Admission Process"Chelsea?"Admission Process by Molly-Snicklefritz
I looked up. The therapist that was in charge of my admission stood in the door of the lobby, smiling at me. "We're ready for you," she said.
I put away my knitting. I stood up and followed her silently out and down a taupe hallway to a set of double doors which she had to unlock with a key from a huge jangling set. She held open the door, and I ventured inside.
This was the adult unit, where I would spend the next five days. I was sat down in a chair beside a blood pressure stand. My purse was given over to the nurses.
A large Black man with a limp sat behind me and, as I watched, poked through my bag. His name was Cliff. He had a playful manner and went through my things with humor. "What in the world is this?" he asked, tugging out my knitting.
"That's a shawl I'm working on," I explained.
"No, sir, knitting."
"Ahhh." He picked through my purse's contents gently, with gloved hands. He pulled out my wallet, my ancient iPod, my box of knitting notions, my journal
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