How My Panicked Trip to the ER Exposed a Major Flaw in Mental Health Care

As soon as the doctors confirmed there was nothing physically wrong with me, they sent me on my way—and I’m far from the only one who has been ignored.

Illustration by Amanda Baeza

I’m lying in an emergency room bed, wires and sticky pads clinging to my chest. My pulse zigs and zags across a screen. Fluorescent lighting illuminates my blue-and-white-striped hospital gown; my hands are folded neatly across my belly. My husband Dan is sitting with our sweet four-month-old baby girl in his lap. Claire is still wearing the white fleece pajamas with pink roses that I zipped her up in last night. They’re my favorites.