Picking up where we left off from Barrieland: Am I Losing It? (Part 6)
Disclaimer: This is Part 7 in a Series. Please read the Full Disclosure Disclaimer on Part 1 before proceeding.
And then, if you haven’t read them yet, please read the previous posts before continuing to gain full context:
- Barrieland: The Complete Story (Part 1)
- Barrieland: Moving In (Part 2)
- Barrieland: Meet the Neighbours (Part 3)
- Barrieland: Ghosts, Ghouls & Other Things (Part 4)
- Barrieland: Home Alone (Part 5)
- Barrieland: Am I Losing It? (Part 6)
- Barrieland: Hello, I’d Like to Speak to a Medical Professional? (Part 7); You are here.
We last left off with a series of text messages between Mark a.k.a Skippy & I.
If any of you are wondering why I sometimes refer to him as Skippy, it’s because when I first met Mark he explained to me that that was his nickname prior to attending our high school.
I never actually call him this. Only in this series.
And as mad as I am at him for what he did to me, I’m mostly mad about the fact the he didn’t take my complaints about the upstairs tenants seriously and then, for reasons still unclear to me, called the police to my house without informing me and presumably allowed them to enter without my consent. I’m not sure what the law is regarding this when your landlord lives out of province, but I’m sure that’s how they were able to swing that, because otherwise couldn’t “officers” just enter your home all day every day any time they want without a warrant? I don’t know, because I’m not a cop.
But in the moments I stop being mad about all of this, I remember that he was a very young, stupid (I say this with affection), naive boy when we met, and I still often think of him as that.
So going back quickly to these random phone calls I’d get like this one:
In the week leading to my first encounter with Barrie/Simcoe County Police, I was getting not only bizarre phone calls from obscure numbers I didn’t know that were often from places not in Ontario, I was also getting texts from a lot of American numbers with out of context conversations.
I recall a couple in particular, which I regrettably don’t have copies of, but they went like this.
Random Text 1: Do you still like boats?
My response, something to the effect of: Sure, yeah.
Random Text 2: Something about a dog named Henry.
My response, something to the effect of: I like dogs, yeah.
Random Text 3: A photo of about 11 dogs and the text; This is Henry.
My response, something to the effect of: Henry is cute (it was in no way clear who Henry could be, I was messing with this person who was clearly messing with me; In the above photo recreation, I like to think of Henry as the 7th dog from the left).
Random Text 4: We’ll reconnect sometime around July/August instead of (other date).
My response, something to the effect of: Sounds great.
It would be clear to almost anyone reading this that I had no idea who this person was or why they were really messaging me.
Hello Barrie Po — Simcoe County Police?
Apparently there’s a difference? Who knew!
On the evening of June 25th, after returning home from my walk to get some fresh air after my text-based spat with Skipper, I came home to find two uniformed police officers standing on my back patio.
When I approached them I noticed two things immediately; They had clearly already been in my apartment. 1) The back door was open to the screen only and 2) the lights were on inside the house.
I can’t recall the entire conversation we had, but it started with something to the effect of: Do you live here/Are you Jaimee?
I stood in front of the officers on the back patio trying to assess the situation. At this point I already had my verified concerns that people were entering my house without my consent and now, I was looking at very real proof of that; but these were cops. I’m not sure the right way to approach this situation because I’ve never been in it.
They did not identify themselves by badge or show me any identification. They did however give me their first names, but I can’t recall them now.
Dakota parked himself between the officers and I on the patio, which is strange for Dakota because typically when he meets new people, especially men, he begins to bark until he can sniff them out and determine if they are safe. He didn’t do that with these officers which told me they may have met before; but these officers were brand new to me, so how or when could Dakota have met them?
These two cops were younger guys and as they asked me a couple questions about myself and my home and said something to the effect of “someone called us here to check on the house”, (which, weird, right?) I noticed something else and I interrupted them to tell them: You two are standing awfully close to me.
They were infringing upon my personal space and I in no way felt comfortable in the presence of these officers. Like, literally I could almost smell these dudes breath, that’s how close.
They seemed a little startled by my comment and both took a step back, but were still frankly too close for comfort.
At this point I still had no real understanding of why they were there, if they were there to help me or hurt me.
They never explained why they went into my house, and yes, I did mention it.
But while they were there, I explained to them that earlier that day I had received a strange voicemail and I asked them if I could play it for them. They said yes.
I played the voicemail on speaker after explaining that it really freaked me out; It was the voicemail I talked about previously in this series, with a clown-like tone that said: Jaimee, I’m coming to get you.
After it played one of the officers remarked, “Yeah, that is a creepy voicemail” but he said so in such a way that I didn’t believe he really thought so while nodding to his partner as if they already knew about it.
Our conversation ended shortly after this and the officers left me without any incident, and again, without in any way explaining why they were really there or why and what they had done in my apartment.
Feels like, super safe when cops do that you guys. Like, super safe. This is sarcasm. It’s actually terrifying.
When this type of thing happens to people of colour or mentally ill people, they end up getting shot; Fortunately, I’m a white girl, so it just kept me up all night instead.
Later that evening while back in my apartment I began to experience odd symptoms again and my text-messages with Skippy resumed with me now much more irate.
At this point, I felt as though the officers that visited me were these friends of Skippy’s that he kept mentioning; like I said, they were younger dudes and one was kind of an asshole, so exactly the kind of cop I’d assume Skip to be friends with.
I played it safe with Skip on the text messages; I knew I’d never speak to him again after moving out of this basement apartment from Hell that he coerced me into renting from him.
Around 10:42 I sent him a text, the last for the night, saying, essentially, “sorry if I scared ya earlier with those messages”.
I was fine, and didn’t feel in immediate danger at that time.
Nothing Good Happens After 2AM
But I couldn’t sleep at all on this night. I was a bit of a nervous wreck and my symptoms were coming back quickly as far as the dehydration goes and general discomfort of this house.
There’s a popular phrase that says, “nothing good happens after 2am” and I think it pertains to drinking laws; nothing good happens after last call.
I believe in this phrase like no other after becoming sober.
Sometime quite early in the morning on June 26th, say around 2:30AM or so, I was so uncomfortable in my apartment that I knew I needed once again to take a walk to get some fresh air.
I harnessed up Dakota and I packed a bag with some spare clothes in case it started to rain; I wasn’t sure how long I’d remain out of the house while I mentally unpacked everything that had been going on.
I also grabbed a small Ikea knife from the drawer and put it in my backpack, worried if I might encounter some Barrie-drug addicts at this hour of the day in what is a very dark neighbourhood.
I’ve never used a weapon on anybody, and I certainly never have an intent to, but I very much felt like I was alone in this, whatever it was, and needed something other than Dakota to protect myself and him.
We walked around the neighbourhood for a while while I tried to calm myself down, worried I might just be having a minor panic attack that was elevating my heart rate.
One thing I hadn’t brought with me on this walk was any water or any sort of liquid, and my dry mouth was starting to worry me most of all.
Prior to this walk, in my apartment I had had about a quarter or so of a blue Gatorade in my fridge; but as I’ve mentioned earlier in this series, sometimes I’d come home and notice my otherwise uniform diet-pop collection was out of place and I had begun to suspect that someone might be exchanging my pop for other pop, and I wasn’t trusting a lot of it. At bare minimum, they were taking a few to drink themselves.
So I made my way out of the residential streets and onto the main road the led to Shoppers Drug Mart; I knew they were likely closed but wanted to check: the lights were on in the store, of course likely for late-night stocking, and I tried the doors anyway.
They were locked.
I wanted to buy a bottle of water but there is no where near my house that you can do this in a hurry, and now I was legitimately concerned for my health as my symptoms seemed to worsen.
I began to walk home again but then I was worried that if something happened to me in my apartment, how long might it be for anyone to notice I was missing? I rarely if ever had visitors, and the upstairs tenants hated me.
So I dialed 9-1-1.
When I got through to dispatch I explained the situation: I think I might need an ambulance; I may have been drugged.
And of course, I explained my symptoms.
Dispatch told me an ambulance was on the way and told me to stay where I was. I chose a well-lit part of the sidewalk across from a house that had a blue light shining through it’s window. In my mind, this was the smartest place to stand. I also took a minute to walk to the nearby street and tell dispatch the actual street names that were closest to me, and the one in which I stood.
I started to feel a little better knowing someone was coming for me, and dispatch remained on the line with me.
While I stood on the sidewalk, a police cruiser drove past me; I mentioned this to dispatch.
Me: A police cruiser just drove by.
I didn’t think they saw me, and besides, I was actually expecting an ambulance and I expressed this to the woman on the phone who assured me, yes an ambulance was coming.
The cruiser turned around and found me; and now there were 2 of them.
A short while later, an ambulance arrived with 2 medics.
I know had 4 people in front of me standing in front of their vehicles and Dakota and I stood on the sidewalk confused and a little disoriented, but completely aware of our surroundings.
There was a female cop with blonde hair who’s face appeared beat red, even in the dark, and puffy and she had “tattoos” which looked fake, like fake sleeves, but they were probably just really lame tattoos.
There was a male cop with black hair who repeatedly through the following exchange brought his mask down as if to reassure me in some way.
There was a male medic with squinty eyes.
And another male medic with light-coloured and very short hair. This is the man who would in a few moments time place a medical device on me to check my heart rate and presumably, blood glucose levels.
Dakota was just as confused about this encounter as I was, and I spent a good deal of time also trying to reassure him while I spoke to all of these professionals.
When dispatch knew help was in front of me, she and I got off the phone.
Now, I have personally never called for an ambulance for myself or anyone else in my entire life; I don’t include my July 30th, 2020 medic visit in this because I was not the one who made the initial call, though I did request it.
I don’t remember the entire exchange I had with these people but I do remember a couple key details.
- I didn’t necessarily think I needed to go to a hospital and I expressed that. I re-explained my symptoms to the medics and told them I had felt these symptoms before but was unclear what caused them; those symptoms being: elevated heart rate, dry mouth, a little foggy/unclear feeling in my head, and so on.
- I explained to them that I do not do drugs or drink alcohol and was sober.
- At one point, the female officer said to me they needed to take my dog. I was absolutely against this and explained that if for whatever reason these people needed to take me to a hospital, I could take my dog home first.
- They asked me where I lived and seemed to be unfamiliar with the area, or they were pretending. I explained we were only a couple blocks from my house.
- The female officer wanted to prove she could “handle” my dog and we tested this theory; I handed over the leash and Dakota made it very clear he did not like or trust this woman; I’d later assert in my e-mail to the Barrie Police and York Regional police that I did not believe this woman knew how to handle dogs.
- The medic with the short light-coloured hair who put the equipment on me walked me through what he was doing, explaining in as much detail as he felt necessary what it was all for. Checking my heart, and so on.
- At one point during this he checked my blood pressure and while doing so I began to lose feeling in my left hand. I expressed this calmly, “I don’t know what you are doing right now but I am losing feeling in my hand.” He immediately stopped the device and my hand went back to ‘normal’. This was a sort of similar feeling to what happened to my hand earlier that evening but, there was nothing on my arm at the time to have caused it then.
- The other medic was also trying to speak with me through this and help explain things, helping his medic partner where he could. When they concluded the tests with the equipment, telling me everything seemed fine, they even printed out a long piece of paper that was white and pale-pink with the information on it for me to look at as if to verify their findings. I of course, have no idea how to read such a paper, but kept this for a couple days.
- All of the professionals before me seemed to be getting tired with how long we were on the street talking. They told me again we would be going to the hospital, and I can’t recall if this is because I said I wanted to or if it was something they kept implying needed to be done since “I had called them” which is something the female officer said more than once during this exchange.
- When I refused to let Dakota ride in the police cruiser with the police woman, I explained I could walk home and they could all follow me. They did not like this idea. Instead, I then said, if I needed to go in the ambulance then Dakota would come in the ambulance with me. The medics expressed that this was not allowed and I calmly expressed that then, again, I would walk him home. Instead, the medics allowed me to bring my Bernese Mountain Dog into the ambulance. A funny sight, to be sure.
- When we walked over to the back of the ambulance for Dakota and I to get in, a strong odour of marijuana came out of the ambulance, and I remarked: “What’s that? It smells like weed.” – I shouldn’t have to explain why an ambulance should not smell like weed especially at approximately 3AM.
- The medic, not the one who had done most of the testing at this point, told me it wasn’t weed, and I remarked, “Really? Because I have been around weed my whole life and that’s what it smells like to me.” He tried to play it off like it was something else entirely that would be normal to be in an ambulance.
- Before getting in the ambulance I made one more request; I did not trust these medics now for the obvious reason, and so I turned to the cop who had lowered his mask for me repeatedly and otherwise had not said much during this entire interaction. I said, “I’ll go in this ambulance with Dakota, but only with this medic in the back (the high one) and this cop (the male). They complied. The more I think about all of this the stranger the exchanges were.
- The medics wanted me to get into the ambulance first and so I did. They also wanted me to sit in the chair that faces out the back of the ambulance. I refused this and instead said Dakota and I would sit on the bench at the side of the ambulance. They complied. The male officer sat in the chair instead, and the high medic sat beside me, remarking as Dakota jumped up onto the bench, “Oh wow he’s really just gonna sit right up there.” Yes he is, thank you. The medic sat beside us, to our left.
- The other medic drove the ambulance and I did not believe him to be impaired like the other one. The female cop followed us in her cruiser; I was still unsure why so many people had come to this call, especially as the medic had now told me, I was totally fine.
- While in the ambulance I said to the medic and officer, “Sorry, let me get my mask on, I feel silly not wearing mine since you are both wearing yours.” The medic responded, “Actually, they won’t let you into the hospital with your mask” and handed me one of their blue masks instead from a box across from us. Which, to me seems all sorts of silly because my mask is way better quality and offers better protection, but sure.
- We drove back to my house and the trip seemed to take far longer than it should have. I suspect they went around the block once if not twice. When we got there, Dakota and I got out and I took him into my apartment alone. While inside, after reassuring Dakota I would be back soon to feed him breakfast, I took the knife out of my backpack and put it back in the drawer; didn’t want any of these cops to think I was trying to start something. I also grabbed my gatorade from the fridge and put it in my backpack, just in case I needed a little pick-me-up.
- When I came back out of the house with my backpack still full of fresh clothes, just in case I got cold or something, the female officer now wanted to search my backpack. I actually assisted her with this as she struggled to open the zippers, helping her look through and note that there was nothing suspicious in my bag. Again, this is after all of the other conversations I had had with these officers and medics. Probably would have been wiser to check it before if it was in any way really necessary, right? Like before I got in the back of the ambulance with my giant well-trained dog? Just saying.
- I got back in the ambulance and resumed my position on the bench beside the medic who kept giggling, to the point where I remarked to him, “are you laughing right now?” and he said he was. Obviously, I knew he was, and he appeared to still be a little high.
- At this point I turned my attention to the officer in the chair and I had been noticing his demeanour seemed a lot different from the others. His eyes were watery and he seemed upset. I asked him, “Are you okay?” and he said he was but he appeared to be holding back tears. I’d ask him this again somewhere along our trip to the hospital, and again he said he was alright, nodding his head as he did so. I didn’t feel convinced and wondered now why we were both in this ambulance, even though I had requested he be there.
- I spoke to the medic mostly while we drove; I didn’t know how far the hospital was from where we started. At one point, again, concerned for the officer, I looked up at the big yellow-encased clock that faced him; this clock sits above the back-double doors facing towards the front of the ambulance. I asked about the clock, something like, “Is it just a clock?” and what I meant was, “I bet there’s a camera in there.” I’d never been in the back of an ambulance before, it’s a little weird, but at least I wasn’t on the stretcher.
- When we finally approached what I assumed to be the hospital I asked another question, “How would I know we’re actually at a hospital?” I said this as we entered a parking-garage like structure and could see 2 other ambulances out of the small window space. The medic said something to the effect of, “it is a hospital” and I left it at that.
- Everyone seemed relieved we had made it to the hospital, and when I got out I noticed the female cop was still with us, for reasons I’m still unsure.
All 4 professionals escorted me into the hospital.
When we got inside, they told me to sit in the waiting area by the reception desk. At this point, the male cop left down a hallway, barely even saying goodbye to anybody else involved, kind of like a, “Alright, my work is done. Later!”
The other 3 seemed to not quite know what to do at this point.
One of the medics put a bunch of white patches on my skin (I can’t recall if he did this while we were on the sidewalk, or already at the hospital), the patches were not connected to anything and were basically just like little white stickers. He put them on both of my ankles and on my wrists. I don’t think these do anything, but I have no idea.
As I sat in the waiting room I noticed what I always hate about hospitals; they are depressing as hell. There were patients in the middle of the hallways, cancer patients, elderly on stretchers, and people going through withdrawal including a long boy who couldn’t have been oder than like, 12.
I waited patiently and the cop and medics didn’t say anything to me until the receptionist called me up and they told me to go to the desk.
At this point I felt fine but confused about what was going to happen next. I was still quite thirsty and nobody had offered me water. Some service, Ontario health care system.
At the reception desk the woman asked for my health card which I handed over.
She also asked me for 2 emergency contacts, and this part is important: I gave her names that were not in any way my emergency contacts because at this point I felt like I had been duped/set-up/and should in no way have been admitted into this hospital where there were otherwise very real patients with very real issues being “cared” for.
I put “cared” in quotes because I spent a significant amount of time while I was here just listening to people scream out in pain, while I watched nurses do a whole lot of nothing about it.
I gave the receptionist Mark’s name and I gave her my sister’s name. I needed to go through my phone for both numbers.
When I’d later retell this part of the story to police via e-mail, I explained that I did this because I believed these people to be unwell and this was my strange way of getting them some of their own medical attention, but also, in case they called them, so that other people knew where I was, and as I’ve said before my sister is often up quite late so it seemed the smartest choice.
After I did this I was directed to another waiting area by one of the medics, and then, as I sat in a random chair by myself in this non-waiting room that was directly adjacent to the reception area, I noticed the medics and police officer begin to leave. I called out to them, remembering the stickers they put on me and said, “Did you guys forget about these? Can I take them off?” and the medic as he walked away responded, “Yep, yeah.”
I took them off fast and ended up scaring my leg in the process. I have several photos of this in various stages of healing; I was pissed off that these idiot medics seemed to bring me here for no reason, and now I had no idea who or what I was waiting for.
[EDIT: Sept 3rd updated photo]
So while I then waited in waiting room number 2, I started to walk around and read the information on the walls.
After quite a while, I was then told a room was ready for me an a doctor would see me shortly; I still wasn’t clear for what.
I now understand you’re not supposed to take photo or video while inside a hospital, but you have to understand that the circumstances that led me to being here, and the incredible amount of time I was left to my own accord here, I uh, got a little bored, and was still a little worried about why I was really there, so I did this to protect myself and collect evidence of my visit.
For a while I sat in the little room, waiting room number 3, thinking about that bit Jerry Seinfeld does about waiting rooms; “And then they bring you to.. another waiting room!” and watching the clock.
Over the course of my time here, I asked several nurses the same questions: How long would I be here, When will I see a doctor, and Why am I here at all?
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was having an existential crisis.
The nurses quite quickly grew irate with my questions and never answered them, instead repeating, “the doctor is busy and has other patients, he will be here soon, stay in your room.”
I have trouble listening to these types of commands when their reasoning has not been thoroughly explained, so instead I started to walk around.
Here are some things I found on my travels.
When I walked over to another area, noting a man on a stretcher asleep and several women and otherwise people in comfortable looking chairs, one woman in particular stood out to me and she noticed me looking at her. She was on her cell phone and when she looked up at me she began blinking at me rapidly, intentionally, as though to signal me in some way but I had no idea what this meant, so I went back to my room for a minute.
At one point I noticed the whiteboard in my actual room and I politely asked the nurses at the little reception desk beside me if they had any whiteboard markers so that I could fill out the information. They said no and told me to get back in my room.
When I was in this room I also played with the little computer in the room, but didn’t get very far, it had no games.
I of course did not take anything from the hospital but the amount of time I was left alone to do this type of thing, I very well could have stolen all of this equipment; I was wearing my backpack frequently while I walked around.
The nurses periodically would notice me slightly out of my room and tell me to get back in there, and I’d ask them again where the doctor was, but they couldn’t give me an estimate. Busy place.
While I was standing in my room looking out, I took note that a medic who looked a lot like that super high-medic from the ambulance kept running around in circles with a clipboard. It was the kind of walk that said, “I gotta look like I’m doing something” but because he kept running around in literal circles, I suspected he was just wasting time.
Okay, I’m Getting Tired Of You, Too
Clearly the nurses had at some point pegged me as a challenging patient even though no one had explained to me why I was there.
A security guard approached me at one point, a bigger lady with her hair tied back. She looked like a mall cop.
She put herself in front of my doorway and told me I needed to stay in my room.
I challenged her.
Me: Where is the doctor?
Her: The doctor is busy seeing other patients and will be here to see you soon.
She kept looking off down the hall beside us; also, I was not satisfied with this response as I had now heard it several times.
I was now irate.
She expressed again and quite sternly that I needed to stay in my room.
I said to her: Do you even know why I am here?
She responded: No, I don’t know why you’re here.
I was extra irate now. This woman had no business speaking to me.
Me: I was brought her because I suspected I was drugged, and this hospital let me bring in an open-bottle of blue-coloured liquid and did not even search me.
I am unsure if she understood what I was implying.
For the record, the blue liquid (Gatorade) can very easily pass for say, Hypnotique liquor.
Me, again: Where is the doctor?
The mall cop security guard looked down the hall as though she was getting an answer from someone who was just out of view from where I stood.
Her: The doctor —
Me: What’s his name?
Her: Dr. (she looked down the hall again) … Dr.. Bibbons? Bibbons will be here soon.
I found the name suspicious and knew I needed to get out of her as soon as possible.
Her: You need to stay in your room, I am going to close this door.
She put her hand on the door to close it and I held out my arm and stopped her.
Me: No you will not close this door.
Her: I need to. Why can’t I close it?
Me: In case I need to make a quick escape.
She backed up, leaving the door open.
Me, changing the subject: Nobody here has even asked me if I would like some water.
Her: Would you like some water?
Me, having suspected I was being drugged: Is it bottled?
Her: No it wouuld be from a tap. Would you still like some water?
Me: I would, yes.
She left briefly and brought back a cup of water from a tap.
Her: Stay in your room.
I sat down for a short time, periodically eyeing the water I had left on the table. I was genuinely thirsty as hell, but refused it. There was something seriously wrong with the way this entire morning had played out.
At some point I noticed a man leave down a hallway with an exit sign. Knowing I needed to get home to Dakota still, and it was passed his normal breakfast time, around 7AM.
I picked up the cup of water from the counter, and while internally apologizing to maintenance staff, threw it in the trash.
I grabbed my bag and walked tot he right following the exit signs I saw another man follow, which led out the front doors.
No one stopped me. Not even the a security guard standing at the table beside the doors I left out of. He didn’t seem to mind.
Me, internally, outside now: Well, that was easy. What now?