Friday started off like any other day. I woke up, I walked around the house wondering what I was doing and then I sat on the couch and played Bejeweled Blitz on my iPhone. I know, you're all terribly excited to witness the life of Renee.
Anyway, this particular day I knew I had to see my doctor. It was time for the "how are you going? But I don't really care, are your meds up to date?" visit. I always enjoy this visit, it's right up there with the centrestink visits.
To make myself feel better I thought I would spend some time teasing my hair, and no not the standing in front of the mirror cracking jokes about my hair. Just in case you were wondering. I spent a whole 20 minutes on my hair. It looked fantastic by the time I was done. Bits of hair sticking up everywhere, just the look that I like. But I'm off topic.
I drove myself to the doctor's surgery and waited until it was my turn. I walked in to the room when the dr man called my name. I sat down and the hell began.
Let's give my dr a name, Dr B sounds good enough. So, Dr B starts talking and as usual I rarely listen. He mainly repeats himself so I only respond when he asks me something new. This time it was different. After Dr B had finished asking the preliminary questions he started to talking to me about my local mental health place and how he thought it would be a good idea to get in contact with my old case manager. (I say old case manager because mental health closed my file last year in November when I went to a psych hospital in Sydney.)
Before I have the chance to think of some feeble way to get out of having to deal with some reality, Dr B picks up the phone and dials mental health. I'm stuck. I want to run away. I can't.
Dr B talked with my case manager explaining that he thinks I need to be reassessed as I'm worse than before, then put me on the phone to my case manager. I was told that I wouldn't be able to see my usual psychiatrist because the waiting list is about two months long. Instead I get to start again. Two years worth of work is now gone.
And don't you dare suggest it's not, when you have to start with a new psychiatrist you have to start from the beginning, again. It's not like a GP who reads your history, asks you a few questions and maybe does a physical. A new psychiatrist goes through your history, your feelings, emotions and everything else. They tamper with your medications, you have to explain things you've been over before, you have to learn to trust them. It's not an easy thing to do.
So, I crashed and burned after the doctor's appointment. I cried my eyes out. I realised that mental health and the professional team who were meant to be behind me and in my corner, weren't. They had given up on me. Suddenly I found myself in the too hard basket. I wasn't worth their time nor their help.
Now I have to wait until Wednesday to be reassessed and to start again. I'm still struggling with the whole situation and it's now Sunday. Sunday people.
Here's to yet another beginning. Here's to yet another disappointment and yet another fall. The hole gets deeper every time I fall in it.
Showing posts with label psych ward. Show all posts
Showing posts with label psych ward. Show all posts
The Hospital part 3: Traumatically discharged and discarded
The day is Thursday the 5th of November, 2009.
The time is 5am.
For some reason I woke up at 5am this particularly splendid morning. I didn't even feel that bad at being up an hour and a half earlier than my usual time.
I decided to make the most of it and begin mentally preparing myself for another day in hospital. It was Thursday, so I had to prepare myself for the different group leader-psychologist-lady. I wasn't exactly keen on her "teaching" style.
By the time I waded through all that it was 6am, "great!" I thought as I slid out of bed and stumbled to my little bathroom to shower. Today was going to be a good day, I was determined.
The time is now 8am.
I am showered, dressed, even did my makeup (that is a big thing when you're in a psych ward, and you're me, and you can be bothered actually doing the make up part of the morning routine.) I was drawing while waiting for my psychiatrist. She usually liked to see me early in the mornings, I think it was because she thought I would be more talkative then!? She soon found out I am talkative all the time! Oops!
I picked up my iPhone, got my little speakers and set them up on my desk, neatly arranging everything into a functional, yet orderly, display. I pressed play and began drifting along the beat and melodies of some of my favourite artists.
NB: I am only verging on OCD when I am in hospital! This neatly arranging stuff isn't a usual "home" thing.
The time is 9am.
I am starving. I need to eat. I mumble some choice swear words under my breath that my shrink made me wait a whole hour without telling me she wouldn't be here this morning. Fine, I'll go eat and she can bite me if she comes to my room now.
I get up from my desk and walk to the door. I nearly run into the nurse on duty. I was about to say something when I looked at her face, I saw fear. I stepped back into my room, next to the door, as it the damn thing would support my weight.
"Renee, would you be able to pack your things on your bed? We need to move you to a shared room."
The nurse is looking at me. Why the fuck is she still looking at me? Didn't I talk? Hadn't I just screamed that I wouldn't be moved?
I clutched my throat, realising I was just staring at her.
"I... I... I can't sleep with someone else in my room. Are you going to drug me at night time so I can sleep?" By now the fear is making me slightly irrational, only slightly mind you. I begin to shake but quickly tell myself to stop being so stupid. I mean, surely they wouldn't make me do something that is clearly causing me so much distress... Would they?
The nurse looked at me again, astonishment crossing her face at my intense reaction. She takes a deep breath and informs me she will talk with the Head Nurse.
"If you move me I will need to be discharged because I can't sleep when there's someone else in my room. I won't stay to prove that I can't sleep" I start rambling, incoherently, barely able to breathe and stunned into near catatonic fear.
A lifetime later...
Okay it was approximately 10 minutes, but in my state it was a lifetime.
The Head Nurse walks into my room and sits down. She is staring at me. I have tears in my eyes and I'm yelling at myself to pull it together and stop being such a bloody sook. She just stares at me. I start to choke on the inside thinking she's going to murder me or something. (Hey, I was highly strung and irrational by this point, do you mind?!)
Finally she speaks. She tells me in her heavily accented voice that under no circumstances can I be an exception. Everyone who arrives at St John of God spends their first few days in a single room and then must move to a shared room. No exceptions.
I explain that I spent my first night in a shared room, that I didn't sleep even after the long and tiring day I had. I explain that I can't sleep in a shared room. I pause, take a breath and look at her, "Will you give me more meds including actual sleeping meds to make me sleep?"
Anger is now crossing her face, oh shit I've done it now, she's going to fucking murder me.
She continues to stare at me. I'm getting angry now too, how dare she try to intimidate me. I'm a fucking mentally ill person and she's trying to intimidate ME?!?!
Finally she speaks, "It's not fair if one person is allowed to stay their entire time here in a single room." She gets up and plans to leave.
My anger gets the better of me, I stand up, look at her and say "Then you will need to organise my discharge papers. I will not stay here if I am so CLEARLY distressed and uncomfortable."
Now fear crosses her face, has she gone too far? She steadies herself, "I will have your nurse contact your psychiatrist and ask to make sure it's okay for you to be discharged." She leaves the room.
I am panicking. I'm going home. I haven't finished the program. There's so much left to learn. Oh no, have I just fucked up... again?
I call my mum. She's no help. She doesn't know what to say. She can only say "Well I can't come and get you". Thanks Mum, I'm not crying here or anything.
She tells me to call my dad. Shit I don't know my dad's number. I'll email him. He gets emails immediately.
I ask him to call me.
My phone rings, shit that was quick, I answer it and burst into tears. I tell my dad that they're discharging me because I can't sleep in a shared room. I'm pretty sure none of this is making sense to him. Either way he listens and asks me if I want him to pick me up now. I tell him to do whatever is best for him. I'm not in any mood to make decisions right now.
The nurse walks back in, papers in hand, looks at me on the phone and then proceeds to tell me that I have to fill out this form, declaring I am leaving against my doctor's wishes. Yep, always out to cover your own arses, yet you're the ones who've put me in this state. Nice.
Dad says somethings I can't really hear over my crying. I mumble something and we hang up.
I fill out the papers.
I begin packing my stuff.
A nurse comes in, again, "You have to pack up your things now, Renee." I can't believe he just said that. "What the fuck do you think I'm doing?" is all I can reply. I cry again. The nurse closes the door. I swear.
20 minutes later...
Everything is packed. My room looks like I was never here. Oh well, these things happen. I am now just waiting for my dad. He called me back to tell me he will pick me up and take me home to Canberra today. Part of me is relieved. Part of me is now guilty that I've disrupted his day. Part of me is angry that I wasn't allowed to keep my car here so I could have gone immediately after packing. They were out to get me the whole time. Hmph.
The time is 10:20am.
The fire alarm is going off. My dad is going to be here any minute and I won't be able to get out of here because some moron set off the fire alarm in the hospital. Great.
Where the fuck is my bag of medication? It's not that hard to get all the meds I brought with me and stick them into a bag. Argh. Angry again.
I go and say goodbye to some friends. I see my dad's car driving down the street while I look out their window. Shit.
The time is 10:30am.
I'm in dad's car. Everything is packed. I have my meds. We're going to his place so he can pack his overnight bag. He'll be coming back to Canberra for the weekend.
I'm traumatised. I am scared. What do I do now?
The time is 5am.
For some reason I woke up at 5am this particularly splendid morning. I didn't even feel that bad at being up an hour and a half earlier than my usual time.
I decided to make the most of it and begin mentally preparing myself for another day in hospital. It was Thursday, so I had to prepare myself for the different group leader-psychologist-lady. I wasn't exactly keen on her "teaching" style.
By the time I waded through all that it was 6am, "great!" I thought as I slid out of bed and stumbled to my little bathroom to shower. Today was going to be a good day, I was determined.
The time is now 8am.
I am showered, dressed, even did my makeup (that is a big thing when you're in a psych ward, and you're me, and you can be bothered actually doing the make up part of the morning routine.) I was drawing while waiting for my psychiatrist. She usually liked to see me early in the mornings, I think it was because she thought I would be more talkative then!? She soon found out I am talkative all the time! Oops!
I picked up my iPhone, got my little speakers and set them up on my desk, neatly arranging everything into a functional, yet orderly, display. I pressed play and began drifting along the beat and melodies of some of my favourite artists.
NB: I am only verging on OCD when I am in hospital! This neatly arranging stuff isn't a usual "home" thing.
The time is 9am.
I am starving. I need to eat. I mumble some choice swear words under my breath that my shrink made me wait a whole hour without telling me she wouldn't be here this morning. Fine, I'll go eat and she can bite me if she comes to my room now.
I get up from my desk and walk to the door. I nearly run into the nurse on duty. I was about to say something when I looked at her face, I saw fear. I stepped back into my room, next to the door, as it the damn thing would support my weight.
"Renee, would you be able to pack your things on your bed? We need to move you to a shared room."
The nurse is looking at me. Why the fuck is she still looking at me? Didn't I talk? Hadn't I just screamed that I wouldn't be moved?
I clutched my throat, realising I was just staring at her.
"I... I... I can't sleep with someone else in my room. Are you going to drug me at night time so I can sleep?" By now the fear is making me slightly irrational, only slightly mind you. I begin to shake but quickly tell myself to stop being so stupid. I mean, surely they wouldn't make me do something that is clearly causing me so much distress... Would they?
The nurse looked at me again, astonishment crossing her face at my intense reaction. She takes a deep breath and informs me she will talk with the Head Nurse.
"If you move me I will need to be discharged because I can't sleep when there's someone else in my room. I won't stay to prove that I can't sleep" I start rambling, incoherently, barely able to breathe and stunned into near catatonic fear.
A lifetime later...
Okay it was approximately 10 minutes, but in my state it was a lifetime.
The Head Nurse walks into my room and sits down. She is staring at me. I have tears in my eyes and I'm yelling at myself to pull it together and stop being such a bloody sook. She just stares at me. I start to choke on the inside thinking she's going to murder me or something. (Hey, I was highly strung and irrational by this point, do you mind?!)
Finally she speaks. She tells me in her heavily accented voice that under no circumstances can I be an exception. Everyone who arrives at St John of God spends their first few days in a single room and then must move to a shared room. No exceptions.
I explain that I spent my first night in a shared room, that I didn't sleep even after the long and tiring day I had. I explain that I can't sleep in a shared room. I pause, take a breath and look at her, "Will you give me more meds including actual sleeping meds to make me sleep?"
Anger is now crossing her face, oh shit I've done it now, she's going to fucking murder me.
She continues to stare at me. I'm getting angry now too, how dare she try to intimidate me. I'm a fucking mentally ill person and she's trying to intimidate ME?!?!
Finally she speaks, "It's not fair if one person is allowed to stay their entire time here in a single room." She gets up and plans to leave.
My anger gets the better of me, I stand up, look at her and say "Then you will need to organise my discharge papers. I will not stay here if I am so CLEARLY distressed and uncomfortable."
Now fear crosses her face, has she gone too far? She steadies herself, "I will have your nurse contact your psychiatrist and ask to make sure it's okay for you to be discharged." She leaves the room.
I am panicking. I'm going home. I haven't finished the program. There's so much left to learn. Oh no, have I just fucked up... again?
I call my mum. She's no help. She doesn't know what to say. She can only say "Well I can't come and get you". Thanks Mum, I'm not crying here or anything.
She tells me to call my dad. Shit I don't know my dad's number. I'll email him. He gets emails immediately.
I ask him to call me.
My phone rings, shit that was quick, I answer it and burst into tears. I tell my dad that they're discharging me because I can't sleep in a shared room. I'm pretty sure none of this is making sense to him. Either way he listens and asks me if I want him to pick me up now. I tell him to do whatever is best for him. I'm not in any mood to make decisions right now.
The nurse walks back in, papers in hand, looks at me on the phone and then proceeds to tell me that I have to fill out this form, declaring I am leaving against my doctor's wishes. Yep, always out to cover your own arses, yet you're the ones who've put me in this state. Nice.
Dad says somethings I can't really hear over my crying. I mumble something and we hang up.
I fill out the papers.
I begin packing my stuff.
A nurse comes in, again, "You have to pack up your things now, Renee." I can't believe he just said that. "What the fuck do you think I'm doing?" is all I can reply. I cry again. The nurse closes the door. I swear.
20 minutes later...
Everything is packed. My room looks like I was never here. Oh well, these things happen. I am now just waiting for my dad. He called me back to tell me he will pick me up and take me home to Canberra today. Part of me is relieved. Part of me is now guilty that I've disrupted his day. Part of me is angry that I wasn't allowed to keep my car here so I could have gone immediately after packing. They were out to get me the whole time. Hmph.
The time is 10:20am.
The fire alarm is going off. My dad is going to be here any minute and I won't be able to get out of here because some moron set off the fire alarm in the hospital. Great.
Where the fuck is my bag of medication? It's not that hard to get all the meds I brought with me and stick them into a bag. Argh. Angry again.
I go and say goodbye to some friends. I see my dad's car driving down the street while I look out their window. Shit.
The time is 10:30am.
I'm in dad's car. Everything is packed. I have my meds. We're going to his place so he can pack his overnight bag. He'll be coming back to Canberra for the weekend.
I'm traumatised. I am scared. What do I do now?
The Hospital part 2: Before the worst
I'm in hospital. St John of God, Burwood.
The nurses put me into a shared room. I panic about it and explain that unless they're going to drug me I won't be able to sleep.
I was told there's nothing they could do, I would need to deal with it. Nice, my first night in hospital and I was already getting special treatment.
I figured there wasn't point arguing with them that night. I mean it was a big day, emotionally draining and I was sincerely hoping I would sleep, even if it was just from pure exhaustion.
I didn't sleep that night.
The nurses put me into a shared room. I panic about it and explain that unless they're going to drug me I won't be able to sleep.
I was told there's nothing they could do, I would need to deal with it. Nice, my first night in hospital and I was already getting special treatment.
I figured there wasn't point arguing with them that night. I mean it was a big day, emotionally draining and I was sincerely hoping I would sleep, even if it was just from pure exhaustion.
I didn't sleep that night.
Luckily I was moved into a single room the following day. I got to stay in that room for 16 days. Wow. A whole 16 long days. How very exciting!!
The food:
I was in hospital so the food was never going to be great, or even decent. I, at least, was used to this particular part of hospital. It doesn't matter which hospital, in any state or territory, the food is always a step up from eating cardboard.
At St John of God the food even had fancy names, and different cuisine each day. La di da. *Insert eye rolling here*
The ward:
St Francis Unit.
It was clean. I can't say it was comfortable, I would've much preferred to stay at the Hilton or some other fancy new chic motel. I don't want much. Really.
Oh, I even had my own bathroom. Score!
The "WiseMind" program:
This was the challenging part. A new way of dealing with all my strangeness and incredibly annoying behaviour. Oh please, you know what I'm talking about!
I learnt a lot. I learned a little. I learned that when I feel like crap, I already start the process of DBT.
All this could be airy-fairy rubbish to you. I guess it doesn't help that I won't go I to the boring details (they really are that boring), so you know...
Well that about covers the three weeks. Coming up next, the traumatic discharge.