It did not take more than a day for the medical staff at the Hospital for the Insane to declare me unfit. After that, it was room after room. In the schematic, which was the way of this new world I was in, I would either one day leave cured or I would die here, shuffled again and again through different hospital rooms – measurements, tinctures, needles and assessments. It was like a board game and I the token. I was days and days through a series of startling white rooms. My fitness was tested, my teeth; I was checked for vermin. Even if there was some humiliation, still I found that I liked the quiet of the place. I had not expected madness to be so contemplative. I commenced to write as soon as they left me the time. I was given a room and allowed to move about the gardens and property.
