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…