after my discharge (again) i went into a brief remission...going into august 2003 this time. i had recovered enough to go back to the partial hospital program every day, but alas, after one very emotional session during PHP, i broke down in tears again and was voicing suicidal ideation.
and once again, i was admitted to the cuckoo's nest. i was severely depressed because for one i had no money coming in to pay all the bills that were piling up and that alone had me feeling suicidal because i couldnt cope with the situation mentally and i would find myself crying and asking God what had i done to deserve His punishment and to please forgive me. the nights before my admission i would sometimes be up all night crying and praying or reading Bible passages because i wanted the pain that was tormenting me inside to stop.
i had received a 5-day notice from my landlord that was working its way to eviction and i freaked out. while i was in the hospital, i would call the real estate company and tell them that i was in the hospital and could they please bear with me at this time because i wasnt working and i was on an unpaid medical leave. they gave the usual speech about my needing to come up with the rent and bla bla bla, and i hung up feeling more depressed and desperate. that was when i started journaling by hand. many times i could barely hold the pen to write and my handwriting would be scrawled across the page but nevertheless i wrote. i wrote out everything i had been feeling from the last two hospitalizations, and remembering it would sometimes make me cry.
still, i kept writing up until i got discharged -- my stays usually went for a week and then i was put on this strange medication called Rispedal, which made me feel like a zombie. i remember i had took a pill before i got on the bus to come home, and the next thing i knew, i was feeling like i couldnt breathe, and i remember laying my head on my arms while the bus was in motion.
when i got to my stop, i felt like i was gonna pass out at any minute, and instead of walking home, i walked to this lounge on 83rd street and asked to use their pay phone. my hands were shaking like i had Parkinsons, and i felt disoriented and paranoid, and i called my daughter to walk home with me because i didnt think i could make it on my own. she said she would come and walk with me and after i made that call, still shaking, i sat down and laid my head on my arms and waited for her. my daughter came and asked me was i alright and i recall mumbling an answer like "uh huh. yeah.i'm ok." i felt like Rain Man with the monosyllabic responses and when we got home, my daughter asked why didnt i call her to meet me at the hospital and i told her i thought i could make it all the way home but i started feeling strange, and i felt like i couldnt walk straight, so that's why i went into that bar to use the phone.
i went to sleep and started having strange dreams and woke up scratching too. that shit had begun to start an allergic reaction because i could feel my tongue starting to swell and i was itching all over. in a panic i called the emergency room and told them how i was feeling and they told me to come right away. not trusting myself on the bus, i called a cab and had the cab take me to the ER.
when i got there, i headed straight for the ER and told them what had happened, and thankfully i had brought the meds with me that was causing the problem, and when an ER doc finally saw me, i told him what happened, and that i was feeling strange, like i couldnt breathe, and that i had awful tremors, and i showed him the tiny bumps that had started breaking out on my arms. he had the nurse to give me some Benadryl to stop the itching and to keep my tongue from further swelling. after about 15 minutes or so, i felt much better and the doc wrote out my discharge slip and told me perhaps i should stop taking the Risperdal, because it seemed like it was causing me to have an allergic reaction. i thanked him gratefully and went to catch the bus back home.
once i got home, i immediately flushed that Risperdal shit down the toilet, and kept taking this other med called Geodon, which i had no idea it was in the same category of Risperdal. Geodon was another anti-psychotic like Seroquel, and it was horrible. i found out that shit also made me break out all over and made my hands shake and made me feel suicidal. i think i was taking that and Lexapro and Klonopin as well at that time, and i felt horrible. by then i had an appointment to see my own psychiatrist, Dr. Munoz, and i told him how horrible the Geodon made me feel. he switched me off Geodon and put me on Seroquel instead.
i started out taking 100mg of Seroquel, and at first, i was ok. then a friend of mine wanted me to come over to her house, so i put on some clothes and walked to her building. so far, so good.
i was sitting at the kitchen table at her house and we were talking and all of a sudden i started getting drowsy and dizzy. i told her i needed to use the bathroom and when i got up the room started spinning, and the next thing i knew, i passed out on the floor with a loud "BAM!"
everybody in the house came running to see what had happened and by her being a former RN and also having bipolar disorder and was taking Seroquel, thru my blur i could hear her tell her husband and son to help me up off the floor and let me sleep it off. shit! nobody had told me that shit makes you dizzy! the last i remember i was being put to bed and i fell into a deep hard sleep.
the next morning when i woke up, i found my teenage daughter sitting at the foot of the little sofabed where i'd passed out like a saturday night drunk from the powerful punch from the Seroquel. she asked me if i was ok, and i said, yeah, and she helped me up and helped me get dressed so we could walk home. i was still a bit unsteady on my feet, but after a while, i gradually got my bearings and we walked home together. i got home and took my morning meds and just sat around the house in a somewhat zoned out state. thus began the demise of my relationship and also my grip on reality. i had started sitting in a corner of the sofa, and would sit and smoke and stare at the television but not really watching it.
medication complications? you bet your ass! stay tuned......
Monday, May 30, 2005
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
one flew into the cuckoo's nest - episode 3
sigh. the saga continues....well, after i was discharged from the hospital, it was no more work for me. my psychiatrist had took me off duty because of my illness, and i was told i was gonna be kept in the PHP program for about six months. six months? damn. i had NO money coming in, all my bills were piling up, shit was just getting completely outta control. i forgot to mention back in july '03 i had also filed for bankruptcy. i mean, i had credit card bills up the ass, payday loans that were past due, and just a whole slew of other bills that kept creeping up on me. i couldnt take it no more so i went ahead and filed. but it was the everyday bills that were also getting outta control, like my phone bill - it was due for disconnection, my light and gas bills too. all of this was steadily weighing extremely heavy on me, and though i would still go to PHP, i became more and more depressed by the day. at times i would just sit and cry or rock back and forth. i felt like the ground was giving way under me, and i felt like i had nowhere to turn. one particular day i cried and cried and cried so hard i nearly puked, and that's when i got a phone call from a male friend of mine. still sobbing, i answered the phone and he immediately sensed something was wrong and asked me if i was ok. still crying i told him no, that everything around me was going to hell, and i was losing my mind, and was still in tears. he told me that he kinda sensed something was wrong which prompted his phone call, and asked me if i could pull myself together and meet him up on 82nd and Cottage Grove. i sniffled and said yes, i thought i could do that and he said good, he'd see me up there.
i did manage to stop bawling enough to wash my face and put on a dress and some sandals and with swollen, puffy eyes, i walked up the street to the corner of 82nd & Cottage, and waited for him to arrive. after a while i saw him coming down the street and once he reached me, gave me a huge hug and said he was glad i made it out of the house. we walked and talked for a while, and he asked me if i had any cigarettes, and i told him no, i had none, and he bought a pack of Salem Lights 100s for me, and then we walked to the neighborhood pool room. he shot some balls, and coaxed me into shooting a few, which i did horribly (hell i aint Minnesota Fats a'ight?) and after that he had bought a couple of beers and we sat and drank and talked. i began to feel somewhat better after i told him my tales of woe. as the evening wore down, he gave me $10 which lifted my spirits a degree or two, and finally parting ways i walked back home.
i still was depressed and felt like crying again, but by this time i was all cried out so i took off my sundress and put on my funky old pajamas and sat on one side of the sofa and smoked and stared blankly off into space. there were many nights of crying and praying and asking the Lord to please ease my burdens and to forgive me for whatever wrongs i had done. i cried during group, i cried when i went home, hell, i was a walking talking tear machine. still i prayed and prayed and prayed to be released from the mental hell i was going thru.
august 2003. still going to PHP every day and now i had started zoning out and rocking back and forth as a comfort measure. still had no money coming in, bills were still piling up and my depression began to get worse and worse. i felt helpless, hopeless, and sigh, again, suicidal.
during one of the group sessions, i started crying softly at first and then started bawling uncontrollably and saying that i just wanted to die. i felt i had nothing to live for, i felt my daughters hated me, the world was against me and i had failed as a human being, a mother, and a person in general. so again, back into the cuckoo's nest i went. i wont bore you with the routine -- it was the same as the last two hospitalizations. i was in there for a week, saw Dr. Abrams again, only this time i acknowledged my anger, fears and also that i had been hearing voices, but i thought i felt ok enough to go home. this time he didnt pussyfoot around. he wrote the discharge order, along with medications i needed, and i went home.
around september of that same year, things began to look up a bit. the meds were doing their thing, i wasnt feeling like the whole world was out to get me, the crying spells lessened and i was told that i was making fairly good progress in PHP. my tentative discharge date was the early part of october, and in a way i was glad to be able to go back to work to play catch up with my bills and rent.
so...thus ends this episode of my time in the cuckoo's nest -- for now. there will be more to come so stay tuned.
i did manage to stop bawling enough to wash my face and put on a dress and some sandals and with swollen, puffy eyes, i walked up the street to the corner of 82nd & Cottage, and waited for him to arrive. after a while i saw him coming down the street and once he reached me, gave me a huge hug and said he was glad i made it out of the house. we walked and talked for a while, and he asked me if i had any cigarettes, and i told him no, i had none, and he bought a pack of Salem Lights 100s for me, and then we walked to the neighborhood pool room. he shot some balls, and coaxed me into shooting a few, which i did horribly (hell i aint Minnesota Fats a'ight?) and after that he had bought a couple of beers and we sat and drank and talked. i began to feel somewhat better after i told him my tales of woe. as the evening wore down, he gave me $10 which lifted my spirits a degree or two, and finally parting ways i walked back home.
i still was depressed and felt like crying again, but by this time i was all cried out so i took off my sundress and put on my funky old pajamas and sat on one side of the sofa and smoked and stared blankly off into space. there were many nights of crying and praying and asking the Lord to please ease my burdens and to forgive me for whatever wrongs i had done. i cried during group, i cried when i went home, hell, i was a walking talking tear machine. still i prayed and prayed and prayed to be released from the mental hell i was going thru.
august 2003. still going to PHP every day and now i had started zoning out and rocking back and forth as a comfort measure. still had no money coming in, bills were still piling up and my depression began to get worse and worse. i felt helpless, hopeless, and sigh, again, suicidal.
during one of the group sessions, i started crying softly at first and then started bawling uncontrollably and saying that i just wanted to die. i felt i had nothing to live for, i felt my daughters hated me, the world was against me and i had failed as a human being, a mother, and a person in general. so again, back into the cuckoo's nest i went. i wont bore you with the routine -- it was the same as the last two hospitalizations. i was in there for a week, saw Dr. Abrams again, only this time i acknowledged my anger, fears and also that i had been hearing voices, but i thought i felt ok enough to go home. this time he didnt pussyfoot around. he wrote the discharge order, along with medications i needed, and i went home.
around september of that same year, things began to look up a bit. the meds were doing their thing, i wasnt feeling like the whole world was out to get me, the crying spells lessened and i was told that i was making fairly good progress in PHP. my tentative discharge date was the early part of october, and in a way i was glad to be able to go back to work to play catch up with my bills and rent.
so...thus ends this episode of my time in the cuckoo's nest -- for now. there will be more to come so stay tuned.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
one flew into the cuckoo's nest - episode 2
after my discharge in that early part of july, i felt somewhat normal. i was taking my meds religiously and still going to PHP every morning (even though i'd be dog tired from working the night before) and still going up to my unit to work my shift.
somewhere along the third week of july 2003, i relapsed again. i started crying and babbling nonsense that i wanted to die, i felt like a failure and i felt like i couldnt keep going. again, i was walked over to the psych unit and admitted for suicidal ideation. again i went thru the drill of taking anything that was considered "dangerous" away from me. again the Thorazine for sleep, the nicotine patch to curb cravings, the early morning wake-up shouts, the breakfasts, lunch and dinner, the bedtime snack and sleeping, again the early morning vital sign invasion -- shit, i'm tired from just rehashing all of this! this time my bills had piled up at the curb, i was behind in my rent, and it felt like my whole world was crashing down on me and i had no way out. the social workers would come in my room to try to help me thru the financial woes, but to no avail.
i cried off and on, really feeling like a complete and total failure, and felt deep inside my kids hated me for being sick like this. and to top all of this off, i had a new attending psych doc -- a baldheaded gnome of a man named Dr. Abrams. by this time i was voicing my desire to go home and near week's end, i had the (dis)pleasure to meet with Abrams.
he asked me how i felt and i told him i felt fine. he said are you sure? and somewhat irritated i said yes. and of course the usual barrage of questions -- did i ever hear voices, was i seeing things that werent there, did i still feel suicidal, bla bla bla bla. to each query of his i answered a rather salty "NO". he looked at me and said, i dont think you're ready to go home yet.
now what did he say that for? feeling my hackles rising, i asked indignantly why not? and he asked me to tell him why i felt like i was ready to go home. i said because i feel better. he said, no, i dont think you really do. trying to keep a lid on my temper i said irritably, yes i do. i feel fine and i want to go home. in my mind i was like what the fuck is up with this muthafucka? why is he fucking with me like this? is he trying to send me completely over the edge? shit!
again the same asnine question -- tell me how you feel. mustering every bit of self-control to not snap off on this guy i said i feel fine. then he says, no, you're not fine. tell me how you really feel right now. finally i snapped and said why are you asking me the same damn questions? i told you i felt fine and i want to go home! then he says i'm not sure you're ready yet. you still havent told me how you really feel. by then, so help me God, i was ready to reach across the table and choke the fuck outta that man, and by then the tears started and i hate when i get mad and cry at the same time. nearly shouting, i said, 'what the hell do you want me to say? i dont know what you want me to say cuz you keep fucking with me!" and by then i started bawling like an idiot, and he finally asked me, are you angry? thru angry tears i said "yes." then somewhat nicer he said, you have a lot of anger built up inside you and you gotta let it out otherwise it'll kill ya and make you more depressed. um, ya think? geez!
i merely nodded my head, and he finally said, ok, i'm gonna write the order for your discharge.
you can go home. mortified, i got up and walked to the door, my mind still churning and then it dawned on me -- he was deliberately making me mad to make me release some of the anger i'd buried down inside me for years. i shook my head and thought, ha, he's a crafty muthafucka. and went to my room to get changed and get my walking papers outta there.
of course i had med scripts that needed filling and i went and got em filled and took my ass home.
sigh. i knew i was crazy, but damn, after all of that shit from Dr. Abrams, i know i was going off the deep end for sure.
stay tuned for the continuing saga of my experience in the cuckoo's nest -- yet again.
somewhere along the third week of july 2003, i relapsed again. i started crying and babbling nonsense that i wanted to die, i felt like a failure and i felt like i couldnt keep going. again, i was walked over to the psych unit and admitted for suicidal ideation. again i went thru the drill of taking anything that was considered "dangerous" away from me. again the Thorazine for sleep, the nicotine patch to curb cravings, the early morning wake-up shouts, the breakfasts, lunch and dinner, the bedtime snack and sleeping, again the early morning vital sign invasion -- shit, i'm tired from just rehashing all of this! this time my bills had piled up at the curb, i was behind in my rent, and it felt like my whole world was crashing down on me and i had no way out. the social workers would come in my room to try to help me thru the financial woes, but to no avail.
i cried off and on, really feeling like a complete and total failure, and felt deep inside my kids hated me for being sick like this. and to top all of this off, i had a new attending psych doc -- a baldheaded gnome of a man named Dr. Abrams. by this time i was voicing my desire to go home and near week's end, i had the (dis)pleasure to meet with Abrams.
he asked me how i felt and i told him i felt fine. he said are you sure? and somewhat irritated i said yes. and of course the usual barrage of questions -- did i ever hear voices, was i seeing things that werent there, did i still feel suicidal, bla bla bla bla. to each query of his i answered a rather salty "NO". he looked at me and said, i dont think you're ready to go home yet.
now what did he say that for? feeling my hackles rising, i asked indignantly why not? and he asked me to tell him why i felt like i was ready to go home. i said because i feel better. he said, no, i dont think you really do. trying to keep a lid on my temper i said irritably, yes i do. i feel fine and i want to go home. in my mind i was like what the fuck is up with this muthafucka? why is he fucking with me like this? is he trying to send me completely over the edge? shit!
again the same asnine question -- tell me how you feel. mustering every bit of self-control to not snap off on this guy i said i feel fine. then he says, no, you're not fine. tell me how you really feel right now. finally i snapped and said why are you asking me the same damn questions? i told you i felt fine and i want to go home! then he says i'm not sure you're ready yet. you still havent told me how you really feel. by then, so help me God, i was ready to reach across the table and choke the fuck outta that man, and by then the tears started and i hate when i get mad and cry at the same time. nearly shouting, i said, 'what the hell do you want me to say? i dont know what you want me to say cuz you keep fucking with me!" and by then i started bawling like an idiot, and he finally asked me, are you angry? thru angry tears i said "yes." then somewhat nicer he said, you have a lot of anger built up inside you and you gotta let it out otherwise it'll kill ya and make you more depressed. um, ya think? geez!
i merely nodded my head, and he finally said, ok, i'm gonna write the order for your discharge.
you can go home. mortified, i got up and walked to the door, my mind still churning and then it dawned on me -- he was deliberately making me mad to make me release some of the anger i'd buried down inside me for years. i shook my head and thought, ha, he's a crafty muthafucka. and went to my room to get changed and get my walking papers outta there.
of course i had med scripts that needed filling and i went and got em filled and took my ass home.
sigh. i knew i was crazy, but damn, after all of that shit from Dr. Abrams, i know i was going off the deep end for sure.
stay tuned for the continuing saga of my experience in the cuckoo's nest -- yet again.
Monday, May 23, 2005
one flew into the cuckoo's nest - the first episode
well. i had finally made it into the cuckoo's nest, and it wasnt really all that bad. i mean, we had laundry privileges, we had occupational therapy (which later became my favorite part of my treatment plan) , we could watch TV or listen to music, and yes, we also had other groups on the meds that we were taking. the only thing i hated was being awakened at the asscrack of dawn to have my vital signs taken and an occasional blood draw. also it would piss me off when the mental health workers would go down the hall and bang on our room doors saying "get up! get up, time for breakfast, get up!" it was bad enough the majority of us were still groggy from the sleeping pill the nurse gave us the night before, but for somebody to pound on your room door shouting to "get up!" was nerve-wracking. but after a while it didnt bother me. and most of the mental health workers were pretty cool. there was this one lady whose name is Eugenia (ha, that's my middle name) she was alright with me, and this other worker. an odd looking guy named Dave who would always razz me about being there, but he was cool too. now i know as a patient we werent supposed to be flirting or trying to step to any of the workers, but there was this one brotha that was fine. his name was Devin or Daivin or something -- shit i forget. but he always looked good and smelled good and was a cool cat all the way. i hadnt felt that kind of attraction to a man in some years, but that made me know that at least i was still a woman and was still normal in that effect. i got on fairly well with most of the nurses too, especially this cat named Archie --- Archie was my favorite nurse cause he was so laid back and down to earth.
so my first experience in the cuckoo's nest was nothing like the movie that Jack Nicholson played "R.P. McMurphy" in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest." nobody was mistreated, nobody was tied down (unless they had become overly combative, but it was few and far in between) and we were treated with respect. and the majority of us were ambulatory (meaning we were able to walk and talk and pretty much do for ourselves). so it wasnt so bad.
by the end of the week, the attending doc would come on the floor and check charts to see who was ready to be discharged. i think my attending was a portly white guy named Dr. Wilkenson, who asked me questions like , did i still have feelings of wanting to hurt myself/others, did i hear voices, and shit like that. i said no, i was doing (at least i thought) much better and i wanted to go home. he gave me a sharp glance and then finally wrote the order for me to be discharged. i was glad to go home. immediately following my discharge from the psych unit i was set up to go back to PHP that following monday. he wrote out scripts for Lexapro and Klonopin for me to have filled and then one of the workers got my clothes and purse and called security to give me back the stuff that was taken from my purse. the first thing i did once i walked out the front door was to light up a cigarette. of course i got dizzy cuz i hadnt smoked for a fucking week, but after the initial dizzy spell, i was ok. i walked to the bus stop and waited for the bus to take me to the Walgreens on 51st and Cottage Grove where i could fill my prescriptions. i had very little money, but by God, i got those meds. after that, i caught the bus again and headed home. so....that's the first episode of my being in the cuckoo's nest.....
stay tuned for the next installment....peace.
so my first experience in the cuckoo's nest was nothing like the movie that Jack Nicholson played "R.P. McMurphy" in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest." nobody was mistreated, nobody was tied down (unless they had become overly combative, but it was few and far in between) and we were treated with respect. and the majority of us were ambulatory (meaning we were able to walk and talk and pretty much do for ourselves). so it wasnt so bad.
by the end of the week, the attending doc would come on the floor and check charts to see who was ready to be discharged. i think my attending was a portly white guy named Dr. Wilkenson, who asked me questions like , did i still have feelings of wanting to hurt myself/others, did i hear voices, and shit like that. i said no, i was doing (at least i thought) much better and i wanted to go home. he gave me a sharp glance and then finally wrote the order for me to be discharged. i was glad to go home. immediately following my discharge from the psych unit i was set up to go back to PHP that following monday. he wrote out scripts for Lexapro and Klonopin for me to have filled and then one of the workers got my clothes and purse and called security to give me back the stuff that was taken from my purse. the first thing i did once i walked out the front door was to light up a cigarette. of course i got dizzy cuz i hadnt smoked for a fucking week, but after the initial dizzy spell, i was ok. i walked to the bus stop and waited for the bus to take me to the Walgreens on 51st and Cottage Grove where i could fill my prescriptions. i had very little money, but by God, i got those meds. after that, i caught the bus again and headed home. so....that's the first episode of my being in the cuckoo's nest.....
stay tuned for the next installment....peace.
diagnosis: depression
the downward spiral....*sigh* yep, that's the only way i can describe it. as i said previously, i went to the PHP sessions before i went to work each day and was assigned a psychiatrist (finally!) to get me started on meds. i think what caused the spiral was that i had really no medication to stabilize my mood, and i was also going thru withdrawals from being off one of the meds the other shrink had put me on, Klonopin. i would feel anxious, scared, and felt like i was losing my fucking mind. the PHP psych doc's name is Dr. Oscar Munoz, a wiry, long-haired Hispanic fellow who always seemed like he was in constant motion, but nonetheless a very good doctor. he rewrote a script for Lexapro, the anti-depresant the other shrink had started me on and when i had no money (which was most of the time *sigh*) he would usually give me either samples or a coupon i could take to Walgreens pharmacy to have filled at no cost. he also re-wrote another brand new script for Klonopin, which, at the time when i was working, had a $10 co-pay. at the salary i was on as a CP (clinical partner -- a glorified term for a CNA with additional skills -- in this instance i was doing phlebotomy (blood draws) and EKGs because i worked on a cardiac (heart) floor) wasnt shit, many times i had to borrow the $10 so i could get my medication refilled, mainly because i had health insurance (fucking HMO) thru the job and with certain meds there were co-pays.
so thus began my run on the medication. for a while they seemed to help, and i was somewhat functional for a while, but always tired and extremely drowsy (the Klon was the culprit for that) but i was at least able to go to work -- for about a week or so, then i dropped back down into the spiral and in one session of PHP, i started crying again, and saying that i didnt want to live anymore, that i felt like a failure at everything i did -- even as a mother, and i just wanted to die. Charlotte asked me if i was feeling suicidal, and tearfully i said yes, and she just nodded, and took me over to the inpatient psych side where i was immediately admitted.
i was still in my uniform and crying and as i was being taken to my room, the unit nurse asked me to take off my clothes, my rings, my necklace, earrings, shoes (because they had laces), and they also went thru my purse and took out items that were thought to be potentially dangerous, like my compact, my nail file, keys, and bagged the jewelry and had me sign for it to be placed with the security office - oh i forgot to mention my cigarette lighter and cigarettes too.
my purse was put in holding closet and i was issued a gown and an admission kit consisting of a bar of soap, a bottle of lotion, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and styrofoam drinking cups, also a washcloth and a towel and footie slippers. i put on the gown and asked for another so my ass wouldnt be hanging all out for the world to see, and then i was weighed and after that i was left alone in my room. i managed to stop crying for a while, and came out of my room and walked up and down the corridor, looking at my new surroundings. i was kinda scared, but i felt safe at the same time, because i knew if i had worked my shift, and went home, i probably would have tried to commit suicide.
since i was admitted some time before they served the patients dinner, i had to wait until then to eat. when the dinner trays were brought around, it looked like crap, but as hungry as i was, i ate it. ironically, i thought, this would be the same time i would be passing dinner trays to my patients on my floor, and it felt strange at first to be given a dinner tray as an inpatient -- i mean there were many times on my floor co-workers and i would swipe a leftover dinner tray that was meant for a patient who'd been discharged, and that would be our dinner for the night.
now i was a patient, on a psych unit no less, and sighing heavily, i finished my food.
oh yeah, i forgot to mention i was given a generic version of Nicorette gum to curb my nicotine cravings -- believe me, that shit was nasty. i 'd rather chew on a cigarette butt than that stuff.
because at that time we werent allowed to smoke, we were either given the gum or a patch.
after a couple of days with the gum, i asked for a patch. sigh. the patch made me break out in a rash, but it was either that or go cold turkey. oh well.
around 9 that evening, we were given a snack before bedtime, which usually consisted of either a ham or turkey sandwich, some cookies and either juice or milk, or a dry ass peanut butter and jelly sandwich. bleh. the cookies were good tho. then it was nighttime meds, and i was given Thorazine to help me sleep. believe me, that shit is powerful. about three minutes after the nurse gave it to me, i was yawning something fierce and had no choice but to go to bed. i was tired anyways, from all the bawling i'd done earlier and that pill just magnified the fatigue so it was lights out for me.
stay tuned for more of my experience in the cuckoo's nest........
so thus began my run on the medication. for a while they seemed to help, and i was somewhat functional for a while, but always tired and extremely drowsy (the Klon was the culprit for that) but i was at least able to go to work -- for about a week or so, then i dropped back down into the spiral and in one session of PHP, i started crying again, and saying that i didnt want to live anymore, that i felt like a failure at everything i did -- even as a mother, and i just wanted to die. Charlotte asked me if i was feeling suicidal, and tearfully i said yes, and she just nodded, and took me over to the inpatient psych side where i was immediately admitted.
i was still in my uniform and crying and as i was being taken to my room, the unit nurse asked me to take off my clothes, my rings, my necklace, earrings, shoes (because they had laces), and they also went thru my purse and took out items that were thought to be potentially dangerous, like my compact, my nail file, keys, and bagged the jewelry and had me sign for it to be placed with the security office - oh i forgot to mention my cigarette lighter and cigarettes too.
my purse was put in holding closet and i was issued a gown and an admission kit consisting of a bar of soap, a bottle of lotion, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and styrofoam drinking cups, also a washcloth and a towel and footie slippers. i put on the gown and asked for another so my ass wouldnt be hanging all out for the world to see, and then i was weighed and after that i was left alone in my room. i managed to stop crying for a while, and came out of my room and walked up and down the corridor, looking at my new surroundings. i was kinda scared, but i felt safe at the same time, because i knew if i had worked my shift, and went home, i probably would have tried to commit suicide.
since i was admitted some time before they served the patients dinner, i had to wait until then to eat. when the dinner trays were brought around, it looked like crap, but as hungry as i was, i ate it. ironically, i thought, this would be the same time i would be passing dinner trays to my patients on my floor, and it felt strange at first to be given a dinner tray as an inpatient -- i mean there were many times on my floor co-workers and i would swipe a leftover dinner tray that was meant for a patient who'd been discharged, and that would be our dinner for the night.
now i was a patient, on a psych unit no less, and sighing heavily, i finished my food.
oh yeah, i forgot to mention i was given a generic version of Nicorette gum to curb my nicotine cravings -- believe me, that shit was nasty. i 'd rather chew on a cigarette butt than that stuff.
because at that time we werent allowed to smoke, we were either given the gum or a patch.
after a couple of days with the gum, i asked for a patch. sigh. the patch made me break out in a rash, but it was either that or go cold turkey. oh well.
around 9 that evening, we were given a snack before bedtime, which usually consisted of either a ham or turkey sandwich, some cookies and either juice or milk, or a dry ass peanut butter and jelly sandwich. bleh. the cookies were good tho. then it was nighttime meds, and i was given Thorazine to help me sleep. believe me, that shit is powerful. about three minutes after the nurse gave it to me, i was yawning something fierce and had no choice but to go to bed. i was tired anyways, from all the bawling i'd done earlier and that pill just magnified the fatigue so it was lights out for me.
stay tuned for more of my experience in the cuckoo's nest........
Sunday, May 22, 2005
the downward spiral
well. after my mental meltdown, psychotic break, or for those who prefer the good old-fashioned term "nervous breakdown", from the night before, i went to see my therapist and told her what had happened. by then the tears started flowing nonstop and i could feel myself going into panic mode. my therapist asked me if i wanted her to call my job and tell them that i wasnt able to work for a while, and tearfully i said yes. i knew i could not go back to that place without flipping out again, so she made the call to the nurse manager of the unit. i sat still crying, didnt know why but just was. after she made the call, she let me talk and i went way back into the pain of my childhood, crying off and on, telling her about the abuse i suffered growing up from my mother, and also the stress i was feeling from my relationship because me and my significant other was supposed to be going to Las Vegas together and because of my breakdown, and being on leave from work, totally screwed up my cash flow. i couldnt draw sick time much less vacation time because i hadnt worked at the place long enough, and that upset me. so after my session, i was more depressed than ever and truth be told i didnt even want to go to Vegas, knowing that i had no money coming in, and my s/o was harping on that fact. i tried to reassure that i would probably be able to get my vacation pay, and i was counting on that. i would see my therapist every week now, still feeling uneasy about the upcoming trip.
during that time i also was seeing a psychiatrist who i describe as "the shrink from hell" because her demeanor was like that of Judge Judy's -- real blunt, and abrasive and i really didnt like her at all, but she had put me on meds for my illness -- at the time i was taking 20mg Lexapro (one of the newer anti-depressants), .05 mg Klonopin (for anxiety and aiding in sleep) and also if my memory serves me right, i'm not sure, 10mg of Wellbutrin.
i never thought i would see the day that i would have to take medication to stay sane, but , alas, there it was. anyway, in April, my s/o and i were off to Vegas, and i was feeling very antsy because i really had no money and i was faking my way thru when deep inside i should have just said when we were at the airport, "look, i dont have money to go and i'm gonna go ahead and get back on the train and go home." but i didnt. needless to say the trip was a disaster and my s/o was quite pissed with me because i didnt have no money and felt taken advantage of by me. when we got back and i tried to explain, i was cut off rudely, even when i tried to drive home the fact that she was aware of my illness and acted like it was no big thing. we argued back and forth and then she said she "felt leery of going anywhere again with me " and that she felt "taken advantage of" that only made me feel worse, and thus began the downward spiral into the dark hole of depression......sigh.
i was still seeing my therapist, but kicked the shrink to the curb because i was starting to have hallucinations from taking the Wellbutrin, aside from the tremors too. when i called that bitch to tell her about the symptoms i was having, she all but yelled at me "well then just stop taking it!" and clicked off her cell phone. Pissed beyond pissed, i called the insurance company and filed a complaint against her funky ass, and told them i wanted to find another shrink because that lady was a total bitch and i did not care for her abrasive manner towards me. unfortunately they couldnt find a shrink for me, so i just kept up my therapy sessions.
by then i began to feel worse and while at work (i had changed hospitals by then) in July 2003, i burst into tears and just couldnt seem to stop crying. i felt like i was gonna lose it and felt panicky and scared. one of the nurses came into the break room (ha, how ironic is that) and saw me crying and asked if i were alright. tearfully i said no, that i felt like i was losing my mind, and so on, and she suggested that i go down to the ER. i did, and still crying, i was given a psych eval by one of the ER docs, who passed the info on to the psych nurse on duty in the ER.
the nurse's name was Gina, a very very nice lady who asked me what happened. Tearfully i told her that i felt like i was going crazy and that i'd been depressed but didnt know why. Gina told me about a program that the hospital offered called the Partial Day Psychiatric Hospital Program, or PHP, which was located on the 4th floor of the hospital. She called up to the floor and asked to speak to a nurse named Charlotte Jackson, and told her of my plight. After Gina hung up, she gave me the information that i was to come to the 4th floor the next day and Charlotte would take care of the rest, and she also said she would call up to my unit and speak with the nurse manager and tell her that i was going home for the rest of the shift. i thanked Gina for being so kind and helping me, and i went back to my unit on the 11th floor, collected my things and went home.
the next morning i got up, bathed, dressed and got on the bus to the hospital to meet with Charlotte, because my appointment was at 10 am. i came to the 4th floor and was quite nervous, because i hadnt realized that the 4th floor was the psychiatric unit. Charlotte came in the room to do the intake on me, and said that i had nothing to be afraid of, that the program would help me and that i would get better. i started crying again, and thru my tears i told her what had happened the day before when i was at work. she reassured me that it happens to everybody at some point in their lives and that's why the program was designed to help people get thru difficult times. the only part i hated was i came dressed in my uniform and was wearing my work ID and Charlotte told me it would be better if i took it off while in session -- part of patient confidentiality. i took my ID off and stuffed it in my jacket pocket and then she told me to come with her to the group. in my teal blue scrubs, i stuck out like a sore thumb, and was scared shitless at the group of people. i had been used to one-on-one sessions with my other therapist, and was scared to open up to a roomful of strangers.
looking back, i probably should have told my therapist to fax over my records from her to the PHP folks so that they could have an accurate account of what was going on with me. but at that time my mind was not functioning right. the sessions lasted until 2pm, and then afterwards i went upstairs to my unit on the 11th floor and somehow made it thru my shift.
i came every day at 9 to PHP and the second session was with a social worker whose name was Amy , and she welcomed me to the group and asked what had brought me to PHP, and i told the group that i was depressed and that i had had a nervous breakdown at the other hospital where i had worked, and i was there to seek help. she asked what triggered the break, and i began to tell her and the other group members about all the things that had been buried inside of me for years....the pain of abuse from my mama, the molestation of my oldest daughter and how i felt guilty about not protecting her enough, and by that time, i was in tears --- body-shaking tears because of having to remember all of those painful things. everyone who was in the group was very compassionate which made me cry even harder. Amy commended me on my courage to share those painful memories and to come before a group of strangers and talk about it.
and thus began my journey in the downward spiral. stay tuned for more.
during that time i also was seeing a psychiatrist who i describe as "the shrink from hell" because her demeanor was like that of Judge Judy's -- real blunt, and abrasive and i really didnt like her at all, but she had put me on meds for my illness -- at the time i was taking 20mg Lexapro (one of the newer anti-depressants), .05 mg Klonopin (for anxiety and aiding in sleep) and also if my memory serves me right, i'm not sure, 10mg of Wellbutrin.
i never thought i would see the day that i would have to take medication to stay sane, but , alas, there it was. anyway, in April, my s/o and i were off to Vegas, and i was feeling very antsy because i really had no money and i was faking my way thru when deep inside i should have just said when we were at the airport, "look, i dont have money to go and i'm gonna go ahead and get back on the train and go home." but i didnt. needless to say the trip was a disaster and my s/o was quite pissed with me because i didnt have no money and felt taken advantage of by me. when we got back and i tried to explain, i was cut off rudely, even when i tried to drive home the fact that she was aware of my illness and acted like it was no big thing. we argued back and forth and then she said she "felt leery of going anywhere again with me " and that she felt "taken advantage of" that only made me feel worse, and thus began the downward spiral into the dark hole of depression......sigh.
i was still seeing my therapist, but kicked the shrink to the curb because i was starting to have hallucinations from taking the Wellbutrin, aside from the tremors too. when i called that bitch to tell her about the symptoms i was having, she all but yelled at me "well then just stop taking it!" and clicked off her cell phone. Pissed beyond pissed, i called the insurance company and filed a complaint against her funky ass, and told them i wanted to find another shrink because that lady was a total bitch and i did not care for her abrasive manner towards me. unfortunately they couldnt find a shrink for me, so i just kept up my therapy sessions.
by then i began to feel worse and while at work (i had changed hospitals by then) in July 2003, i burst into tears and just couldnt seem to stop crying. i felt like i was gonna lose it and felt panicky and scared. one of the nurses came into the break room (ha, how ironic is that) and saw me crying and asked if i were alright. tearfully i said no, that i felt like i was losing my mind, and so on, and she suggested that i go down to the ER. i did, and still crying, i was given a psych eval by one of the ER docs, who passed the info on to the psych nurse on duty in the ER.
the nurse's name was Gina, a very very nice lady who asked me what happened. Tearfully i told her that i felt like i was going crazy and that i'd been depressed but didnt know why. Gina told me about a program that the hospital offered called the Partial Day Psychiatric Hospital Program, or PHP, which was located on the 4th floor of the hospital. She called up to the floor and asked to speak to a nurse named Charlotte Jackson, and told her of my plight. After Gina hung up, she gave me the information that i was to come to the 4th floor the next day and Charlotte would take care of the rest, and she also said she would call up to my unit and speak with the nurse manager and tell her that i was going home for the rest of the shift. i thanked Gina for being so kind and helping me, and i went back to my unit on the 11th floor, collected my things and went home.
the next morning i got up, bathed, dressed and got on the bus to the hospital to meet with Charlotte, because my appointment was at 10 am. i came to the 4th floor and was quite nervous, because i hadnt realized that the 4th floor was the psychiatric unit. Charlotte came in the room to do the intake on me, and said that i had nothing to be afraid of, that the program would help me and that i would get better. i started crying again, and thru my tears i told her what had happened the day before when i was at work. she reassured me that it happens to everybody at some point in their lives and that's why the program was designed to help people get thru difficult times. the only part i hated was i came dressed in my uniform and was wearing my work ID and Charlotte told me it would be better if i took it off while in session -- part of patient confidentiality. i took my ID off and stuffed it in my jacket pocket and then she told me to come with her to the group. in my teal blue scrubs, i stuck out like a sore thumb, and was scared shitless at the group of people. i had been used to one-on-one sessions with my other therapist, and was scared to open up to a roomful of strangers.
looking back, i probably should have told my therapist to fax over my records from her to the PHP folks so that they could have an accurate account of what was going on with me. but at that time my mind was not functioning right. the sessions lasted until 2pm, and then afterwards i went upstairs to my unit on the 11th floor and somehow made it thru my shift.
i came every day at 9 to PHP and the second session was with a social worker whose name was Amy , and she welcomed me to the group and asked what had brought me to PHP, and i told the group that i was depressed and that i had had a nervous breakdown at the other hospital where i had worked, and i was there to seek help. she asked what triggered the break, and i began to tell her and the other group members about all the things that had been buried inside of me for years....the pain of abuse from my mama, the molestation of my oldest daughter and how i felt guilty about not protecting her enough, and by that time, i was in tears --- body-shaking tears because of having to remember all of those painful things. everyone who was in the group was very compassionate which made me cry even harder. Amy commended me on my courage to share those painful memories and to come before a group of strangers and talk about it.
and thus began my journey in the downward spiral. stay tuned for more.
Friday, May 20, 2005
the beginning of my end........
sigh....the beginning of my end. well, it all started on february 17, 2003. i was working the 3 to11 shift at a hospital on chicago's west side. i was already tired and irritable and had a load of 20 (count 'em) patients and was working with a real lazy bitch ass nurse. all during shift i was feeling strange....i kept hearing these voices in my head that sounded like a convention....they started out soft and then intensified to loud and demanding. i was winding up my shift and was working my way down to my last patient, and this particular nurse had been riding my ass damn near all evening. the voices kept intensifying with incredible strength, and i would find myself shaking my head to clear the voices away, but they kept on coming.
i could feel myself starting to lose it, and i got shaky and scared all at the same time. after a while this one voice that sounded like Darth Vader boomed in my head "KILL THAT BITCH! KILL HER! KILL HER!" and i swear to God if that nurse had merely tapped me on my shoulder i would have been all over her ass like a bad rash and they would have called security to pull me off her. by the time i got to my last patient, i lost it. i started screaming at the top of my lungs "I WANNA GO HOME! I CANT TAKE THIS SHIT ANYMORE! I WANNA GO HOME AND I WANNA GO HOME NOW!!!!" all my co workers came running to see what the hell was going on and by then i had burst into tears and saying over and over "I WANNA GO HOME!!!! DONT TOUCH ME! I WANNA GO HOME!"
well, the charge nurse, a mousy looking white woman, said calm as can be "ok...leave her alone. she's burned out. let her go home." still bawling and slinging snot, i blindly ran to the nurse's lounge and called my therapist crying, leaving her a tearful, hysterical message that i needed to talk to her and please call me back on my cell phone. i managed to put on my boots, heavy winter coat, hat and gloves and grabbed my purse and walked out of the hospital into the snowy night to the "El" station. by then i was in a zombie like state when i reached the train station and when i reached the platform, i felt numb --- sorta outta body-like. when the train came, i boarded and sat down in a window seat and watched the train whiz along the tracks. the voices had died down, and i was still in a zombie like state by the time the train reached my stop (which was the end of the line at 63rd and Cottage Grove). i got off, and took the elevator down to the bus stop to wait for the number 4 Cottage Grove bus to take me home. again, i sat staring out of the window as the bus lumbered down Cottage Grove avenue thru the snowy night.
i saw my stop approaching and pulled the stopcord and got off and watched the bus roar off down the street. staring blankly ahead, i crossed the street and walked towards my house.
when i got home, my daughter asked me "mama, what's the matter" and i mumbled a reply and after removing my outerwear, i sat down on my couch and stared off into space.
my therapist called me back and i told her the whole horrible chain of events and she told me to come and see her the next morning, which i did.
so....thus begins my spiral into the hell of depression.....stay tuned for more.
i could feel myself starting to lose it, and i got shaky and scared all at the same time. after a while this one voice that sounded like Darth Vader boomed in my head "KILL THAT BITCH! KILL HER! KILL HER!" and i swear to God if that nurse had merely tapped me on my shoulder i would have been all over her ass like a bad rash and they would have called security to pull me off her. by the time i got to my last patient, i lost it. i started screaming at the top of my lungs "I WANNA GO HOME! I CANT TAKE THIS SHIT ANYMORE! I WANNA GO HOME AND I WANNA GO HOME NOW!!!!" all my co workers came running to see what the hell was going on and by then i had burst into tears and saying over and over "I WANNA GO HOME!!!! DONT TOUCH ME! I WANNA GO HOME!"
well, the charge nurse, a mousy looking white woman, said calm as can be "ok...leave her alone. she's burned out. let her go home." still bawling and slinging snot, i blindly ran to the nurse's lounge and called my therapist crying, leaving her a tearful, hysterical message that i needed to talk to her and please call me back on my cell phone. i managed to put on my boots, heavy winter coat, hat and gloves and grabbed my purse and walked out of the hospital into the snowy night to the "El" station. by then i was in a zombie like state when i reached the train station and when i reached the platform, i felt numb --- sorta outta body-like. when the train came, i boarded and sat down in a window seat and watched the train whiz along the tracks. the voices had died down, and i was still in a zombie like state by the time the train reached my stop (which was the end of the line at 63rd and Cottage Grove). i got off, and took the elevator down to the bus stop to wait for the number 4 Cottage Grove bus to take me home. again, i sat staring out of the window as the bus lumbered down Cottage Grove avenue thru the snowy night.
i saw my stop approaching and pulled the stopcord and got off and watched the bus roar off down the street. staring blankly ahead, i crossed the street and walked towards my house.
when i got home, my daughter asked me "mama, what's the matter" and i mumbled a reply and after removing my outerwear, i sat down on my couch and stared off into space.
my therapist called me back and i told her the whole horrible chain of events and she told me to come and see her the next morning, which i did.
so....thus begins my spiral into the hell of depression.....stay tuned for more.
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