Sadly, Ellen found herself in a situation where the goal was to keep patients quiet and out of trouble.  Ellen was awakened the morning after her first electroconvulsive treatment for an ice bath.  Like all the other patients, she was restrained before being immersed, or she would have fought her way out.  Attendants, hardened to the misery they were inflicting, periodically poured in more ice. One particularly cruel attendant pleasured himself by holding the heads of screaming patients underwater.  Ellen was held under repeatedly.

Upon removal from their bath, patients were placed in heat cabinets for malarial treatment to raise their temperature, the theory being that the shock of going from ice to heat would jolt them into sanity.  Indeed, they did respond to the comfort of the heat, until they endured it long enough to get their body temperature over one hundred degrees, when they’d become stuporous.  That certainly calmed them, which counted as a cure.

The routine Ellen came to know was barbaric, though her husband paid a princely sum for it.  One Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, she had electroconvulsive treatment in the mornings.  Tuesdays and Thursdays she was subjected to ice baths and malarial treatment.

Three afternoons a week, Ellen along with the other unfortunate patients were scheduled for insulin shock therapy.  There was no differentiation among diagnoses.  Manic-depressives, as patients with bipolar disease were known then, schizophrenics, and depressives were all scheduled.  Unruly women or inconvenient wives were often committed should their menfolk have influential friends.

Ellen was routinely strapped to a stretcher and administered between one hundred and one hundred fifty units of insulin, shock being the goal. Soon, she be convulsing.  Revived with either intravenous or oral dextrose, she would be returned to the ward, dazed and confused.  The cruelest aspect was the wait in line watching other patient’s therapy in progress.  Weight gain was an unfortunate result.  In three months, Ellen gained sixty pounds, a fact that would devastate her.

Under the care of this system, Ellen went from being functional prior to the birth of her last baby, to postpartum psychosis, a condition that might have resolved with time and a return to normal hormones, to battered, dazed, and confused.

Having trusted her to the care of his colleague, Charles had not been allowed to visit.  When she’d been in care for four months, her doctor called with news that she was much calmer and ready for release.  Dr. Jones explained, “You’ll find your wife much calmer, but somewhat changed.  She may need some help at home for a while, but she will get back to herself in a few months, don’t you worry.  She shouldn’t have any more babies, so you might consider a hysterectomy for her, or there could be a recurrence of her illness.  She should do well once she’s back home.  Good luck to you.”

When Charles anxiously arrived for his wife, he didn’t recognize the portly woman in a shapeless, institutional gown awaiting him in the solarium of the facility.  Her short, straight hair fanned out in an arc as she sat humming and staring off in the distance.  He thought he’d been shown to the wrong patient, but was assured by the attendant, “This is Mrs. Evans.  She’s just put on a little weight and we had to cut her hair.”

Charles was devastated.  He loved his wife dearly and had delivered her into care, thinking their lives would resume when she was pronounced “cured.”  This woman bore little resemblance to the spirited beauty who’d always charmed him, despite her demands.  In truth, her spirit was what won him to her.  He felt like “his Ellen” had died.

He went to her. “Oh Ellen, I’ve missed you.”  He embraced her, but didn’t kiss her.  “Are you ready to go home?”

She looked blank for a bit, as though searching for an answer. “Home? Yes,take me home.”

Being an overindulged darling daughter had done nothing to prepare Ellen for dealing with life. Her life had always revolved around what she wanted and felt she deserved.  Her postpartum psychosis left her with no understanding of the irrational thoughts plaguing her. Having no control over her life disarmed her further.  Her outbursts and combativeness jeopardized her further.

One Tuesday morning after a particularly difficult night, Ellen was restrained and strapped to a stretcher.   Attendants rolled her into a treatment room where zombie-like women filed in and took seats on straight chairs before a screened area.  Some of the women were crying.  One twisted a handkerchief and others bit their nails.  Eventually, two were called behind the curtain.  The first broke into tears but the other just shuffled her way on.  Twenty minutes or so later, one was rolled out and Ellen was brought behind the screen.  The crying woman was assisted to a stretcher where she submitted to restraints, despite her pleas “Not today. Not today.  I’ll be good!”  An attendant continued without reassurance, fitting electrodes to her head and putting a shoe heel in her mouth.  In seconds, the woman convulsed, relaxed and convulsed again.  Ellen could smell feces and urine.  When the treatment was over, the woman was lifted by the attendants to a wheelchair, where she slumped as she was rolled out in her soiled clothes.

As quickly as possible, Ellen’s stretcher was rolled into position.  The attendants chatted amiably with each other about the upcoming weekend, not even speaking to Ellen about what was going on.  One checked her restraints while the other fitted electrodes to her head.  Ellen thrashed and screamed as they got her ready for her turn.  Unable to work loose, Ellen tried to bite one of the women and was slapped for her efforts.

“Bitch!  You tried to bite me!  I’ll teach you!  She slapped Ellen twice more and spoke to the other attendant.  “I am so sick of putting up with the rich bitches they keep draggin’ in here for us to tend to.  Ain’t none of ’em ever done nothin’ for nobody but themselves.  I’m gettin’ on in the laundry soon’s I can.  Least I won’t have to mess with trash like this.”

“I know,” the other woman answered.  “I’m gettin’ so I’d just soon knock ’em in the head as look at ’em.  I bet this one ain’t never done a day’s work in her life.  This ought to settle her right down.”  With that, she flipped a switch and Ellen convulsed.  After a moment’s wait, she turned the charge again, resulting in another convulsion and relaxation of her bowel and bladder sphincters.  Blood poured from Ellen’s mouth from where she’d bitten her tongue.  “Oh Lord, I forgot to put the block in her mouth and she bit her tongue.  We better keep an eye on her till it stops bleeding.  We don’t want to get put on report.”  With that, she put a rolled bandage in Ellen’s mouth and rolled her stretcher to the side.  “I sure hope this don’t get us in trouble.”  Ellen’s lay in her own soil as her head lolled to one side and the dressing soaked up blood.

When Ellen continued to scream obscenities and threats despite her restraints, Matron came with attendants who held her while Matron injected her into silence.  Ellen had no way of knowing, but it was more than thirty-six hours before she woke on a locked ward with numerous other patients.  She was vaguely aware of a giggling presence patting her face.  She slapped, eliciting a high-pitched squeal.

“Awake and making trouble already, are you?  This will calm you down.” A bitter elixir was forced into her mouth.  When she spewed it out, a resounding slap rung her left ear. “You’ll do as you’re told here, Miss, or pay the price.”  She couldn’t see through her fog, but another injection soon stung.

When she finally aroused, she was a different woman, listless, out of touch with any world she knew.  The former Ellen would have railed at the locked ward, the pitiful humanity she shared it with.  A naked woman smeared feces on a wall; another rocked a rag baby, crooning to it.  Another repeatedly walked into a wall, calling, “Alice? Alice? Alice?”

Though Ellen had always been a haughty, superior sort who’d snubbed many, it’s unlikely any would have wished this Hell on her.  Dr. Evans had called his colleague several times to check on her and been told, “She’s calm and progressing well, but expect a lengthy stay.”

Things were settling back to a new normal at home.  Charles had brought Charley home to be reunited with Cora, Josie was enlisted to live in and care for Ginny, and he’d been able to get back to work.  The boys were old enough to be occupied with school, sports, and their friends, so their lives were not disturbed.  Charley and Ginny thrived in the loving environment.  Charles missed Ellen, but hoped she wouldn’t disturbed the peace on her eventual return home.

Reality hit when the matron showed Ellen to her room.  Though the sanitarium was on a beautiful estate with park-like grounds, Ellen hadn’t given thought to the high brick wall, surrounding it.  As the matron showed her to her room in an annex to the main building, she found none of the luxury she expected.  She found an unmade narrow bed with folded white cotton linens, two cotton blankets, and one pillow.  The only furnishings were the bed, a writing table and chair, and a four-drawer chest.  A small closet had six hangers attached to the rod.  The window had ornate metal bars.  To add insult to injury, the communal bathroom and showers at the end of the hall served the twelve rooms in her buildings.  She’d have her meals in the dining room when the bell rang at seven a.m., twelve noon, and six p.m.

Ellen was furious!  Though Charles had told her she was going away for rest and relaxation, she constructed a luxurious resort and spa in her mind.  This was an asylum for the insane, even though she had no clue it was a far cry from the typical state hospital.

She raged at the matron, “This is a crime!  I am not crazy!  Call my husband to get me out of here.  I was tricked!”

“You are not helping yourself,” the matron told her firmly.  You are here to recover.  The doctor will see you in the morning.  Get your bed made, put your things away, and you can rest till the bell rings for dinner.  The other patients will show you to the cafeteria. In the morning…..”

Ellen came totally undone screaming at the matron.  “Make my bed!  Make my bed!  I’ve never made a bed in my life, you crazy bitch!  Let me out of here!”  She flew at the stalwart woman and found herself lying on the floor.  Two attendants stepped in and strapped her to the bed.

The matron remarked, “Mrs. Evans, you aren’t helping yourself.  Someone will be back to check on you later.”  She left Ellen thrashing and screaming.  The attendants followed, taking the bed linens and furniture with them.