The phone wouldn’t stop ringing. It was endless ringing. Finally it dawned on me that I was likely
going to die and that was my husband trying to reach me out of concern. I did what was right, I answered the
phone. He was on one line with my best
friend, a cop, she had the OPP on her other line, and they all sprang into
action. I needed help and it was on its
way, come hell or high water, help was coming.
In case you didn’t read my last post, it left off with my
having overdosed on prescription medication in the throws of a Bi Polar Low
brought on by a medication change. The
change removed any safety nets I had in place to prevent a low and I spiralled
out of control. Never have I experienced
such pain.
I don’t know why I answered the phone that day. My plan was to die. It was a solid plan in my mind and well under
way but I must have known deep down, I couldn’t do that to them. To the people that loved me. I couldn’t see it through. I was so low I wanted what was coming, I
did. There was no questioning that. I guess I wanted to hear my husband’s voice
one more time. I wanted him to hear my
apology for what I was doing.
I don’t remember much about the ambulance and the police
arriving at my house. I know that my
best friend had them on the phone to explain that I had a big dog who was the
most lovable dog around. I remember the
cop calling my dog’s name. I remember
saying “don’t let him outside with us please”. “He’s friendly and scared, be kind to him
please”.
God when I think what I almost did to him. Even that evening, what I put that poor puppy
through having to see his mother being strapped down and taken out of the
house. Poor thing. I am crying as I type this just trying to
imagine what he thought. (Yes I feel
the same way when I think of what my husband must have felt arriving at the
hospital too. I am not just in love with
my dog! That would be silly.)
The ambulance ride, I don’t remember. None of it.
The ER, gone from my memory.
I didn’t even know I was in the ER at any point.
I woke up in the ICU with wires sticking out
everywhere. I was very stoned. Apparently they don’t do stomach pumping much
anymore because of the damage it does.
If a person takes their own prescription, nine times out of ten with the
proper fluids to force along absorption, they can tolerate their own medication
in large doses. It’s why I am alive
today.
No damage to my kidneys or liver. I am so very lucky. I was able to pass three full prescriptions
basically, through my body, in two days.
I spent all of Thursday and much of Friday in the ICU getting the
drugs pushed out of my system. I
remember my husband, my best friend, and my brother, all there. I remember a lot of tears and apologies from
both sides. We all felt some guilt for
having let the darkness get that far.
And tears of joy I was still there.
Tears of joy from them that is.
When I woke up for the first time in the ICU the darkness
was still there, inside me, and I remember saying “why am I still fucking here,
why did I answer the phone?” Still there
was so much pain inside me I couldn’t see how lucky I was. Not in the moment of time that was THEN. After my medications got rebalanced I couldn’t,
I can’t, believe it happened. I can’t believe
I was actually a person that attempted suicide.
It’s still hard for me to believe.
A concept I can’t quite get my head around. What happened? How could I have gotten so
lost?
What happened was changing my medications and doing it at
home thinking my husband and I had the skill set to undertake that. We didn’t.
When someone with mental illness needs to change their
medication, it needs to be done under the watchful eye of professional medical
care. Either you are in constant contact
with your professional caregiver or you check yourself into the hospital. “Constant contact” does not exist in the
medical system, that’s a fact. You
cannot get a doctor to see you daily, or every other day. Phone contact? What’s that?
So you change your medication and suddenly you are suicidal. What now?
You think you have a grip on it, you wouldn’t do something like that
would you? It goes on for days, a week,
you don’t act on your thoughts so that makes it clear, you won’t do anything
right? Wrong. There might be that one day when left alone
that you just cave to the pain. You give
in to it. You can no longer hold it
together. Don’t think it can’t happen to
you? It can. A suicidal thought is a suicidal
thought.
Do you know how many times I have heard, “Do you have
suicidal thoughts?” Yes I do, I would
answer. “Any plans to follow through
with that?” At the moment, no, I do
not.
What is that? That is
system failure. I shouldn’t need a
business plan, the thought is there.
Check me in! Put me under lock
and key. Help me!
What I didn’t know was when my psychiatrist’s office said, “go
to the ER” they meant “if you are unstable, feeling suicidal, go to the ER,
tell them, they will clear you physically for entry into the Mental Health Unit. Once in there you will be under “constant
care” of a team of Mental Health professionals, nurses, therapists, and the
psychiatrist”. All they said was “go to
the nearest ER”. So we just didn’t
understand it. I had no idea that the “ER”
meant that kind of care was available. I
figured you went to the ER when you attempted suicide. I got that part. Nailed it!
Furthermore, what do you imagine when you hear “Mental
Health Unit”? Even had they told me
that, all I would imagine was the Looney Bin.
That’s what I thought. Screaming
people, people in straight jackets, me being shivved by some lunatic. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Me and Jack hanging in our jackets. Nurse Ratchet down my throat. I am sure some of the bigger hospitals and
places like CAMH (Center for Addiction and Mental Health) are more similar to
that than not. How does that make a
person WANT to check in? Just imagine
it. Think about it. Imagine in your most fragile place, your
darkest hour, walking in there and voluntarily checking yourself in? Could you do it? We had talked about my going to CAMH’s
ER. We figured what better place for me
to get my medication re-balanced than Canada’s foremost Mental Health
Hospital. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t imagine myself there with people
that needed serious help. Because I didn’t
right?
Back to the ICU.
I had the nicest of nurses in the ICU. They were constantly on the phone with Sick
Children’s Hospital if you can believe it and their Poison Control Center. I remember that distinctly, wondering what
little kid was in the ICU with me that got poisoned. It was just me. I was the ONLY patient in the ICU, I had
poisoned myself. I guess Sick Kids is
the expert in the area so they just do the math based on my age and
weight. Being the only patient in the
ICU had its perks I tell ya. I got
better care than I have ever received in the hospital before in my
lifetime. Surgeries, emergency
appendectomy, broken bones. Nothing
compared to being the sole patient in the ICU.
Perhaps that’s why when I got to the Mental Health Unit and
the door locked behind me in the unit trapping me inside, well, I started to
lose my mind. More so. Here I had been, all the care in the world
and they show me to a room with no curtains or drapes, a bed 4 inches off the
floor with tie down straps for the wrists and ankles. I ran from the room and tried to force the exit
doors open. On the other side, locked
out, my husband and brother. Both
looking at me with such fear and pain in their eyes. As I kicked and screamed to be let out. Unfortunately, that wasn’t happening. Suicide attempts = a mandatory 72 hour hold
in the Mental Health Unit (“MHU”). My
own psychiatrist runs the unit and he demanded a 5 day stay to re-balance my
medication or he would no longer act as my doctor. I was screwed. I was staying and I knew it. I blamed my husband for calling me. I wasn’t well yet. It was all his fault. (Don’t worry, with the re-balance came love
and understanding).
After showing me the “hold” room a nurse quietly took me
aside and asked me to see another room, a private patient room which perhaps “better
suited” me. At that time they let in my
husband and brother once I was away from the “escape” doors. They joined me in the sterile, drab room and
reminded me of the seriousness of my actions and the dark place I was in. They reminded me I needed help. And they both basically told me to suck it
the fuck up. I was in trouble and this
was it for me. This or death. I barked out “I choose death” much to
everyone’s chagrin but I stayed in the room.
I had no choice when the head nurse, Nurse Ratchet, came in and barked, “You
have two choices, this room and you quiet down or the other room and I strap
you down”. I curled up on the hard bed
with the flat, plastic pillow and cried until they left. Smartest thing that nurse did that day.
And that’s where I think we will leave today’s post. With my being safely checked into the MHU of
my local hospital for treatment. For a
re-balancing of my meds and some therapy for 5 days. It turns out, it was exactly what I needed
and I would go back tomorrow if my medications needed changing again. It is exactly what a person struggling with
mental health needs and has to know is the ONLY option when struggling. The fact there are options is sometimes more
information than most people know. Almost
every hospital has a MHU, almost all.
And they are there for short stays for people struggling. Instead of death you can choose life and
help.
Who knew?
No comments:
Post a Comment