diner, and he chuckled. He would ask for his job back and probably not get it, but Andrew could probably get him into the other diner he worked for.

  Micah’s mind drifted from subject to subject, and it was peaceful. He listened to the buzzing of the room with pleasantries passed and he listened to little bits of conversation; this was also peaceful. A smile came to his face as his mind finally drifted back to the place where it used to feel the most tormented. Micah found what he’d been trying to run from: Micah found himself.

  He heard the song of his new life and it sounded like a soft, peaceful symphony of strange people finding other strangers and sharing their own strange lives with one another. He was a stranger ready to be introduced--first to himself--as the more he found himself, the less he ran. Tears rolled off of his blushing cheeks; he tasted the salt from his tears. He smiled and cried.

  The End.

  Thank you for reading; I hope you enjoyed and that you will take the time to leave a review.

  Again, this is the first part of many in a series; please check back for more parts soon to come!

  Follow me on Twitter @WriteCole