And they're coming to take me away ha haIn Part 1 I provided some background and began my "report" to my patient advocate. It continues after I had voluntarily checked into a psych hospital...
They're coming to take me away ho ho he he ha ha
To the happy home with trees and flowers and chirping birds and basket weavers
Who sit and smile and twiddle their thumbs and toes
They're coming to take me away ha ha
-- Napoleon XIV
The admissions woman eventually found a way to get to the inpatient area, punched in codes at a couple different doors, and before I was inside a minute a tech (I think she was a tech as she was wearing a different color than what I understand nurses wear) asked if the small bag I was carrying had my stuff in it. I said yes then she looked in my bag to find my prescription bottles, a tube of lip balm, and a cord to charge my mobile phone. She brusquely said that she needed to take all of this from me, and my shoelaces, as a safety precaution. Before I could ask what the policy was for getting access to it, she was walking away with my bag. I then noticed the admissions woman had disappeared with no introductions, never mind handoff. Quite panicked at this point, I told the nurses/techs at the nurse station that I was confused and needed help. Different women at the station tried to calm me down in condescending tones asking what the matter was, what did I want. My wife was with me and saw that I was panicked but she knew the only thing that would help me calm down was information, not condescending questions. I continued to express myself as best as my sweaty, anxious, baffled self could.
When I asked for a list of rules, or a list of what I could or could not do, the response was “Well, what do you want to do?” I asked multiple people for a list of rules; no one provided one or even admitted that there were rules.
When I explained that I had expected to have access to my mobile phone all day and I had only just found out that restrictions would be placed on me while there, the response was “Just calm down – take a breath.”
When I explained that I needed to reschedule a plumber that was supposed to come to our house the next day and that I needed to check arrival times to formulate a plan for picking my dad up at the airport, the response was “You can use this phone (pointing to the landline phone at the nurse station) – what number do you want to dial?”
After a while I saw Female Doctor 1 working behind the nurse station so I tried to collect what little composure I could and explained that I had no idea I would be in a psych hospital. She seemed to have trouble understanding how I did not know that. Looking back at all our discussions I think the only paperwork she gave me was a handwritten note with the number of a woman who handled intake for the facility. I understand the Ketamine program is novel and growing but some reading material covering “what to expect from your first Ketamine treatment”, “restrictions to be aware of when you are inpatient overnight”, and “who to contact with questions and concerns” at the very least would have helped immensely. More information = able to better prepare = less anxiety = better outcomes, at least for me but I imagine also for a lot of patients with chronic mental health issues. Then Female Doctor 1 mentioned that group therapy sessions would be available if I wanted to join them later.
A bit later my nurse (I could not understand her very well with her accent that my tinnitus/dyslexia had trouble with, so I never caught her name) led me and my wife to my room to get my vitals. I discovered there were two beds in the room with a guy sleeping in one bed and his stuff scattered around the room. Never in my worst nightmares did I imagine I would have a roommate. Female Doctor 1 knew that as a child I was sexually abused by an older boy for a long period of time – how on earth did it make sense to assume I would be ok with sharing a room with a guy overnight? I suspect my blood pressure and other vitals indicated my panicked state but my nurse said nothing as she took my laced sneakers as she finished up. We got out of there in a hurry as my roommate did not take kindly to the disturbance. Had I known that a roommate was even a remote possibility, I would have chosen not to get the Ketamine treatment when I learned about it the previous year.
My wife then had to leave to go to work so I tried to be strong and just said she needed to get me out of here as early as she could the next morning. Left alone there I have never felt so unimportant. I did what I could to put up with this exceeding un-therapeutic, probably harmful, situation for the sake of my wife and family. Depression is life-threatening and some days all I want to do is die but I soldier on because I am reminded by everyone to have hope, but this environment seemed empty of it.
The lack of useful information continued. I asked what I was supposed to do since I had nothing to do (I would have at least brought a book if I knew everything else would be confiscated). No options were offered so I wandered around and observed. No one offered to introduce me to anyone, no one offered me a tour of the inpatient area, no one explained what the next step for my treatment was, nothing. I did hear some vague apologies about morning shift change disorganization but I did not want apologies, I wanted information. It seemed odd that nurses would hoard information but that is the distinct impression I got – that somehow information was a type of currency that I had not yet earned. Or that if they told me an estimate for when I was to be brought upstairs (say “in the next hour or two”) for treatment that I could hold them accountable and that was simply not going to happen.
Continued in Part 3 which should be posted, blog software willing, in 3 days.
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