I want to apologize for not having this out yesterday.  Up until last night I had not slept in two days and I was feeling out of sorts and could not concentrate yesterday as well as I needed to, to work on the blog.  Most likely, it is the anti-depressant that is causing me not to sleep.  However, since it is really helping with the depression I am not willing to stop taking it.  I see my psychologist at the end of the week and he and I had discussed the sleep issue last time I saw him, so I am thinking he will prescribe me something that will help me sleep.  It is also taking me a bit longer than usual to get the blog done today.  I keep dozing off as I am typing and I keep losing my train of thought. 

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

The nurse that took the time to talk to me that morning brought up several things that have actually helped me.  One thing she brought up is that the adult onset asthma, the diabetes and the diabetic complications  would be enough to make anyone depressed.  She also said that in some ways my depression was a sort of mourning for my loss of health.  Up until the time that all those illness started, I had been a basically healthy person.  The illnesses have had a huge impact on my life.  During all of that my son left home in an unexpected manner and I was mourning that relationship.  Years of being on steroids and other medications changed my body and I was mourning the loss of the body image that I had before.  There are also the hormonal changes of a woman my age, as it prepares to enter menopause in a few more years.  She told me there was nothing wrong with mourning all of those things, but combined also with brain chemistry changes and hormonal changes, I developed major depression.  She suggested a small ceremony of sorts where I put those things I am morning on pieces of paper and burn them, as a way of bringing closure.  Especially, for the things like the relationship with my son that has no closure.

She wrote down an exercise for me to do as a way to deal with the changes and loss.  Some examples of the of what was in that exercise were:  I used to be a/an _____________, Now I have time to ____________.
I miss most ___________________.  I look forward to_________________.  and  little essay for me to write based on this topic:  During this healing/grieving time, my brain chemistry dried up.  As it is being replenished…..

Between what she had I talked about and the exercise she gave me to do, it allowed me to put what has been going on with me into proper perspective.  It also gave me a valuable to tool to use when I encountered other difficulties. 

Once again a breakfast of powdered eggs came and went and with the weekend being over it was time for us to head to the day time unit.  I knew I was supposed to see the psychiatrist today and that my husband and sister-in-law were also supposed to meet with him.  I also knew that if things went well, there was a chance I could be sent home.

This time it appeared the nurses were going to be able to keep things organized and running smoothly and keep us all in a group so that there was not so much boredom.  I was even given a group schedule, with the topics being discussed in each group so I could pick and choose which room I wanted to be in.

The first group I picked for that day was something to do with Healthy Personal Habits.  Silly me thought it would have to do with personal habits to help combat mental illnesses or drug/alcohol addictions.  Instead, it was about healthy hygiene habits.  Oh like what do you do when you feel like you have to have a bowel movement.  No, I am not kidding, that was actually discussed.  Of course with the mix of characters in a small room, it was not long before someone made someone else mad, and there was a fight.  Because of the amount of people in the room and the table and chairs taking up so much of the space, it was very difficult to get out of the way.  I did manage to and I went out to the common area and sat on the floor by the nurse’s station and that is where I stayed.  While I was there a nurse let me know that my husband and sister-in-law had arrived and that he was going to go find the doctor so that he could talk with them.

Eventually, the doctor came and spoke with me.  He wanted to know how I was doing.  I told him that I was afraid to be there anymore, “that in my world, people do not go around hitting each other”, and “No, I did not have any suicidal thoughts.”  He took me out to where my family was.  It was so good to see them!  He told all of us he thought I could go home, and that I would be sent home with a five day supply of the medication I had been taking in the hospital.  That was pretty much all he said while I was with them.  He did say it would be several hours before I could leave by the time all my paper work was done and all my things were gathered.  He suggested that they get some lunch while they were waiting.  Julie and my husband said they would wait to get lunch until I was out, so I could eat with them.

After that I was taken back to the day time unit and the nurses were told to start getting my things ready for discharge.  I also let the nurses know that my husband and sister-in-law would still be in the area so when things were ready, if they would call them, they could be back to the hospital in five minutes.  I stayed by the nurse’s station while all my discharge paperwork and orders were being completed.  The male nurse who was on duty that day, took it upon himself to make sure that things were rushed through.  I was then taken back over to my regular unit where I could gather my personal belongings.

Dorthy had not been allowed to go over to the day time unit and she was in the regular unit watching TV.  Since she had enjoyed coloring with me so much, I ended up giving her my coloring books and crayons.  Once I had gotten my things together, we headed back to the daytime unit and the male nurse called my husband and sister-in-law.  I was almost FREE!!!

The male nurse walked me out of the unit to the fenced in outside area and there we waited for my family.  Once they got there, my husband asked me “How it felt to be free?”  I let him know I was not free until I was on the other side of the gate.  The nurse walked us to the gate, let us out and I declared that “I was free”.

One of the things I had missed in the hospital was coke.  Most of the time I drink diet coke or coke zero, but in the hospital we were not allowed any soda of any kind, and absolutely nothing with caffeine in it.  Julie and Farrol had an ice cold coke waiting for me in the car!  I have never had a coke that tasted so good!

As we were driving to the Olive Garden for my freedom lunch, I began to learn a little bit about what had transpired between my parents and my husband with regards to my hospitalization and some of the conversation that took place between the psychiatrist and them.  What I learned made me a little bit angry and a little bit sad, but was not really surprising.

After the first time I tried to commit suicide and I was not hospitalized, I was a huge mess.  My psychiatrist had talked with me a couple of times about hospitalizing me, but he did not want that as his first course of action.  My mother had taken me several times to my appointments with him.  I had spoken with her about how I did not want my daughter with me when we went because the doctor was assessing me each visit to determine if he felt that I needed to be hospitalized.  From what I understand, when my mother learned that I had finally been h
ospitalized, she stated that “this is what she (meaning me) wanted” and I had to live with the consequences. I think there must have been some other things that went on between her and my husband and my grandmother but no one is telling me everything.  I think they are trying to spare me some hurt.  From what I can gather it seemed she implied that my husband (and me when I got out of the hospital) might not be able to focus on our daughter like we should and kept pushing my husband over and over and over again to have my daughter go to her for several weeks.  This frustrated my husband to no end, as he felt that my mother should be focusing more on me (her daughter) than she should be focusing on her granddaughter who was well taken care of.    My husband mentioned to me that on one visit to my grandmother’s house he overheard a little bit of a phone exchange between my grandmother and mother.  My grandmother who hates conflict and harsh words and voices, was talking to my mother with a raised voice, it was something about me and me being in the hospital and obviously my grandmother was upset with what my mother had been saying.

I also learned that my mother had been prepared to come to the hospital on my discharge date and talk to the doctor about me staying in the hospital rather than going home.  So as a result, no one told her when the discharge date was.  My brother text messaged my father after I was out and let them know I was out of the hospital. 

Remember the medical doctor who was convinced that 30 units of Lantus was too much for me and that I was probably lying so I could kill myself with an over dose of my long lasting insulin?  I am thinking that he still did not believe that is what my medical doctor had prescribed me.  The psychiatrist brought it up to my husband and sister-in-law before he brought me to them.  My sister-in-law happens to have a doctorate pharmacology.  She was able to explain to the psychiatrist that considering the fact that I was on a sliding scale for my humalog (fast acting insulin) that 30 units was an appropriate amount of lantus for me to take.  Gotta love those smart, well educated and loving sister-in-laws. 

After that conversation, we all concentrated on the delicious bread sticks, soup and salad that we had gotten from the Olive Garden, me in particular.  I pigged out more than the other two.

This is the end of the journey of my experiences of state run psychiatric hospital care.  It is certainly not the end of my stories.  I do try and end my stories with valuable things I have learned from the experience and from the story-telling itself.

I learned that I never want to go back to a hospital like that again.  I think there are more than just people like me who do not belong there, I think there others who do not have the support I do, that are stuck there for far longer than I was.  I learned that for the most part the staff in places like that are good and mean well and want to make a difference in their patient’s lives, but because of low budgets and too little staff they are not able to effect as much change as they want to.  They end up being babysitters and body guards more than anything else.  My experience at the medical hospital before I was transferred to the psychiatric hospital, showed me that there are medical professionals who still do not have a clue and possibly the desire to treat patients with a mental illness with any type of dignity or respect.  Finally, I learned that my husband, brother and sister-in-law are strong people who love me a great deal.  They are doing so much to help me get through this period of mental unhealthiness.  In some ways, I feel like my mental illness has allowed us to become closer.

Back to Part X

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

As soon as I got back from visiting with my family and taking my medication for the evening, my gin rummy friend, Dorthy, decided to start a one woman riot.  She started the festivities off by launching a chair across the unit.  I was too stunned to move from my chair by the nurse’s station, and all of the other patients who had been in the common areas scattered.

The chair was followed by the turning over of a heavy couch or two and some other very heavy chairs were turned over.  By then I had slowly gotten up and kind of moved over to the medication window, which the nurse had locked and closed once furniture started flying.  The rest of the nurse’s were in the nurses station hollering at Dorthy to stop and  watching to see what she would do next.  Dorthy went up to the chair I had been sitting in.  It was like one of those jail house chairs, where a line of chairs are connected together by a steel bar.  She turned those over too.  Then she saw me, walked over, and in my head I am thinking “Oh Shit!”, and all she does is to let me know she will be ready to play gin rummy in a few minutes.  Then Dorthy went after Patty.  Apparently, Patty’s non stop talking aggravated Dorthy as much as it aggravated me.  Patty ran into the laundry room and locked herself in there.  Dorthy then went to the other section of the common area and turned the chairs over there, and also dumped the very heavy picnic table over.  As Dorthy walked past me again, heading for whatever target she wanted next, I asked her how she was doing and she calmly told me she was “just fine”.  There were two large, outside garbage cans in front of the nurses station, one was used for garbage, it was padlocked and had a rectangle cut in the top for us to put our trash into. The other garbage can was for our dirty linen.  Again, heavy objects.  Dorthy picked up the garbage can and threw it over the glass partition of the nurses station.  Fortunately, the nurses were able to get out of the way before hit anyone.  That is when the nurses decided it might be a good idea to call a code, and get help in subduing her.  Dorthy then got a cup and repeatedly filled it up with water and tossed the water over the partition of the nurses station.  On her last time to do that, one of the other patients started hollering “Here she comes again”, that upset Dorthy.  Dorthy took off running towards the other patient and threw the water on her and then proceeded to punch her a few times.  Then she picked up the linen can and threw it over the partition of the nurse’s station.  That time one of the nurses did not get out of the way.  So he started yelling all kinds of cuss words at Dorthy.  A doctor who was on duty that weekend had shown up to our unit and had scrambled to get into the nurses station.  She heard what the nurse yelled and fussed at him.  No one had shown up in answer of the code yet, so the doctor had them call the code again and instructed the medication nurse to fill up several syringes. 

The code team showed up.  Rather than wait for them to go after her, Dorthy charged them.  They ran away.  Then the doctor told them to man up and that is when they began chasing her around the unit.  The idea, I think, was to get her in the isolation room and then inject her with whatever was supposed to calm her down, but that did not quite happen.  At one point they had her on the floor and the medication nurse came and injected her with about three syringes.  Every single one of them thought that this would calm her down quickly and then they could get her in the isolation room with no more problems.  Dorthy popped up and gave them another run for their money.  Finally they got her in the isolation room.

Once in there Dorthy started spitting on the door, and the observation window, she took the straps off of the tie down bed and was beating on the door with them, then she started beating her head against the wall.  I noticed that one of the nurses was standing there with her finger on a button constantly.  I thought it was an intercom button so they could keep track of anything she was saying.  So I asked about it.  That is when I learned that in our state, no mentally ill patient is allowed to be locked into a room without being constantly supervised. The state decided to deal with it in their psychiatric hospital by making it so the isolation room could not be locked unless someone stood there and kept constant pressure on this button.

The nurses were trying to get Dorthy to take some more medication that the on call doctor had prescribed to further calm her down.  Dorthy was refusing and the nurses told her that she could not get out of the isolation room until she did.  Dorthy kept screaming at them and telling them no.  So when no one was looking except the poor nurse holding the button, I snuck over to the observation window of the isolation room, and started talking to Dorthy.  She instantly calmed down.  I told her about the coloring books my daughter had sent me and how I had not seen them yet because the nurses had not had time to go through my presents. However, if she would calm down and take her medicine, she and I could color together.  That seemed to do the trick, after that she took the medication, and the nurses let me have my coloring books and crayons. Dorthy and I sat down and colored together for a while.

A couple of hours after the one woman riot, there was loud shouting and banging and cussing coming from the hallway that separated the men and women’s sides of the unit.  I could only imagine what was happening now.

To be continued…

Scariest Time Of My Life – Part X
Back to Part VIII

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

Visitors!  I was so excited when one of the nurses told me that my visitors were waiting for me.  I was ready to get out to where they were right then and there.  Unfortunately, I had to wait, and wait and wait and wait.  I had to wait for a nurse to be available to walk me out to where my visitors were, and that nurse also had to be available to stay with me and my visitors for an hour.  Finally, one of the nurses was ready to take me to my visitors.  There was no visiting room, we had to meet and talk in a very small lobby area.  Right about the time we were heading to the lobby, nurses from both the men and women’s section decided it was time to take everyone who could outside.  All of those patients had to go through the lobby area.  More waiting.  Once the path was clear, I was able to see who all had come to see me.  My husband, my brother and my sister-in-law.  I was so happy to see all of them.  There were hugs all around.  Those were the best hugs I had ever had.  We all sat down, including the nurse who found a chair a few feet away.

I think my husband and brother were shocked at what they had seen at the hospital.  My sister-in-law had done an internship there a few years ago, so she was more prepared than the rest.  My brother told me how when they were waiting by the gate to be let in, a patient that was out in the “yard” took a great deal of interest in his watch, so when the patient was not looking he put his watch in his pocket.  They all mentioned that there was a pile of poo by the gate, and since there are no animals at the hospital, they all highly suspected that it came from a patient.  Later on when I mentioned that to a nurse, she verified that there was a male patient that had a habit of doing that.  I think with what my family had seen when they were coming into the hospital, they became more concerned about me, but being how they are, they did not voice their concerns so that I would not become more anxious.

I told them what unit was like, and how awful the food was.  I described some of my fellow patients and nurses.  Then the difficult conversation started.  They all wanted to know, from me, what happened the day I ended up in the hospital.  I told them how for several days I had been feeling bad, and how at the time I did not recognize that it was because of my medication not working properly.  I described how as each day passed I felt worse and worse, and that my emotions were out of control.  My brother and sister-in-law wanted to know why I had not told anyone, and I honestly did not have a good answer for that.  I then got to the day when things went awry.  I explained how it had been time for me to take my medications, and how I took ten extra beta blockers and in my mind I was already planning to take more extra medication in an hour and how I was just going to keep repeating that until I had successfully committed suicide.  I told them how after I did that I realized that my thinking was not right, and I tried to call my counselor, and I was told she was not in.  After I was told she was not in and did not have any available appointments the next day, the receptionist transferred me to the crisis line, telling me that the crisis line could get me an emergency appointment.  I explained how the person who answered the phone at the crisis line decided the crisis team needed to come to my house after she learned I had taken ten extra beta blockers and I had plan, before I called, to take more in an hour.  From there I told them that the crisis team decided I needed to be hospitalized.  I expressed how pissed off I was, that I had called for help and that in calling for help, I ended up in the state run psychiatric hospital, and how I would not be calling my counselor for help again, if this was the end result.

My brother is courageous.  He was the only person to point something out.  He pointed out that before I called for help, I had taken extra medication.  He also said that he felt even if I had gotten a hold of my counselor she would have had to have me hospitalized too.  He also said that give the same circumstances, that if I had called him or his wife they would have done the same thing,  I had taken extra medication and had plans to take more. 

I really hate it when my little brother is right, and he was.  I was not wanting to take responsibility for the fact that I had thought about and started attempting to kill myself, so it was very easy for me to blame the crisis team for me ending up in the hospital.  However, I still believe that how was I treated, in the medical hospital especially, was unacceptable.  I agreed that in the future, since I now knew what it felt like when my medication quit working, I would call someone before I started trying to kill myself.

My brother then wanted to know what would make me try and kill myself twice.  The best answer I had at the time was that it seemed like the only solution for what was going on in my head.  I gave him a better explanation later.

My doctor had asked that my husband come to the hospital Monday.  My sister-in-law let me know she was going to come with him.  That way if the doctor had any questions about family support or anything else she could be there to help my husband and show that I did have family support.

My visitors came bearing gifts!  My husband was a brave, brave man and had actually gone clothes shopping for me, and bought me some more comfortable clothing, and a new bra.  In my opinion it takes a real man to go bra shopping for his wife.  The day before, when I was talking to Anna (my daughter) on the phone I told her how bored I was, she had picked out some coloring books and crayons for my husband to bring me, so I would have something to do.  My sister-in-law had brought me some old pictures of my niece.  That was such a special gift, giving me something that had good memories attached to it.

For whatever reason, the nurse who was supervising us piped in and told me what a nice family I had.  He also offered his opinion that he did not think I would be in the hospital much past the weekend.  He said the nurses had noticed that I was socializing, participating in groups, and a few other things.  Then he let us know that it had been an hour and it was time for me to go back to the women’s section.  We all said our goodbyes, the nurse took my gifts so that one of the other nurses could check and make sure no one had snuck me a saw or some other escape tool.

I figured that now that my visitors were gone I would be a little sad the rest of the evening.  With what happened in the unit after we got back, I never had time to feel sad. As soon as I got back into the women’s section, it was time to take my medications.  I lined up with the other patients.  Dorthy was in line behind me, and she and I talked while we were waiting.  We made plans to play some more rummy after we took our medication.  When it was my turn, I took my medication and then found a chair by the nurse’s station to wait for Dorthy to finish her medication.

I overheard Dorthy tell the medication nurse that she was not going to take her medication.  No patient can be forced to take their medication if they do not want to, but the nurses do try and convince people to take what they are prescribed.  If that does not work then they mark in our charts that we refused the medication.  That way the doctors can see if we are being compliant.  So after Dorthy said she was not going to take her medication, the nurse began trying to convince her to take it.  Dorthy wandered away from the wi
ndow, spoke to me for a minute, she seemed calm as could be to me.

Two minutes later, I see a chair go flying through the unit.  It seems Dorthy decided to start a one woman riot.  People scattered, nurses started yelling, and I was too stunned to move from my chair.

To be continued…

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

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

I realize that this story has ended up being very long.  If you have not gotten so bored that you have quit reading it by now, I probably should warn you that I am not sure how much longer it will take me to finish telling it.  Once I started writing it, the thoughts and the memories started to flow and I feel the need to keep writing the story until it is completed.   I want to hold on to the details, the thoughts and feelings I had during that time, and this seems the best possible way to do that.

I was up at my usual four in the morning time that Saturday morning.  It was nice and quiet and I was just using the time to get myself prepared for the day.  Since it was Saturday and there were no groups, I had an idea that it was going to be a very long and boring day, up until the time my visitors arrived.

A few minutes after I sat in the common area, one of the other patients got up and went to the restroom.  When she came out she realized that I was sitting out there and she decided to come and talk to me.  Her name was Patty.  I had seen her around the day before, and my impression of her was that she was loud, and used to getting her own way.  She started the conversation off by telling me she was getting out of the hospital that evening.  I did not say much to that because even I knew that patients were not discharged on the weekends.  She started to tell me how she ended up in the hospital, basically her husband tricked her and dropped her off there is how her story went.  She also shared her theory with me about why all of us women were in the hospital.  She felt that it was a punishment from God.  That because we had all married someone that God did not want us to, and that was the ultimate sin, that God was punishing us by making it so we had to be in the hospital.  I should not have done it, but I challenged her on what she said and told her that I thought she was wrong and why.  It appeared my disagreeing with her set up some kind of weird competition in her head.  She decided that she had to do anything she could to prove to me that she and I were equals or maybe even prove that she could dominate me.  Finally, I got up and wandered off and did my morning routine.

While everyone else was scurrying around taking showers and getting dressed, I sat on the couch near the pay phone.  Patty took that time to call her husband and give him some very strict, and slightly scary, instructions.  Like I mentioned earlier she had it in her head she was getting out that day.  Nothing that anyone could say would deter her from that thought.  So she called her husband up and told him she was getting out that evening when he came to visit.  I heard her say that she had not discussed it with the doctor but felt like if her husband came and brought a couple of friends with him, they could convince the doctor to let her go home.  I do not think her husband was all that convinced that she should come home, because the next thing I knew she is screaming “Be a hero, don’t be a zero” and telling him that if he did not do exactly as she told him to do and bring the proper friends to the hospital to get her, when she finally did get out of the hospital she was going to make his life miserable and even trick him and stick him in the hospital to see how he liked it.  She proceeded to scream the “Be a hero, don’t be a zero” phrase several more times, she told her husband what a complete idiot he was, and then she would let him know he was coming to get her out that day.  She seriously reminded me of the character Kathy Bates played in the Stephen King movie Mercy. 

We ate breakfast.  While I was in the dining room eating my breakfast I heard some woman screaming “I want my medicine!” and a lot of things being banged around.  I did not think too much of it until I got back to the women’s side of the unit, then I realized it was my new roommate pitching a fit because of the doctor not letting her have her regular medications.  My thought at the time was, I hope she does not get too nutty at night when I want to sleep. 

After breakfast there was nothing to do and most of the patients went back to bed and slept most of the day.  One of the nurses had clued me in on the fact that they take notes about us all day long and one of the things the doctors look for is if we are able to get along with our “peers”.  I decided it would be a wise decision to mingle with the other patients for a little bit.  That is when I met Dorthy.

Dorthy was a very young black woman, who had been in that hospital for four months, this time around.  She and I were talking and I happened to mention that it was too bad there was not even a deck of cards around the unit for us to amuse ourselves with.  She told me she had a deck in her room and went to get them.  She and I spent hours and hours playing rummy and talking.  Since we were not allowed to have anything to write with we could not keep score, the winner was decided by whoever had the most books by then end of a hand.  It greatly helped the time pass by.  Every once in a while another patient would join us.  Even though the setting was rather yucky, I really enjoyed getting to know Dorthy. 

Patty decided she wanted to play rummy against me.  She made up this rule that if she won or we got the same amount of books then that meant we were equals.  It took her three hands but finally she and I ended up with the same amount of books.  That is when she decided we were “equals”, that thought see to make her very happy. 

Lunch! Blah! Thank goodness for the jello!  I had decided that after lunch I would head back to my room and take a nap.  As I turned the corner, I noticed that my room door was shut.  I had been leaving it open because my roommate needed a shower and leaving the door open allowed the air to circulate more.  I figured she had shut it again because of the noise in the unit.  I opened my room door, and I remember standing there in shock, not really understanding what I was seeing.  My roommate had taken one end of her bed sheet and had wrapped it around her neck and then taken the other end of the bed sheet and wrapped it around the foot of her bed and was trying to choke herself.  I started hollering for a nurse, and they all came running.  After that she was moved to another room, where she could be placed on one on one observation. 

My new roommate was a patient who had been in the hospital for a few months and was going to be released on Monday.  Her name was Rhonda.  When she came into the room with her sheets and pillows and her other belongings, I noticed that on top of her t-shirt she had a man’s pajama top on.  She asked me if I had heard the news about her and Chester.  Chester was a patient from the men’s section of the unit.  The story she told me is that she and Chester met the day before in the unit where the groups are held and it was love at first sight.  Chester had given her his pajama top to wear, in much the same fashion that teenage boys let their girls where their letterman jackets.  So all that Rhonda needed to do at this point, was break up with her fiance, after he picked her up from the hospital, and then she and Chester, and her children would live happily ever after. 

All of this made for a very chaotic Saturday.  My brain felt over loaded with all that I had seen and experienced so far that day.  Right about the time, I thought I could not take anymore craziness, I was told my visitors had arrived.

Scariest Ti
me Of My Life – Part VIII
Back to Part VI

 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