This is the next section of how I ended up in a state run psychiatric hospital and my experiences there.

A nurse took me out of the common room and down a short hall way and into fairly small room.  She stayed with me.  This doctor came in.  I had not seen him before, nor did I know his name, I just knew he was the medical doctor.  He looked over my medical files and did not say much too me.  He saw how much medication on was on and started rapid firing questions to me about why I took what I did and exactly what doses I really took.  I did ask him about  my Restless Leg Syndrome medication my husband brought.  I wanted to know if he would write the order for me to be able to take my own medication so that I could be more comfortable.  He said he would.  He wanted to know how long I had had diabetes and I told him that I had been diagnosed over a  year ago.  He then stated that he did not believe that I had any diabetic complications because I had not had diabetes for long enough.  So then I had to explain to him that due to uncontrolled asthma I had been on steroids for about two years (steroids mess up your blood sugar results) so no one noticed I had diabetes until then.  Then he got to the part where it said I was on 30 units of Lantus.  Lantus is a long acting insulin, you give yourself a shot of it every evening.  He told me it was too much lantus and then accused me of lying about the amount I was supposed to take.  He wanted the phone number of the pharmacy I used so he could call and verify that I was taking the proper amount.  He then said he felt I was taking 30 units of Lantus to try and gradually kill myself.  At this time I do not get my Lantus from a pharmacy.  A free clinic I have been going to set it up with the manufacturers of Lantus for me to get a year’s worth for free.  The manufacturers of Lantus send it directly to the free clinic and that is where I pick it up.  I told him that he was more than welcome to call the free clinic if he wanted to, but 30 units of Lantus is less than I used to take.  I used to have to give myself 40 units.  I do not think he believed me, but he also never did call the clinic I had been using.  I felt kind of humiliated after I saw him.  He treated me like and spoke to me as if I was a piece of dirt.  Never in my life have I had a doctor talk to me that way.  When he finished saying what he had to say, he walked out.  The nurse escorted me back to where the rest of the patients were, just in time for lunch.

I am not going to say much about the lunch. They finally had my trays marked for a diabetic patient and thank God for the salad and orange jello on my plate.  The same lady that had stood over me and took the food off of my tray at breakfast time, did the same thing at lunch.  Everyone else had cake, I got an extra helping of orange jello.

After lunch there was more boredom.  We still had our psychologists to see.  By the time mine called me into an office and talked to me I was so bored that I was actually glad to see him.  He asked me how I was doing on the new medication, I was doing fine with it.  He said that he was going to have the dosage increased on Sunday.  He asked me if I took the medication he had prescribed to help me sleep.  I explained to him that I had not because it would have made my Restless Leg Syndrome worse and since I had not been able to take that medication the night before, I did not want my legs feeling worse.  He asked me if I was having anymore suicidal thoughts.  Of course I said no.  Seriously, even if I had, I would not have told him yes.  An answer like that would have extended my stay.  I explained to him again about how I ended up there.  How I took ten extra beta blockers and had tried to call my counselor to get into see her, before things got worse, and the next thing I knew a crisis team was at my house telling me I needed to be hospitalized, and that someone had told the emergency room doctor that I had taken fifty beta blockers.  After a very brief visit with him, I got to go back to being bored.

The lack of activities for a bunch of people who have been deemed mentally ill amazed me.  There was so much arguing and physical fights between the patients, that in my opinion it was caused from everyone being so darn bored.

Finally, we got to walk back to our regular unit.  One of the nurses announced that it was time for an outside break.  Everyone, including me, got very excited about a change of scenery.  However, I was not allowed to go outside.  Since I had just been admitted there the day before, I had not even gotten a status of any kind yet.  Without a status, I could not even take a walk outside, unless I was walking from one unit to the next.  More boredom.  At least with the majority of the women outside, it was much much quieter in the unit.

I got to speak to my husband while they were gone and he let me know he was coming to visit me the next day (Saturday) and my brother and sister-in-law would be coming with him.  I was very excited.

More boredom, yucky supper, and then bed.

At about four in the morning I woke up and much to my surprise one of the nurses was helping someone make the empty bed in my room.  I had a room mate.  She was a little cranky with the nurse, because the doctor who had admitted her had taken her off of all her psychiatric medications.  I do not know why he would do that, but that there are several possible explanations.  The medications she had been taken may have quit working and with some of the psychiatric medications you have to get the old ones out of your system before you start on new ones, the doctor may be trying to figure out what other medication to give her that works better, and finally she may not have needed the medications at all but instead was addicted to them.  I have learned that many of the psychiatric medications are highly addictive and are often abused.  If you know the right things to say to a doctor, they are also fairly easy to obtain.  The doctor had said she could have an anti-anxiety medication, the same one that I was being given, and it is one that is not addictive.

She went to bed, I remained up and attempted to enjoy my quiet time……unfortunately, another patient saw to it that I could not.

To be continued…

Scariest Time In My Life – Part VII
Back to Part V

This is the next section of how I ended up in a state run psychiatric hospital and my experiences there.

The building I was in had men on one side an women on the other side.  There was a small dining room but no kitchen.  Our meals were brought over by a truck.  On the women’s side the nurse’s station was set up in the middle of the area with a glass partition that went almost to the ceiling.  On one side of the nurses area, was an open area with couches, a TV, the pay phone and a room with a washer and dryer.  The other side had a few chairs and a very, very heavy picnic type table with attached benches.  My room was very close to the nurses station, which provided me with some feeling of comfort. 

With my back against the wall, looking at all those women wandering around, some of them looking very odd, hearing loud voices and shouting, doing my best to not make any eye contact, I was feeling more scared than I have ever been in all of my life. I heard one of the nurses say “Mrs. Mashburn looks terrified”.

Two nurses nurses approached me.  They asked me to follow them into the bathroom and took me in a stall, where once again I was stripped search.  By this time I was feeling too afraid to get upset over yet another strip search so there were no tears this time.  I asked them if they had been able to obtain my medicine for my Restless Leg Syndrome (RLS) and I was told no, that they did not have any.  I was given a brown paper bag, that had a cheese sandwhich and a little carton of milk in it.  I only took two bites of the sandwich, because I did not have much of an appetite.  A nurse went through my bags and took things like my shampoo, and deodorant and put them in the “contraband closet”, and I was only allowed to keep one change of clothes, the rest went into another closet.  The nurse explained to me that I could only get items from the contraband closet when the door was opened, three times a day, so if I needed anything for the morning, I had to plan accordingly.

The charge nurse brought me some linens for a bed and took me too my room.  More gray, and cinder block walls.  I was fortunate, because at that time I had no roommate and I was told they were going to try and keep me from having a roommate as long as possible.  Apparently, it showed on my information that I had an anxiety disorder that made it difficult for me to deal with all of those people and the nurses were trying to make it so I had a place I could go to get away from people.  The charge nurse was very nice and she told me she did not think I belonged there and said she did not think I would have to stay for very long.

In all those long hours since I had left the medical hospital, I had not spoken to my husband.  I was really missing him.  There was a pay phone in the general area of the unit, I used it to talk call my husband.  It was such a relief to hear his voice.  I felt so much better after I talked to him. Just hearing his voice and hearing how much he loved me made me feel better. Since the hospital did not have my RLS medication, my husband offered to drive two hours and bring me mine.  That way at least the nurses could administer it to me that way.  Even though he had driven all that way to bring it too me, I still was not allowed to take any off it.  The doctor did not call them back and have them write up the proper orders until the next morning.

Since I had not been able to take a shower for days, I decided to get my shampoo when the contraband closet opened and take a shower.  I was in for a treat!  I had to put on the same type of sandals that prisoners wear in jail and enter a shower stall that had no curtains or door.  Anyone who walked back to that part of the restroom could see me in all my glory as I showered.  Needless to say, it was the quickest shower I have ever taken.  One of the things I kept thinking, is that between the strip searches and no privacy when you showered, that being mentally ill and in a psychiatric hospital is a very humiliating experience.  Not to mention, I was still very angry over how I had gotten here in the first place.

It was no surprise to me, but I got absolutely no sleep that night.  Being in a new place, frightened and not having my RLS medication just made me miserable.  I got up at about four in the morning.  It was peaceful at that time.  All the other patients were sleeping, the TV was off and the nurses who worked on this shift spoke in whispers.  I also realized that we could start taking showers at five in the morning and I was still the only one up.  That became my routine.  Getting up at four in the morning and then rushing to get my shower done by five in the morning so that I would have some privacy during my shower time.

When it was time for breakfast, I followed everyone to the dining area and got my tray and milk.  When I first sat down there was no on at the table with me, but after a few minutes the rest of the chairs filled up.  I still did not have much of an appetite so I sort of picked at my powdered eggs, and drank my milk and apple juice.  As soon as a one of the other patients realized I was not going to eat my food, she started standing over me, and began to take food off of my tray.  She did not ask, or even say a word, she just took what she wanted, which was everything.  Since she was much bigger than me, I just let her take what she wanted without saying anything either.

After breakfast, we had about an hour before we went to another building for our “groups” and that was where the doctor’s would see the patients.  There was absolutely nothing to do, but watch TV.  While we had been at breakfast, someone had come through and locked the doors to our rooms.  I found a seat near the nurses station (for safety reasons) and parked myself there.  I started observing all the other patients.  Some of them were very high functioning, others could not even bath themselves, and a few could not or would not talk.  I noticed one woman, in her twenties, who was being followed by a nurse everywhere she went, and every few minutes the nurse following her would write down some notes about her.  It did not take long to figure out why this was being done.

The woman’s name was Angel.  I am not sure how long she had been in the hospital, but I believe it had been for quite some time.  I have no idea what her diagnosis was, as she was incapable of telling anyone and of course the nurses would not say.  I just know after watching her for a bit that she was delusional, and violent.  As I was watching her that first morning, even with the nurse following her, she went up to another nurse and punched her in the head.  The nurses there cannot really do anything back to a patient, otherwise they could be arrested.  Angel ended up hitting several other staff members repeatedly and several times she was given injections of medication that was supposed to calm her down.

Right before it was time to head over to the other building for groups, we were given our morning medication.  That is when I started on my new anti-depressant and anti-anxiety medications.  I could see my RLS medication that my husband brought, but the doctor still had not called with the orders yet.  After I took my medicine I went and got in line for the walk over to the “groups” building.  Before we headed over a nurse took the time to let me know that it was in my best interest if I went to the groups no matter what the topic was about even if it did not apply to me.  A list of people who attend the “groups” is kept and your file is marked if you have attended one.  The doctors like it better if they see you have been trying to get along with other people and attend the groups. &nbsp
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The men went over to this other building as well, so there were a lot of crazy people in a confined area.  Some of them were much more noticeable than others.  There was Moss, who had a little problem keeping his hands to himself when he was around women.  Once, and I mean only once, he tried to get a handful of boob from me, I gave him the stink eye and he did not try again.  Another time, when he was sitting across from me during a group, he looked at me and said “I am the Devil, Fuck You!”  After telling my sister-in-law about that, she said she thought it would make a good facebook status.  There was a romance started, and a woman dumped her fiance for the young man she met in the crazy person hospital.  Angel went around punching more staff members, was given more injections and finally was set off in a room by herself.  Most of the people, men and women, that I met in there, were in there for drug and/or alcohol problems.  I was a most unusual patient for them, as I do not drink at all and the only drugs I use are the ones my doctors prescribe me.

When we were not in “groups” we had nothing to do but sit and wait around for a doctor to see us.  I was scheduled to see the medical doctor and the psychologist sometime that day.  There was nothing to sit on in the general population area, so those of us who wanted to sit had to sit on the dirty floor.  Again, I chose to sit near the nurses station.  Because there was absolutely nothing to do, people got on each other’s nerves.  Quite a few fights broke out, mostly between the men.  Once the fights were broken up the people involved were allowed to stay in the area where we all were and most of the time they would start fighting again.

Finally, I was told that the medical doctor was ready to see me.  That was a strange experience by itself.

To be continued…

Scariest Time Of My Life – Part VI
Back to Part IV

This is the next section of how I ended up in a state run psychiatric hospital and my experiences there.

As I suspected, I had a very sleepless night in ICU.  There was a guard in my room, all that night.  I ignored him the best I could.  I was still pissed off at how things turned out.  I wanted to go home.  I was miserable.

A doctor came to examine me in the morning.  Everything was fine, he said I had to stay hooked up to the heart monitors to satisfy the psychiatric hospital.  He then let me know I was going to be moved to a room on the regular floor, for one more night’s stay, and the next day I would be transferred to the psychiatric hospital.  Other than that, the doctor would not talk to me.  What I did not know at the time, is that none of the doctors or nurses would give any information to my husband either.  What I did not understand yet, is that once you have been 10-13nd, you considered incapable of making medical decisions for yourself, and basically whatever hospital you are in has “custody” of you.

Shortly after the doctor examined me I was transferred over to the regular floor, my guard following me over to the new room.  It was at this point that I found out that if I wanted to go to the rest room that I had to wait until a nurse could come into my room and watch me.  As far as I was concerned it was just another humiliating thing I was going to have to endure.  I know this next part is going to sound silly, but at the time it was a serious concern for me.  It is hard enough for me to urinate with someone watching, I am mentally incapable of having a bowl movement with someone watching.  So I quit eating while I was in the medical hospital.  It was not all that difficult to do, considering how nervous, scared and pissed off I was, I really had no appetite anyway.

The guard I had that afternoon felt it was his duty to prepare me for the transfer to the psychiatric hospital.  He let me know that I would be going in a deputy sheriff’s car, riding in the back, as if I were a criminal.  He told me that I might be able to wear my own clothes, that the deputy who would take me would be the one to make that decision.   Finally, he told me that because of the sheriff’s department policy, I would have to be handcuffed.  The shock that I was in deepened, my fear became stronger, and the thought that kept going through my head was, “This would not be happening, if I had not called someone for help.”  I quit talking after that.

That evening, when it came time for me to take my medication for my restless leg syndrome (RLS), I was again given a dose that was less than half of what I am supposed to take.  I asked the nurse who brought it where the rest of it was, and told her that all my medications were brought over from ICU and she needed to check and see what my dosage was.  Her response was to roll her eyes and to let me know either I took what she brought and quit complaining or she would not give me anything for my RLS.  I got on my cell phone and called my husband and told him what was going on, and the nurse left my room, taking the smaller dose of my medication with her.  I was so very angry.  She came back in and told me that the doctor’s orders were for that smaller amount and there was nothing I could do about it.  I believe it was about that point when I said very loudly “that just because I was 10-13nd, did not mean that the doctor or anyone could make medical decisions about me without telling me what was going on.  My husband was still on the phone and he told me he was going to come back to the hospital to see what he could do.  The guard then told the nurse that if this was going to be how I was going to behave, then he was going to take my cell phone away and not let me have visitors.

When my husband was just about to my room, the guard left my room to speak to my husband.  Apparently, the guard told my husband to calm me down so that I could still have visitors and to make their job easier.  My husband went to the nurses station and asked where my bag of medications was.  That is when we found out that between ICU and the regular floor (which by the way are technically on the same floor), my medication bag was lost.  After an hour of searching, my nurse found it.  After verifying on the RLS medication bottle and realizing that I was correct about the dosage, she called the doctor.  At that point my husband spoke with the doctor and let him know that just because I was 10-13nd did not give anyone the right to change my medication dosage because they were unfamiliar with treating people at that dosage amount.  He also asked the doctor why my other medications had not been administered either.  At that point, my husband found out that as a general rule in that hospital, if you are admitted because you are suicidal they take away all of your medications, and only let you have them back gradually.  After much discussion, my husband was able to convince the doctor that it would be a good idea to let me have all my medications, in the dosages I was supposed to.

After another sleepless night, the day that I was dreading arrived.  The day I was going to have to be handcuffed and transported to the psychiatric hospital.  I spent most of that morning crying and thinking over and over again, how this would not have happened if I had not made that phone call for help when I knew I was headed for trouble.  What helped me pass part of the morning was that I was able to get a hold of a friend on my phone using the msn messenger that is on my phone.  He said some encouraging words, told me I would get through this and everything would be ok.

The doctor came into my room to do one final examination before it was time for me to go.  He asked me how I was feeling and I told him I was “pissed off”.  I also told him I felt like I had been railroaded in there, all because I had tried to call my counselor to get help when I realized that I was in trouble and wanted to stop things before they got worse.  His response shocked me.  He told me that anyone who took fifty beta blockers needed to go to a psychiatric hospital, because I could have died.  I remember saying “fifty beta blockers”, and his reply was “yes, that is what I heard you took”.  I let him know that his figure was inaccurate, and told him I took at the most eleven, my regular dosage and ten more. And that before I took anymore I had tried to get a hold of my counselor and some how ended up here.  My only guess is that the crisis team psychologist told him that I had taken fifty beta blockers.  By now I am feeling that  if I ever do get to that point again, there is no way I am going to call anyone for help, and that the attempted suicide will be successful.  

My husband and daughter showed up a bit later to tell me they loved me and to tell me goodbye.  We found out then, which hospital I would be going to, and my husband was given a copy of the address and phone number.  We decided that my husband would take my medications home with him, so that they would not get lost again.  Soon after they left, the nurse came in and told me I would be leaving shortly and the deputy who was taking me said I could wear my own clothing.  Even though I had already been stripped searched and my bags had already been searched several times, the nurse had to watch me get dressed and the guard had to go through my bags.

After I got dressed, I sat on my bed, trying to maintain control of myself.  The nurse came in with a giant white pill and said that the doctor wanted me to take a potassium pill because my blood work showed my potassium was low.  I did not want to take it.  The nurse asked me if I needed anything and I said “No, just leave m
e alone”.  I am guessing that the guard took that to mean that I was going to become a problem, because he stood up and told me I had no choice but to take the pill.  (I did find out later, that 10-13nd or not, no one could force me to take any medication against my will)  I took the pill.  The guard must have also decided that I would become a problem when the deputy showed up to transfer me, because I heard him use his radio to call another guard to my room as back up.

The deputy gets to my room.  He tells me it is time to go.  He gets my bags.  We start walking down the hall.  I am waiting for him to stop and handcuff me.  I ask him if he is going to handcuff me because I had been told that he would have to.  His answer did make me feel some better.  He said “that as long as I did not give him any problems he did not want to handcuff me.”  We are walking out of the hospital, and I realized he had parked his patrol car right in the drive through area of the hospital, so anyone who is coming into the hospital or leaving the hospital, or even just happens to look out their window can see me getting into the back of it.  More humiliation.  In my head I am still focusing on how things got to this point and how I will never call for help again, if this is the end result.

It took an hour to get to the psychiatric hospital.  There was really no conversation between me and the deputy.  That plexiglass thing that is used to separate the front from the back makes any type of conversation difficult.  As we were driving through the front gate of the hospital, the deputy did take the time to let me know that the more I cooperated with the doctors and staff the sooner I would get out of there.  We got to the intake building and I was on the verge of a panic attack.  I have an anxiety disorder anyway, and with all that had gone on the last few days, I think I was just on the verge of really and truly losing it.  I am not sure if the deputy sensed what was going on in my head or not, but he actually had us wait outside of the intake building for about ten minutes.  I think he was giving me time to get control of myself before we walked in.

The deputy took me inside the intake building, gave someone behind a glass partition my bags and I was told to have a seat.

To be continued…

Scariest Time Of My Life – Part IV
Back to Part II