Day Leave

I have been granted an entire day at my own home! Not a big deal, many would say, but I am now so institutionalised, that I was awake from 4am because I was so excited.

I was nervous about how I might cope. I was worried I wouldn't know how to behave. I was excited to see my cat. I was dying to go outside and stand on the grass - despite the fact that it is a howling storm outside. I wanted to lie on my bed and grab some new undies, the four pairs I have in hospital are probably getting a bit over-washed by now. 

Walking into my house felt weird. On the drive home I'd suddenly realised just how long I've been unwell for, nearly six weeks now. I've been in hospital for two, it's been a month since I rang my mum to come down, and things started before that phone-call.

To be honest, it's all a little overwhelming.

I got home and played with the cat, and lay on the grass in the pouring rain and took a long bath without worrying about a nurse coming to check and even shaved my legs without asking for the razor!

I'm now only an hour or so away from going back to the hospital. I have made it through the day without taking any PRN (lorazepam if needed), but it hasn't been without it's hiccups.

I'm currently sitting in my bed, listening to Bean and Husband out in the kitchen making dinner, feeling to anxious to go back into the chaos, and aggravated by Bean's "I'm hungry" noises. I get up and try to feed her, but it doesn't help, I know that husband is frustrated that I'm not being helpful and he is doing tea and looking after her. So I try to help, I take her to her room to give her a bottle and hopefully she'll sleep. But she is refusing the bottle and STILL screaming in that overtired manner and suddenly I feel dangerous inside. I call out for my husband and push Bean into his arms as soon as he arrives.

I'm pleased I was able to call him. That I was able to recognise those feelings. But I did just break my no PRN record. Lorazepam was downed as soon as I got into the kitchen and 'took over' dinner, which was already finished.

I'm worried that I won't ever be able to cope with her crying. I worry that I won't ever be able to be a mum properly to her again. I'm worried about how I'm going to manage full stop. What if I can't and I never get better and never get out. Or worse, what if they give up on me and I do get out and then I can't cope.

And then I look back.

Two weeks ago I couldn't even handle feeding her without crying and feeling like I wanted to scream. My husband was having to take days off work because I couldn't face her without crying or becoming a quivering mess at the thought of yet another day being unable to manage her demands.

But this week has gone better. I haven't yet made it through an entire day without having a nurse have to take her for a while, but those times are getting shorter. 

I have taken control of my meds a bit, and feel more able to be in control of my own treatment and recovery. I've posted a job advert on my FB page asking for some in home help and a babysitter. We are looking into a couple of half days of Day Care and it looks like I will be eligible for a set number of respite hours during the year.

Surely things can't be too far away from getting back to normal?

My Baby Learnt To Crawl Inside An Insane Asylum

SENSATIONAL! WHAT A TITLE! I really should think about writing for a tabloid with skills like that. But hey, this is more fun, although the pay is far worse.

I'm fairly sure my (once) lovely nurse is now seriously regretting she ever opted to become my primary carer in here. I mean, things were going great until I swore at her for offering me Lorazepam after taking away my hot water bottle. Then came the day I packed up my entire room and asked repeatedly to be discharged. Or when she told me I couldn't feed Bean with an unsterilised bottle because it was against hospital policy, after which I didn't speak to her for an entire evening. Yesterday, I accidentally vanished without telling anyone and discovered that they had called my husband in a state of mild panic over my whereabouts. And now of course, I am now the patient who 'refused' to take her meds. (Am still rather proud about that one. And I feel vindicated, I fell asleep before midnight finally, I woke up feeling very clear in the head this morning, and haven't felt dizzy even once so far today.)

Also, I seemed to have pissed off the kitchen staff. This is a vegetable sandwich on someone else's tray.

This is a vegetable sandwich on my lunch tray.

Probably shouldn't have dissed their menu. I'm going to the cafe.

But, something far more serious has happened...

Today when I went to collect my morning tea from the nurses station, I spotted an address label with the words "Anxiety Girl Gets Pregnant" written on it, stuck under a computer.

I AM FREAKING OUT!

I have been trying to get a photo as proof all morning, but the damn nurses appear out of nowhere whenever I get close, and there is only so many times I can go back to check if I got the right morning tea.

I don't know how to find out if they've been reading this. 

If they know it's me. 

If they have clicked onto the fact that they hold a major

look into my psyche at their fingertips. 

If they know about all the illegal food and 

hot water bottles I'm hiding in my room. 

So, staff at Mothers And Babies Unit CHCH, come and see me and let me know if you are reading this. Or, just utter a safety word in passing if you are too scared to let me know. It's "peanuts", by the way.

And all the while, Bean gets closer and closer to crawling. When she got her she was just rolling around like Leo in his cerebral high on Wall St. But now she is pulling herself along the floor, in a way reminiscent of Leo under fire in an action film. It's really amazing how far she has come in just seven months. 

But I can't help being angry at myself for being so unwell that I feel like (once again) I'm being denied those awesome feelings of joy that everyone talks about in relation to having kids. I cried when she first sat up, because I wanted to feel excited for her. I felt intellectually proud of her, but emotionally I felt nothing. 

I am growing increasingly concerned that the longer I am in here, the less I'll be able to cope on the outside. This place isn't that far removed from a prison. My walks have been extended to up to two hours, which is kind of like having your parole extended. I worry that one wrong move and I'll be back to half an hour only. I think I am allowed home on leave for a day and perhaps a night even this weekend, but the truth is, I'm scared that perhaps I won't come back willingly. I have horrible visions of me being given intravenous doses of one of the 'pams'* and dragged back here in a comatose state. Sentence extended indefinitely.

My moods are so unstable, and so unpredictable, that even though I woke up feeling really clear and well this morning (and proud for not taking the respiridone), I have been on the verge of tears for most of the day. I don't want to interact with any of the other inmates here, and so I've locked myself in my room. Even worse, one of the youngsters on the ward has her entire family visiting, and they are everywhere and I can't stand it. I have had to change the route I walk around the ward, the places I eat, the places I sit and (once more) shut myself in my room. I am also pretty sure that one of the other patients across the other side of my ward was a student at my school, but I don't want to say anything, because if she isn't, that would be weird, but if she is, that would be weirder.

I don't know if I am becoming truly paranoid or if all this is true. I know that with each emotional fall I have, they are less and less likely to discharge me. 

Bean and I went to the chapel this morning. We sang old wartimey songs with the elderly folks from other wards in this non emergency hospital. Bean seemed to love it, and the old timers were pretty stoked. Someone even brought their dog. That was pretty sweet. While I was there, I wrote a prayer and tried very hard not to cry.

We went there yesterday actually, accidentally discovered where it was. It was so calm and peaceful, that once I was there, I didn't want to leave. I think we will make it a daily visit. I also think I might be about to find God. 

But more about that later, I have to think of a sensational title first.

*lorazepam, diazepam, clonazepam - you get the picture. They're all sedatives (for those not in the know).

I wish Part II

source: http://www.deviantart.com/customization/wallpaper/?view_mode=2&order=14&q=Self+Aware

It would be nice to have an illness,

that everyone could see

So that when I'm scared and tired

the reassurance wouldn't be,

But if you had the flu, a bug

or a broken bone inside your head,

would you or anyone else expect

that you should leave your bed?

I wish I had a fault that was easier to fix,

and a well researched and trialled dose

could save me from it's hits.

But when something's wrong inside your brain

it is all just in your head.

An insidious and deadly toll it takes on you instead,

and no on can tell by looking

that you're walking but are dead.

So no one sends you get well cards,

few people give you time

like they would if you were hospitaled

with broken bones, or flu of swine.

So instead you just stop telling where the pain you feel hides.

Because you yourself, know longer know's for sure where it lives inside.

You search for ways instead to feel something that is real

a physical sensation in a place your hands can feel.

Look a cut, see, here's my hurt.

See I'm not ok.

This pain is real, and feels more pleasant than what's standing in my way,

and you can tell by looking, that this pain is not ok.

Not Ok

I have to get out. I just don't know how.

I'm pretty sure that all I am learning in here is to be quiet. The less I tell them, the freerer I remain.
If I tell them I want to hurt myself, they'll post a 24/7 watch on my door.
Today I actually packed my entire room up and told them I wanted to be discharged. This was, admittedly through a haze of ugly crying. Just like that, talking to a doctor. More hospital protocol being lectured at me.

I can't stand it. I actually think I am becoming worse just being here.

There is an ever growing list of things I can and can't do. Don't use unsterilised water for your baby bottles. Don't enter the art room in only socks. Don't eat your meals in your room (granted, I haven't actually been caught on that one yet). Don't use a hot water bottle. Don't use a wheat bag. Don't use a heat pack. Don't try to escape.

Definitely, don't try to escape.

But I haven't felt normal in over a week now. I have felt dizzy and nauseas every one of those long days. A nurse suggested it was anxiety, but dizziness isn't one of my anxiety symptoms. I want to stop taking the respiridone. I don't think it's helping. My moods are swinging with more severity and to further extremes than they have ever done before. I can't sleep. I have no appetite. I was happy and feeling good within myself for twelve whole hours, from last night to lunchtime today.

I wrote 1000 words on my novel. I rang my sister. I wrote poetry. I went for a long walk in the sun with Bean and on the way we sang and I composed two songs in my head. Neither of which I can remember.

Our lovely walk - kind of. Source: www.christchurchtop10.co.nz

But all it took was for one nurse, to say one thing and I crashed so hard, that I still haven't got back up.

I am so tired. I was falling asleep by seven. But it's closer to ten now and here I am. Writing furiously because I actually don't feel safe.

There, the truth.

I don't feel safe with myself right now, and I am afraid to tell anyone because all I want to do is go home.

I am looking at my pinboard (which is now covered in pictures of trees and other nature things I ripped from magazines in the lounge) and desperately trying to imagine myself in a secluded cabin. With no one but myself for company, and nothing but a book to read and a novel to write. Two weeks of nothing but freedom and nature.

I think, that that is what would get me well.

This drug trial prison is going to kill me. But if I say anything like that, the walls will only close tighter.

Ward Meeting and Real Estate Menus

This morning was my first ‘ward meeting’, and I had been warned about it, but clearly was still unprepared.

Ten people, a registrar, two medical students, two house doctors, my nurse, a social worker, all sitting with folders and staring at me and my little family as I’m forced to discuss my week, my thoughts, and disclose all the many side effects I am experiencing from this apparent drug trial I am on.

Nausea, fatigue, fogginess, forgetfulness, dizziness, diarrhea, re-lactation – relactation? Really? Cue blood test. Waiting. Probable medication change. Start again.

Afterwards I am so overwhelmed that I start to cry and feel the all-to-familiar darkness coming back for another go.

We take Bean to the park, and put her in the swings and go down the slide. Her funny half giggles, the fresh autumn air and the cool sunlight push the black away, just for a little while.

I’ve decided that whoever writes the menus here (which we must mark off a week in advance), must be a former real estate agent. Hired to transform soggy food into fresh, vibrant ideas, so that we are fooled into believing we actually have a choice.

Yesterday, I chose ‘Satay Chicken on a bed of rice with seasonal vegetables’. I received a plate of white meat, in an equally pale sauce, speckled with red flakes and a slightly orange tinge. It tasted how it looked, there was definitely no satay. The seasonal vegetables are apparently code for frozen mixed veges and suspiciously phallic kumara.

I’ve only wanted to kill myself twice today.

Going To The Beach

Something good did happen today. 

I'm supposed to write about that too, or else my Husband feels sad. And I don't want him to feel sad.

I was allowed out for a drive for one hour, and we went with Baby Bean to the Beach at Sumner. I felt a bit sick going out there, and got a bit anxious and Bean fell asleep on the drive. But then I took her out of the car and onto the Beach and although it was her second time at the beach, it was the first time she had really seen it. 

I showed her the waves, and the sand, and the driftwood. And then we all sat on a bench, and Lover and I ate hot chips and threw them to the seagulls, which Bean's incredulous face thought was pretty amazing when they swarmed around us from out of nowhere.

 

Lover took lots of photos so I could play around with them later and hopefully get some nice pictures of Bean and me to remember the day.

He's actually a pretty good photographer.

It was a really nice outing, and I felt truly happy for the first time ages. Not elevated-bipolar-happy, just happy.

Then I got back here and was in isolation again. But my friend J visited and we talked, and my Love brought me beautiful flowers and a bright lime green blanket and a Burrito for tea. Then when he saw my post about the hot water bottle, he rang to remind me about all the beautiful things that happened today. And He is right. 

Bean out with Daddy Buying Me Gorgeous Flowers to Brighten My Room.

Damn these mood swings.

Hot Water Bottle

I am so angry right now, that I can't even look my lovely nurse in the face.

I have been waiting for 6pm all day long.

I have been praying to not have another gastric upset. Freaking out every time my tummy gurgled. Watching the clock like a hawk as the hands ticked closer and closer to six.

Six-o-clock came and went. I was sitting in my room pacing excitedly. I was well. Finally all the drama could stop. I could go and make up my own baby's bottles. I could shower without having to get the cleaners to clean right after. I could go to the fish bowl room and sit in the massage chair. I could go and fill up my (now cold) hot water bottle. I could watch Ellen again.

I buzzed for a nurse, who took five whole minutes to appear. "Am I out of isolation now?" I asked. She said she would go and check. Five minutes later I've almost given up hope and am trying to fill my hot water bottle from the tap in the sink. Then my lovely nurse enters, grinning cheekily and saying "are you trying to put one past the other nurses?"

No. I say, "it's six-o-clock. I should be out of isolation by now."
"No" She says, "Remember, the house surgeon said if no results came back, then you had to remain in isolation until the morning?"
I felt deflated, and instantly clouded over inside. "Fine, then will you be able to fill this up for me?"

BIG FUCKING MISTAKE!

Apparently you are not allowed a hot water bottle in a hospital.
Apparently they are doing my a favour by even letting me out of isolation in less than 48 hours as per hospital policy.
Apparently they are being super generous to even allow me to fill my hot water bottle with hot tap water and to keep the offending water bottle overnight. 

Now not only do I have to stay in here like a Lepper until tomorrow morning. But tomorrow morning when my Husband arrives here I have to hand over my hot water bottle!

I gave up. I burst into tears. I couldn't even look her in the face. I was so angry.
"Are you ok?"She asked.
"No, I am not fricken ok." I replied.
"Shall I get you a lorazepam?"

"NO! I DO NOT NEED A FUCKING LORAZEPAM EVERY TIME I GET UPSET!"

I cried back. Tears flowing freely.

She proceeded to calmly explain that they didn't want a repeat of last nights escape plans, and wasn't my husband amazing, wasn't it great for Bean that we have such a good marriage, aren't the plants he bought me beautiful?

I just wanted her to leave.
I just want to leave.
I am not handing over my hot water bottle tomorrow.

Flourescent Lights

Thursday 10th April

Today was a good day. Hubby took the Bean home for the night and I managed to sleep for a solid 9 hours. Remarkable.

I managed to shower, and then give Bean breakfast when hubby brought her in. I gave her lunch and we played, sang and read a book. I even kept it together when she screamed her way to sleep, and felt like I'd really achieved something.

I didn't consider ways to kill myself even once.

Until I suddenly had a funny feeling in my tummy, and now I am in isolation for at least 24 hours since the last gastric episode. Oh wait, make that 48 hours. Apparently hospital isolation rules are stricter than for those of you on the outside. 

I am not allowed to leave my room. Unless it's to go to the bathroom. There is a not inconspicuous hazard sign on my door.

People are being encouraged to use hand sanitiser, masks and even to gown up upon entering my room. My lovely nurse actually threw my afternoon tea to me from the doorway, this afternoon.

I've never been made to feel more of a freak in my adult life. (And yes, that does include my time as a teacher of teenagers!)

My own Toilet. Just for me!

My Psychologist came to see me this afternoon, and sat of the other side of the room. Way to build patient rapport.

Bean started screaming while she was here, and all the things collided in my head. I started frantically twisting my lovely woollen blanket between my fingers and toes, and Mrs Psychy started trying to get me to be mindful, and to focus on the feeling of the blanket on my skin and "was I wearing socks?", but all I could hear was Bean's overwhelmingly piercing whining, the smacking of her hand against the floor, and (he who had just returned) Hubby's in-vain attempts to distract her. And all I could feel was my head spinning and the thoughts gathering and the tension growing and growing until I thought I would literally snap.

Then my tummy betrayed me again and just like that, my sentence just increased by another three hours. I'm considering not telling them about any new episodes, just so this hell can end faster. I'm not even able to watch Ellen, because the TV is on the other side of the ward. To hell with my treatment plan!

So, tomorrow I am supposed to stay in this room all day with the Beany Bub. They are bringing in a high chair so that I can feed her in here. I have a horrible feeling that it isn't going to end with my sanity intact...if I could even dare to call it that now.

I'm starting to consider ways of escaping. But every route is blocked by a nurses station. I'm pretty sure the fire exit will set off an alarm, and the windows only open a few centimetres, if that. Plus, I didn't pack a rain coat. Besides, I think that considering it is a half hour drive from here to my house, I might be noticed as missing by one of the hourly overnight patient checks, before I get very far.

Better De-Germ yourself. And look, the fire exit
so close, and yet so far.

But still, it might be worth it. Just to get outside. Because I just watched Anchor man 2, and the fluorescent light in my room is suddenly looking far more appealing.

All The Little Pieces Falling Out Of Place

Two nights ago, I was "the new one." The "where is the new one's dinner tray?" The "why are you here, are you from Christchurch, how old is your baby?" The New One.

Because two nights ago, just hours after my last blog, I was sitting in my therapists office, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to stop my nails from digging deeper into my arms, begging her to put me in hospital.

And here I am.

"This ward is sad. I'm sure people will think I'm a snob becuase I've shut muself away in my room. It's hard to make something so sterile and dated look - let alone feel -  homely. But I'm really trying.
Maybe that's the point, so you don't want to stay here? Amongst the word down carpet, the scratched and dented walls, or the old fashioned cots, some steel some flakey paint white.
They've decorated the walls with Winnie The Pooh Decals, but somehow that just seems to exacerbate the overall sense of despair." 07.04.14

It was an unexpected ending to a very planned out day, ending up here. An inpatient in a mental health ward. I actually couldn't tell you how it happened. Except that it did.

I was home from respite. I was excited to be there. I was loving Bean lots. I was excited about all the changes to our lifestyle we were starting to make. We were going to eat healthier, have screen free bedrooms, hire a cleaner once a week, get some help with Bean by hiring a Nanny or finding some daycare.

Everything was going to be all right.


The next morning I woke up with a masterpiece in my head. A book on par with the Da Vinci Code. It was going to be the book of the year. A thriller to defy all thrillers to date. It was going to be a movie within six months of its (imminent) release. I was going to win a Pulitzer. An Oscar. And of course, Ellen was going to star in it.

I couldn't wait to get writing. I wasn't exactly sure what I was writing, but I had a killer opening sentence and a fairly-solid-almost-completish idea for the story itself. But first, I had to write a blog. I needed to reassure everyone that I was ok after my weekend of melancholy poetry uploads. I also had to attend my stroller fitness class because I'd booked and paid for it. Besides, fitness is good for your mental well-being, it gives you endorphins, it makes you happy. And wasn't happy my goal?

I only lasted 20 minutes into the session.
I couldn't keep up with the other mums. I suddenly realised how tired I was. I suddenly found myself biting back tears.

That was all the warning I had, before my happy morning clouded over so fast, that I didn't have time to catch it.

I've been here three days now. My moods are cycling so rapidly I can barely catch a breath. I thought I'd be super visual with y'all and draw a diagram so you can understand a bit better.

This graph is not an exaggeration I'm sorry to say. It really is that fast, and the moods really are that extreme.

Since this time last week I have had my medications played round with in ways I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. I've had increases in Lorazepam (Ativan). "Take half a tablet. Try two. Oh, lets just say 3mg shall we, feel better yet?" 

I've had decreases in Fluoxetine (Prozac) "Been on it seven years, you say? Well, clearly it's not working. Let's stop it now shall we?"

I've flirted with Quetiapine(Seroquel). "12.5mg not putting you to sleep? Ok, take 25mg. Still not working? ok, 75mg. You were awake till 2am with restless crawling arms and legs? Ok, lets try 150mg. Oh wait - you seem to be reacting badly let's take you off it."  Thanks.

Started Sertraline (Zoloft). "Just a little at first, to counteract the withdrawals from the Fluoxetine, then we will increase it as needed."

Started Risperidone. "Now, this is similar to Quetiapine, but not the same. It is an antipsychotic, but no one is saying your psychotic. You're definitely not psychotic. 1mg?or half? Let's try half."

I've been experimental with Zopiclone. Half a tablet, one tablet, two tablets. Addicted. Try sleeping without it NOW HAHAHAHA.

It's no wonder I am a sleepless, scratching, nauseated, anxiety ridden, suicidal, elevated mess.

At least I managed to convince my charge nurse to include watching Ellen as part of my treatment plan. (My distress over the no TV before 5pm rule was not healthy).

I worry so much about the impact on Bean. 

I try to get someone else to take her if I'm about to start crying or if I am thinking of killing myself. But at the same time I worry that she is scared, I worry that she doesn't know where she is, that perhaps she is worried about me.

I worry that I don't know when this will get better or if this time I will even make it through. 

It is hard to keep going when you don't know where the light at the end of the tunnel is. 

It's hard to trust others and forgive myself when pieces of me are falling away and I am supposed to be the one person Bean can rely on.