When people leave the ward, either because they're discharged or because they've been transferred, I forget about them. I think it's an autistic thing. I simply don't keep people in mind. If they're here, they're here. But once they're gone, and they're not a part of my occurant experience, I no longer think of them.
So, when Emily went to the PICU, I forgot all about her. I noted the fact that I could watch a DVD without it being turned off half way through. I noticed that the ward was quieter. But that was it. To be honest, I didn't think she would ever come back to this ward. The severity of her illness seemed to be unremitting. When she was transferred to the PICU, it was by wheelchair. Her level of disconnectedness was terrifying.
It was a mere two weeks later when she returned. And OH MY GOD. The difference was incalculable. She was dressed, walking properly, talking normally, eating normally. And, most amazingly, she was carrying her baby son. This was a different Emily.
She was better. Like, properly better. Everyone crowded around her to ask how she was. Everyone wanted to get in on this success story.
It turns out that Emily remembers next to nothing about those days, and weeks, when she was 'gone'. They are, perhaps fortunately, lost to her.
Emily was suffering from post natal psychosis. Everyone has heard of post natal depression. But I suspect that not many know about this much more extreme chemical response to giving birth. It struck a chord with me because my sister had recently given birth. Once I knew what was wrong with Emily, I couldn't help but try to imagine my sister in the same position. And all I could think was that, if it happened to her, she would need the total support of her family and friends. She would need to be treated with respect, dignity, care, patience. But most of all, she would need to be treated by people who understood her condition, and who held onto the hope that a return to normality was just around the corner.
These things are often missing when it comes to mental ill health.
But Emily went home a few days after she returned to the ward. She needs follow up care in the community for a while. And within 3-6 months, she will be discharged from the community team.
Mental health problems can happen to anyone, regardless of age, class, race, gender, co morbid disabilities. And people DO get better. Properly better. A mental health crisis, even one as severe as Emily's was, is not the end of that person's identity nor future. It is , in many ways, akin to a burst appendix. Emergency, and life saving, medical treatment is absolutely necessary for a short time.
But only for a short time.
So, the next time you hear about your friend who is depressed, or the mad uncle who everyone ignores, why don't you remember Emily. Hope is never gone. Respect and dignity are cathartic.
Recovery is always possible.
Saturday, 9 March 2013
The one that got away (part 1)
This is my first time in hospital. It's actually the first time I've had any contact with NHS mental health services.
Something that has become startlingly clear as my admission has gone on is the chronicity of mental illness. Viz, most people are here for the 4th, 5th, 10th or even 20th time. When people get (re) admitted, they greet patients and staff like old friends. Most of the serious mental illnesses (schizophrenia and bi-polar) typically emerge in late teens or early twenties. This means that it is not at all uncommon for a 30 year old to be admitted, and to have known some of the staff since his teens or early adulthood. The staff don't leave either!
All in all, it's one big, massively dysfunctional, family.
But occasionally, people are admitted who are floridly psychotic - like, seriously, seriously ill- and within a month they are gone. When I say 'gone', I don't mean 'gone until the next time'. I mean gone. These are a different sort of patient. And watching their recovery is enough to give you goose bumps. These very few patients are enough to convince anyone that modern psychiatry, and psychopharmacology, can work wonders.
Let me tell you about one of those that got away.
Emily is 23. She has an infant of 9 months'. She has a lovely face, and figure. When she is admitted, she is the ill-est person I have ever seen. It was late in the evening, when the ward was suddenly full of Emily's concerned, and possibly distraught, family. The whole lot of them were here until 11pm. Already a sign that this was no usual admission. Admissions tend not to be accompanied by a 9 month old baby and ten of the patients' extended family. Nor is anyone allowed to remain on the ward after visiting time has finished. This lot were here until 11pm.
When they have gone, it becomes clear why they were allowed to remain for so long. Emily walks around slapping everyones face, takes her clothes off, spits, growls and is quite obviously not living I the here and now. The staff chase her around the ward, trying to orientate her to time and place. But their "this is the male dormitory, you can't be down here" is met with utter bafflement from Emily. She simply cannot comprehend what is being said. During the next few days, all of the rules are relaxed to try and accommodate her. She is allowed to sleep wherever she can. She has two members of staff with her at all times. She is injected (rapid tranq-ed) every few hours. But there is no sign of improvement. It's hard to describe the demeanour and behaviour of someone who just 'isn't there'. I used to sit in the 'quiet room' and watch dvd's. Emily would sit next to me for about 30 seconds before climbing all over me, punching me and turning the tv off at the wall. She then pushed the tv off the table it was sitting on.
This was how it was.
She didn't use the toilet, she had an aversion to wearing clothes, she didn't know who her baby son was and she most definitely didn't stay in the girls' dormitory,
After about 10 days, I really thought that this was the end of her life, as she had known it. She was, quite simply, so far gone that I couldn't see how a whole, coherent and orientated person could ever re emerge.
Seeing what happens when the brain goes so wrong is terrifying. This could be your friend. Your sister. Your brother. Fuck, this could be you.
And if it was any of these people, I can promise you that you could do far worse than ending up on this ward. The staff were brilliant. Patient, caring, tolerant and discreet.
Emily went to the PICU for two weeks. (PICU stands for psychiatric intensive care unit. These are locked wards, and they hold people who are too ill or disordered to be contained safely on an open acute ward.)
Something that has become startlingly clear as my admission has gone on is the chronicity of mental illness. Viz, most people are here for the 4th, 5th, 10th or even 20th time. When people get (re) admitted, they greet patients and staff like old friends. Most of the serious mental illnesses (schizophrenia and bi-polar) typically emerge in late teens or early twenties. This means that it is not at all uncommon for a 30 year old to be admitted, and to have known some of the staff since his teens or early adulthood. The staff don't leave either!
All in all, it's one big, massively dysfunctional, family.
But occasionally, people are admitted who are floridly psychotic - like, seriously, seriously ill- and within a month they are gone. When I say 'gone', I don't mean 'gone until the next time'. I mean gone. These are a different sort of patient. And watching their recovery is enough to give you goose bumps. These very few patients are enough to convince anyone that modern psychiatry, and psychopharmacology, can work wonders.
Let me tell you about one of those that got away.
Emily is 23. She has an infant of 9 months'. She has a lovely face, and figure. When she is admitted, she is the ill-est person I have ever seen. It was late in the evening, when the ward was suddenly full of Emily's concerned, and possibly distraught, family. The whole lot of them were here until 11pm. Already a sign that this was no usual admission. Admissions tend not to be accompanied by a 9 month old baby and ten of the patients' extended family. Nor is anyone allowed to remain on the ward after visiting time has finished. This lot were here until 11pm.
When they have gone, it becomes clear why they were allowed to remain for so long. Emily walks around slapping everyones face, takes her clothes off, spits, growls and is quite obviously not living I the here and now. The staff chase her around the ward, trying to orientate her to time and place. But their "this is the male dormitory, you can't be down here" is met with utter bafflement from Emily. She simply cannot comprehend what is being said. During the next few days, all of the rules are relaxed to try and accommodate her. She is allowed to sleep wherever she can. She has two members of staff with her at all times. She is injected (rapid tranq-ed) every few hours. But there is no sign of improvement. It's hard to describe the demeanour and behaviour of someone who just 'isn't there'. I used to sit in the 'quiet room' and watch dvd's. Emily would sit next to me for about 30 seconds before climbing all over me, punching me and turning the tv off at the wall. She then pushed the tv off the table it was sitting on.
This was how it was.
She didn't use the toilet, she had an aversion to wearing clothes, she didn't know who her baby son was and she most definitely didn't stay in the girls' dormitory,
After about 10 days, I really thought that this was the end of her life, as she had known it. She was, quite simply, so far gone that I couldn't see how a whole, coherent and orientated person could ever re emerge.
Seeing what happens when the brain goes so wrong is terrifying. This could be your friend. Your sister. Your brother. Fuck, this could be you.
And if it was any of these people, I can promise you that you could do far worse than ending up on this ward. The staff were brilliant. Patient, caring, tolerant and discreet.
Emily went to the PICU for two weeks. (PICU stands for psychiatric intensive care unit. These are locked wards, and they hold people who are too ill or disordered to be contained safely on an open acute ward.)
Friday, 8 March 2013
So, it seems I'm crazy
So, it seems that I'm crazy. Well, I've been on an acute psychiatric ward for 9 months with major depression and PTSD. I think that counts as being not quite right. My medication includes quetiapine and chlorpromazine, which non crazy people don't know much about....
'CRazyy' is not a very in vogue term. But it's short and snappy. It's definitely easier to type than 'experiencing an episode of acute mental illness'. When you put it next to that mouthful, 'crazy' is so much better. Don't you think?
My life has been far from sheltered. But in here I've learned about things I had no idea existed. I've seen more violence, more anger, more drugs, more verbal abuse, more heartache and heartbreak, than is right to see on one 18 bedded ward. This isn't prison. This place isn't full of bad people. It's full of hard people, living hard lives. It's loud, it's raw, it's unpredictable and chaotic. At times, it's downright terrifying.
It's full of people you probably turn your head away from on the bus.
But, do you know what? Most people get better.
Granted, most of them come back. Some after only a brief few weeks. But the pills and the environment are enough to return people- usually quite quickly- to the community. Within a month or so, the schizophrenics don't think the food has been tampered with. The bi- polars can have a conversation that isn't so chaotic and pressured that your head spins just trying to listen to it. And the depressives get out of bed. And everyone- but everyone- keeps their clothes on!!
It's amazing what a month can do.
This blog is about my recovery. Slow and faltering as it is. It's also about life on an acute psych ward. It's just too human not to write about. It's too human to ignore.
But it's also about life on an acute psych ward. It's too human not to write about.
And, you know what, most people get better. Granted, most people come back after quite a short time. But, for sbrief p
'CRazyy' is not a very in vogue term. But it's short and snappy. It's definitely easier to type than 'experiencing an episode of acute mental illness'. When you put it next to that mouthful, 'crazy' is so much better. Don't you think?
My life has been far from sheltered. But in here I've learned about things I had no idea existed. I've seen more violence, more anger, more drugs, more verbal abuse, more heartache and heartbreak, than is right to see on one 18 bedded ward. This isn't prison. This place isn't full of bad people. It's full of hard people, living hard lives. It's loud, it's raw, it's unpredictable and chaotic. At times, it's downright terrifying.
It's full of people you probably turn your head away from on the bus.
But, do you know what? Most people get better.
Granted, most of them come back. Some after only a brief few weeks. But the pills and the environment are enough to return people- usually quite quickly- to the community. Within a month or so, the schizophrenics don't think the food has been tampered with. The bi- polars can have a conversation that isn't so chaotic and pressured that your head spins just trying to listen to it. And the depressives get out of bed. And everyone- but everyone- keeps their clothes on!!
It's amazing what a month can do.
This blog is about my recovery. Slow and faltering as it is. It's also about life on an acute psych ward. It's just too human not to write about. It's too human to ignore.
But it's also about life on an acute psych ward. It's too human not to write about.
And, you know what, most people get better. Granted, most people come back after quite a short time. But, for sbrief p
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