Entry
#6
~ Day two
I
woke up bright and early despite the benedryl I had been
given the night before. All I could think of was how many
sunrises I had seen in the past few weeks and how hopeless
I felt. It's normal to be tired when you have a baby and
small children. Your sleep gets interrupted often and
you are almost always hyperaware, even if you are not
in the same room, when one of your children coughs or
cries out at night. You can even identify your children
by the sounds they make at night. The tiredness gets to
be bone-wearying and at some point, you'd do anything
just to get a decent amount of sleep. Add that to the
depression and watch out!
I
had to go down the hall for bloodwork before breakfast.
I've always asked when I've had bloodwork done what the
specific tests are. It looked like she was taking lots
of tubes, so I was naturally curious. The woman taking
my blood was condescending when I asked her as though
I had gotten stupid for brains. She said in a tone that
was supposed to be comforting and brisk, "It's your pre-admission
bloodwork." I was thinking, "Give me a break. I may be
on this ward, but I am a human being!" So, what do you
do except behave and let them do their thing?
I
took my meds at the appointed time. When I was having
a baby in the same hospital, they always brought my meds
to me. I think the point of making you go and get your
meds is to see how compliant you are with treatment and
how interested you are in getting better. Plus, in a place
where people are getting quite a cocktail of meds, it's
safer for all concerned. This was only my second day on
Prozac. I was more dismayed by the fact that they had
me taking all my meds after breakfast. The Synthroid is
supposed to be taken on an empty stomach an hour before
eating or two to three hours after eating. They had me
taking it with my prenatal vitamin which is a big no-no
because the iron and calcium interfere with the uptake
of the thyroid hormone from the pill! Who am I to disagree
with the perogatives of the mental health profession?
So,
I've eaten breakfast which consisted partly of what looked
like powdered eggs. I found out they were egg-beaters,
but that didn't make them look or smell any better. I
picked at the rest of breakfast as well finding I had
no real appetite. I decided it had to be the depression
because my appetite had gone way downhill over the past
few weeks. If I ate, I was eating lots of sweets or craving
carbohydrates. My stomach hurt too which is a prime indicator
of stress for me too.
Where
do you go when you are on a locked ward? I had spent most
of the previous afternoon and evening in my room, so after
breakfast, I opted for a comfortable chair by a window
at the end of the hall with the sun streaming in. These
are not regular windows. They are the kind that have heavy
metal screens over the regular glass. You can see out,
sort of, but no one can see in. Good for your privacy
and safety, but that's about it. Fairly early that morning,
I met my psychiatrist: Dr. F. He's a tall guy with brown
hair.
What
does one expect when they meet a psychiatrist for the
first time? I'm still not sure as I've only met three
now. He asked me lots of questions. I don't appear to
have a background that indicates sexual abuse or anything.
I found it interesting when he asked me that question
and used the phrase, "...that you can remember." Hell
no, doc!!!! I hope I'd remember THAT. Isn't everything
else stressful enough? (but I digress)
All
that morning, the ARNP, N, had been trying to track me
down for my physical. I knew it was coming, but he never
seemed to be available when I was. Dr. F had told me it
was part of my admission and not to worry about it. When
it finally happened, it was one of the better parts of
that day. He did a thorough physical and neurological
exam. I can say that I have never had such a gentle and
thorough exam from any doctor I have ever visited. I guess
the stress you feel when you get to a place like the behavioral
health unit makes everything seem more magnified and any
rough handling would make it just that much more stressful.
He asked me when the last time was that I had a complete
physical. Thank goodness I could honestly say the last
one was in April, post-partum. It would have been okay,
I guess, but I really hate having those exams done and
do them only because I have to! He diagnosed irritable
bowel syndrome. I've had trouble with IBS before.
Apparently,
the first day in a psych unit is busy especially if you've
come in overnight or the previous afternoon. All the psychiatrists
have private practices as well, so they spend their mornings
at the hospital. That's usually when you see your doctor.
Many other illnesses and medications can cause depression-like
symptoms, so they have to rule those out as well.
My
head was spinning. On your first day, they talk about
going home, but I was still in the getting-settled phase!
I met my social worker that day and we set up my couples
meeting with my husband for the following early evening.
I was starting to get more comfortable talking to the
other people there. You never know quite what to expect
in a place like this. I mean, I was one of the patients,
but then so were all the other people.
People
were there to detox, others for depression illnesses and
anxiety. You don't know unless someone is willing to share
and you aren't supposed to ask, which is okay. One of
the most effective parts of a hospitalization is the time
you spend in group therapy. Everyone has different issues,
but is needing or lacking the same kinds of things in
life. I met some really nice people. People, that had
I met them on the "outside," I would have had no idea
that they were so tortured on the inside, like me. You
wouldn't know from meeting me, that I'm fighting off the
demon called suicide and major depression, but I am.
One
person, S, was very helpful in getting me acclimated.
He was good about explaining how meals worked—leftover
food not put in the fridge was up for grabs and so on.
I was not able to watch the news, so I spent time later
that afternoon back in my room. The numbness was still
there, but I felt like a turtle peeking out my shell as
the afternoon progressed. The safer I felt, the more I
stuck my neck out.
As
evening progressed, I found myself sitting on the desk
in my room next to the window watching the traffic going
by on the interstate and thinking, frankly, about jumping
out the window. Where I live, it gets dark early in the
afternoon after the time change at the end of October.
I wondered if I would be plastered to the window like
I remember pictures of Bill the Cat from Opus in the 80's.
(you know, shell-shocked, flat-faced, fur flying in all
directions). At one point, my contact person from the
2nd shift got concerned and came in to ask me if I was
okay or wanted to talk.
At
one point, I felt like I was going to hyperventilate because
I felt like I had this well of emotion pushing itself
up. I was scared, but I let it out and sobbed for a few
minutes. In some ways it felt good because I hadn't been
able to do that for weeks. All too soon, it shut itself
off the way I have been shutting myself off for a long
time.
Well,
I am practical before all things, so physically hurting
myself by pounding the screen as hard as I could wasn't
going to do much for me and would likely get all the staff
pretty excited. I had told Dr. F earlier in the day that
I was not into pain and I meant it. After awhile, I found
my control and spent some time up and down the hall before
bed. I went down and played S' 12-string guitar for awhile.
We were trading it back and forth and I had to come up
with a song. It's been so long since I've played mine
and I miss that. It was good to have that quiet time.
After that, I felt safe and I could try to sleep with
the help of a sleeping pill for the first time in a long
while.
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