After my 2nd emergency room visit things were calm...er. I can say with certainty however, that we were both on edge. I still wasn’t sure what I would feel like in the long run with the meds I was on. I was even more afraid of feeling so sad and hopeless again. Unfortunately that has happened several times, but it hasn’t been as scary, more manageable. No more ER visits since. I credit this mostly to adjustments with my meds and how they’ve been treating my unique little brain. I want to touch more on this specific topic, but I’ll save it for a future post because I think it’s important to note the role meds have played in my situation.
This leads me to drugs, sex, and prison. Have you seen Orange is The New Black? You can also add the show Wentworth to your list which is 100X better. Sorry Piper! You can find Wentworth on Netflix. The sex (if you’re into that sort of thing) is not raunchy like it is in OITNB. And there are certainly drugs involved, which will likely piss you off and make you cry in one episode. Lastly, both shows take place in prisons, which brings me to my audition. No, I didn’t really audition for OITNB, but I felt like I did.
So I’m feeling pretty good right? It had been a month since my last ER visit. Sarah and I went out to walk our dogs and came back to discover two police vehicles in front of our house. Yes, we shit our pants. We thought maybe our neighbors had something going on because we live in a cul-de-sac, so the police parking in front of our house wasn’t really a definite sign that we were in trouble. Nope, that wasn’t it.
Then we immediately thought about the pot--the wicked neighbor lady behind us must’ve reported us for smoking. I was shittin’ bricks people! I didn’t want to be known as a druggie. Poor little me from Kansasville, Wisconsin, never touched pot in her life, swore she never would. Then had to cave because her anxiety was so bad and nothing else was working. Dude, I was so scared. How would I ever survive prison? Would pot lead me other drugs? I was doomed.
I had it all planned out in a matter of seconds. I mean, I had to act fast. I’d write Sarah a letter every day. I’d read tons of books and go back to school. I’d offer to clean the inmates’ prison cells so I wouldn’t have to smuggle drugs into the prison via butt. Would that work? Maybe I could sell cigarettes. Turns out the cops weren’t there for the pot either. Phew.
Sarah instructed me to stay on the sidewalk with the dogs. I observed from a distance of about 25 yards. I couldn’t hear a single thing, but she later told me what was said. She walked up to the house and asked the officers why they were attempting to open our front door and looking through our windows without our permission. Apparently they can do what they want.
They greeted her with, “Is this the residence of Stephanie Ryckman?” Sarah replies, “What can I do for you and what does this concern?” Sarah totally gave them a hard time and played sassy wife. I love her for that. She wasn’t about to give them any information without getting more from them first. Smart lady. They asked her again, knowing full well her intentions. She eventually said that I was in fact, a resident of the household and again asked what they wanted.
“We have a warrant out for her arrest and need to speak with her.” Sarah’s jaw dropped and her heart sank. Not good, not good at all. This is hysterical right, because here we have some cops about to arrest me, after I just broke my house, my car, and hassled eight EMTs while they attempted to strap me to a gurney.
Sarah replies, “Okay. So um, yeah that’s not gonna work. She was having a bad day earlier and she’s on meds. Let me be the one to tell her.” So Sarah walks toward me thinking they were just going to hang back, but nope! They followed her.
She got to me a bit quicker then they did. In the calmest way ever, she said, “Hun, the police are here to arrest you. It’s going to be okay.” So it’s me, Sarah, and two police officers standing in a circle, fairly close to one another. I think they were preparing for a potential chase. As if little oI' me, who has never been in trouble, would run...from cops..with guns...and cars.
We had a small discussion and they told me charges were being pressed against me by one of the ER nurses that I apparently kicked in the face. I almost passed out. I had no clue what they were talking about. I was clueless. I had no memory of arriving at the ER, let alone kicking someone. I was in a mental health crisis for crying out loud! Who the hell presses charges against a patient in a crisis, especially hospital personnel trained in such scenarios?!
I remained calm though. Sarah still tells me she’s not sure how I managed to just casually walk over to the squad car and hold out my wrists for them. Truth is, I thought maybe prison would be good for me. If I really had kicked someone, then what else was I capable of?
I am handcuffed. Put in the police car. And taken away. I had no phone. No jacket. No money. And no pot. SML
The inside of a police car is so uncomfortable. I felt like my arms were going to fall off. They were so numb by the time we arrived at the jailhouse. We pulled into an underground parking garage and I was taken inside. I was searched. I was fingerprinted. My picture was taken, which they would not allow me to smile for, trust me I tried. My shoes were taken away. And though I didn’t get to wear an orange jumpsuit, I did get a nice pair of orange sandals.
All I wanted to do was call Sarah. It’s amazing how lost one can feel without a cell phone. Sad really. I looked around the room and saw a payphone. What the hell am I supposed to do with a payphone? I didn’t have any quarters. Furthermore, why was there a payphone? This all felt too real.
They finally told me how to call out. I hear this prompt and I’m supposed to state my name. This way, Sarah would know that it was her wife calling from prison. She could choose to answer and hear my plea, or never speak with me again. I immediately thought of an idea for a podcast: K-Town, the life of a Midwestern woman from podunk Kansasville, Wisconsin, who sold DIY pottery barn clocks, falsely accused of a crime she didn’t commit. A girl can dream.
I sat in a waiting area for a long time until I was finally able to speak to the Wizard of Oz. Actually she was the Magistrate, but whatever. She asked me what I was doing there. I told her I didn’t know. She asked me if I knew the person who filed charges against me and I told her I had never met him in my life. I had no memory of it so I was telling the truth. She noted I had no criminal record (DUH) and was very empathetic toward my personal situation. She understood why I ended up in the ER in the first place. She literally told me that I shouldn’t have been charged and that the case would be dropped. Could it be that easy? Would they really just drop the charges?
Before I leave you, let me just make sure that you understand that I have never been to prison. I have no idea what it’s like or how it changes a person. I know what the Wake County Jail taught me in less than two hours but I am in no way saying it compares. I hope you recognize my sense of humor. I have a very serious opinion about our justice system. I’ll share that later.
What’s in store for next week? The hilarious dialogue between me and Sarah as we drive home from the jail. You do not want to miss it. Subscribe to my blog and you’ll get an email every Wednesday with a link to my most recent post.
Until then, do your best to stay out of trouble.
I just want all people to learn and grow together.