This is the time of year when we resolve to make changes in our lives. I can resolve to try and be more patient and to not become irritated so quickly but as those of you on this journey know, I don't know where this train called "Grief" will take me from one moment to the next. It's all so unpredictable.
For some reason this past six months have been the most difficult of all. It seems very strange to me that coping with Christian's death by suicide would now be this hard.
Let me tell you my little story. It's short because most of those six months I was mentally crippled. This story begins primarily at the end.
I don't really know when it began. It just creeped up on me from behind, grabbed me, and wouldn't let go. This thing called "depression" is more debilitating than I ever imagined. For days, weeks, months I woke up in a state of high anxiety. Try as I would, I could not put my finger of the cause of such great distress. I jumped at the slightest sound. My nerves were on edge all the time.
It got so bad that I knew that I couldn't continue to live like that. It is hard to explain how bad it was but it was unbearable. I didn't want to be around anyone. I just wanted to be left alone. I gave it a lot of thought to how I would end this anxiety, this pain. I made a plan. I knew exactly what I would do. All I had to do was wait for the right moment. I mean there were so many things to take into consideration - the legal consequences, the emotional impact, etc.
Fortunately with enough time, the anxiety began to lessen. With more control over my emotions, I realized that I was in serious need of emotional and mental support.
As luck would have it, I had a doctor's appointment with my neurologist. As I explained in a previous blog, I ask him for the name of a counselor. He ask what was happening in my life and I told him.
This is the part I didn't tell you. After our discussion, he ask me to commit to him that I would go over to the hospital and talk with one of their mental health professionals in their Crisis Clinic. He said that he would call and let them know I was coming.
I didn't really want to but I finally agreed. It wasn't that I didn't want to talk to someone it was the timing that was off. Patrick and I had airline tickets for that night to fly to Louisiana to visit with Patrick's family. Something we were both looking forward to.
But I made a commitment and I always try to keep any commitment that I make. So off to the hospital I went, parked, and went in.
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| Providence St. Peter's Hospital, Olympia, WA |
I thought that someone named "James" (the name the doctor gave me) would come out, I'd go back to his office, and we'd have a little chat. NOT!
When the triage nurse put the name band on me, I began to wonder why she would do that when I was only there to "talk" with "James"; but who knows what hospital rules are so I stopped wondering about it. I did tell her, however, that I wasn't staying and she said "I guess you don't have to if you don't want to."
So I sat down to wait for "James". Shortly a man came out to get me. We went down a long hall and through a couple of sets of locked doors. Strange I thought. Then we arrived at an area where I was given some hospital clothes and was ask to undress and put them on. "Why?" I asked. "I'm not staying. I'm just here to talk with someone." "It's just hospital procedure." he says. So I do as he requested.
Next he takes me to a room that has only a platform with a mattress on it. Otherwise the room was totally bare. That's when I realize what was happening. I ask him "Is this your equivalent of a rubber room?" He says "Kind of."
Next he asks me if I'm hungry and can he bring me a blanket and a pillow. I say "yes, that would be nice and do you have anything to read?"
And so began my stay on the mental ward. A doctor came in to talk with me. That was a fairly short visit and was for the purpose of determining my physical health. He told me another doctor would be in before long to talk with me. Okay, fine, I thought.
The ward I was on had only three patient rooms, all on the same side of the hall; and across from the rooms was a large one-way mirror where we could be observed. Additionally there were cameras in the rooms. In the room next to me was a woman but the door was kept shut and I never heard a sound from her room. I just caught a glimpse of her when I got there.
At the end of the hall of a young man that definitely needed to be there. He had a running dialog going on with his invisible friend. Well not a friend I guess because he was arguing and saying over and over again, "Shut your mouth! Be quiet! I'm not going to do that. I'm not going to be bad." He was a little scary at times. He kept making eye contact with me in the one-way mirror and saying, "I can see you." The nurses had to keep subduing him because he wanted to run up and down the hall screaming. He also kept saying that he wasn't staying; and that he needed to go home because they were driving to the beach. The nurses kept saying things to pacify him but it was obvious it was only intended to quiet him.
It was while listening to him and the nurses that I realized how helpless I felt. If I said - again - that I wasn't staying because we had tickets to fly to Louisiana and I was only there to talk to someone, then I would be treated in the same way that this young man was. After all our stories were very much the same. It was a terrible feeling. I was powerless over my own situation. I couldn't think of anything I could say that would sound believable. I felt absolutely alone. No allies, no friend on my side.
After sitting on my bed for six hours, reading every word in the few magazines they had, I began to become irritated. There was no one to ask any questions of because they were all behind that blasted window.
Finally someone came out and I told them that I needed to call my husband because he would be home from work and not finding me home, would worry. He said that they were terribly sorry that it was taking so long but they had a large number of patients that had been admitted and the doctors needed to address their needs before seeing me. At long last the doctor came in and agreed to let me call home.
My first words to Patrick after telling him where I was were "You've got to come down here and bust me out of this place and bring the airline tickets with you!" I knew they wouldn't let me leave just based on my word that we had plans to fly out that night. I probably wasn't, at that moment, the most sane-sounding person. Additionally, I knew that if they didn't let me go that they'd have a really, really mad husband to deal with. And I was ready to be rescued by my handsome prince who'd arrive at the tower door with sword drawn (so to speak).
After I hung up, the doctor came back in and we had a long talk about Christian, my ex-husband, and my daughter Heather's passing all in the last three years and how it all came crashing together at the same time. I explained how I had never had time to grieve each death individually. She gave me several pages of resource information and said she'd release me if I promised to follow up with a counselor. I agreed and my clothes were returned to me. I was lead through the locked doors and given my freedom just as Patrick and my son, Bobby, arrived at the hospital doors. We drove home and I was finally able to pack for our trip.
This is what I would like to say about what happened. First, I am thankful that I have a doctor that cares enough about me to take action on my behalf. However, I am not the kind of person that likes being sabotaged. I would have handled the whole situation better and been more receptive if I had known what to expect. Secondly, if we had not had plans to travel out of town, I think I would have welcomed the opportunity to have some one-on-one time with a mental health professional.
I do not think that confinement is a bad thing. I think it can be most beneficial especially when mental reasoning and emotions have become so out of control as mine had been. I was ready for some down time; some time to regroup, and some time to begin to heal. There are times when being away from home, family, daily obligations and being able to concentrate on only what I am going through and what I need is the ticket to healing and moving forward.
If you ever find yourselves in that dark place that I found myself in, check yourself into a Mental Health Crisis Clinic. Now that I know what to expect, it is not a scary thought. I look at it as though someone would be throwing me a life preserver and saving me from going under. If I find myself in that desperate situation again, I will not hesitate to deliver myself to the door of a mental health facility. We all know the pain of losing someone we love. Being the cause of that pain is not something I ever want to do.
So as the new year begins, if nothing else, let us resolve to take care of ourselves, to love ourselves, and to be protective of our mental well being. By loving ourselves we grow in our ability to love others.
Happy New Year dear ones; and thank you for supporting me these past three years and encouraging me to write my blog. Without your kind words I might have given up.
