Inside the Walls of a Psychiatric Hospital

By Radika Tan ('24)

During the summer of my junior year, I opened myself up to a new world of psychology and immersed myself in a community that I always thought was blank.

It was 8:00 in the morning. I was 30 minutes early before my volunteer shift started. I entered the psychiatric hospital, walked to the help desk as usual, and took out the keys to my room, where I rested. I brought a camera with me, in case I wanted to take any pictures of the hospital because it was my last day there. I put on the volunteer vest and opened the door of the room to get a sneak peek if anybody was outside. I turned on my digital camera and snapped a picture of the pediatric section of the hospital. It was dark, but with the streaks of sunlight from the window, the place looked nostalgic. I slid the camera back into my tote bag and took my water bottle and the supervision paper with me. I closed the light, locked the door, and headed to the help desk for my last shift.

Although it was my last shift, I spotted a few unfamiliar faces at the front desk as I hadn’t worked the front desk on a Friday before. I sat down and, as usual, prepared my answers to the questions that the āyí (front desk ladies) would ask. We chatted a bit, and a woman walked in. “Hi, it’s my first time here; how can I register?” she asked calmly and seemed very familiar with the procedure. I pulled out the registration form and responded with what the āyímen have taught me before: “Is there a specific doctor you’re seeing?” She pulled out more papers and responded immediately, “I’ve been in treatment for ten, twenty years; I’m a transfer, actually.” I took a glimpse of her paper out of curiosity; she has mild depression, difficulty adjusting to a new environment, and bipolar disorder. I smiled, “That’s alright, but you still have to fill out the form.” Time passed quickly. I saw her walking down the hallway panicky, looking right and left. She didn’t seem to know what was going on, so I stood up, ready to help, but she found a seat. Just like that, she looks all normal again, calm and conscious. That was my first time encountering a person like her, who concealed her internal struggles so effortlessly. It reminds me of the resilience and courage displayed by those navigating mental health challenges.

It was 9:30 already. People started coming in like waves; the help desk was overwhelmed. There was a woman trying to figure out how to use the vending machine for a while. Āyímen was too busy with other people, so they asked me to help her. I brought her downstairs to the convenience store because the vending machine was broken, apparently. On the way, she walked next to me, unlike others who usually walk behind me, she walked beside me like my friend. “Do I look weird and stupid like a psychiatric patient?” she asked anxiously but with a small giggle at the end to lighten the mood. “No, no, of course not. You look beautiful!” Again, I responded sincerely with a smile, though deep in my mind, she looked different, wobbling, stuttering, and disorganized. “Ah, thank you. I’ve been in and out of the hospital four times. I’m just grabbing the medicine today, and I’m thirsty. I’ve been trying to quit smoking lately.” Then she opened up like we’ve met for years, even when it was just a short two-minute walk. On the way, I asked her about her treatment and why she had to quit smoking. I realized she was very open about them and knew exactly why she was there, even though she looked shallow and walked wobbly. As she departed the hospital enjoying her little cane drink while holding bags of prescription drugs, I couldn't help but admire her strength and tenacity. She may have faced obstacles, but she was embracing each moment with grace and determination.

For the next hour or two, the hospital was quiet. People walked in and out, but most went straight to the registration desk. Some families came, some borrowed wheelchairs, some asked for directions, and some came for a visit. Since the help desk was empty, I went for a walk in the hospital, trying to get a glimpse of everything. I also went to the second floor for the first time, and it was even quieter. There was an X-ray room and a clinical research lab. I can’t recount the details, but it felt much like a hospital in the 80s in the countryside. I went downstairs again, and I saw a man holding the social worker’s hands like they were water, precious and hard to hold. “Please, fix my depression; I want to work again; I like my job,” he said. That was the first time I saw a person desperately want to work; I saw humanity and our desire to keep ourselves occupied and to experience. 

As I approached the help desk table, I noticed āyímen assisting a Vietnamese woman. I tried not to disturb them when I walked into the help desk area. However, after a few minutes of sitting on a chair, sensing their growing impatience, I couldn't help but intervene. Recognizing the language barrier, I resonated with her struggle keeping up with the speed at which native speakers conversed in her second language, as a fellow language learner. I asked āyímen to speak slower, but eventually took over the interaction myself. With patience and understanding, I addressed her concerns, and slowly, her face transformed from confusion to a smile glowing on her face. As a teenager, being able to communicate and influence others from different backgrounds, I feel fulfilled and empowered to continue spreading empathy.

Time went by fast. It was 12, and it was time to leave, though I was not ready to. I headed back to the room. I packed my stuff, signed the supervision paper one last time, and threw my volunteer vest into the basket. Then I locked the door, and walked around the hospital one more time. I said goodbye to everyone, to āyímen and the security by the door. That was it, the place where I spent half of my last summer.

During the four weeks I’ve been volunteering at the hospital and 20 hours of those at the help desk, I’ve interacted with so many new people and listened to countless stories from different patients and āyímen. From the experience at the help desk, I’ve not only gotten a glimpse into the field of psychiatry but also the kaleidoscope of people in my tiny community. I had a great time volunteering at the psychiatric hospital, and I would do it again if I had the opportunity.