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Archive for the ‘hospital’ Category

The frustration and a confession

Posted in depression, diagnosis, Eating Disorder, Fantastic CPN, health, hospital, mental illness, NHS, psychiatrist, suicide, support, therapy, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on June 19, 2011 | 10 Comments »

I doubt this blog post will be up to my usual high standards, given it is being written on my phone, sat on my bed on the psych ward and its not yet 6am.

I slept well last night, a full 7 hours without moving thanks to becoming “agitated” last night and that being dealt with the only way the psych profession can- I was drugged into submission. Whatever gets you through the night and all that eh?

So what’s this post about and did she mention “a confession?” I’ve read this blog start to finish and can clearly see that Zoe has shared everything but bowel habits since her journey into the world of mental health began. There can’t be anything she hasn’t told us can there?

Well there is. I never wanted to tell the world about it, initially I didn’t want to tell anybody about it. I’m doing this so that all of my lovely friends who live in Twitterland and who did such a good job of showing me love, care and concern last night can understand why I find myself so distressed in my current situation.

As you know I am back on the psych ward, have been since expressing an overwhelming desire to take my own life on Friday. I think an explanation of the why’s for that one deserves its own post so i’ll leave it at that.

My biggest, most severe and pervading mental illness is in fact an eating disorder. I have been eating disordered for as long as I can remember. Symptoms and severity have varied over the years but it was something I “needed” to give me a sense of control (in place of feeling in control of my thoughts and emotions) as is the case with these kinda dodgy “coping mechanisms” they ultimately turn on their heads and grab all the control back. One day you find yourself very very stuck.

I am very very stuck.

I do not meet the diagnostic criteria for either anorexia (too fat) or bulimia (don’t eat enough) so on paper, in spite of having so many other psychiatric diagnoses I do not have an diagnosis of an eating disorder. How I wish this were true.

So far my fictitious eating disorder has caused significant and rapid weight loss, severe cognitive impairment and a host of physical niggles that could be nothing today but cardiac arrest tomorrow. Certain knowledgeable members of my team are very concerned, as they should be.

The problem is that my BMI is simply not low enough to access specialist help. Though we pseudo anorexics do love a challenge and I’m working on it. That was flippant, I’m not trying to starve myself into treatment I just have been consumed by an eating disorder, its winning.

Since I began treatment for my MH problems I have always listed the eating disorder as my main problem. Again since the start of this admission I have openly shared all the gory details with two psychiatrists and several nurses. I had my holistic assessment done for my care plan last night and was open and honest as usual- I stated that my number one problem was my eating disorder. I even provided details (I haven’t eaten a thing since Tuesday, I feel ill and freezing) it is clear to anyone who sees me in real life (well that’s what Twitter phobes like to call it) that something is very very wrong.

NICE guidelines are very specific on what ones BMI needs to be in order to qualify for specialist ED treatment and local care pathways follow the (not so)NICE guidelines. As things stand I am 3 “BMI points” away from qualifying as a real live(!) anorexic. It appears that the health profession are unalarmed by how rapidly I am approaching this benchmark. I won’t even attempt to elaborate on the effects of this illness in my life and family, let alone my body. Early intervention may well be the key in the successful treatment of EDs but in truth nobody is that bothered.

In the community I am blessed with the best team of MH professionals a skinny, mental girl could wish for. The problem is that these lovely people need the back up of specialist ED services in order to allow them to help me. But again, I do not fit criteria.

Anybody who knows anything about eating disorders will know they are nothing at all to do with weight or BMI. Sadly this common sense approach does not apply when accessing specialist help. If I had the energy this would be my main campaigning area. As things stand I barely have the strength and energy to brush my hair.

But Zoe, you’re in a psychiatric hospital, they treat mental illness and eating disorders are a mental illness! Rejoice, you are saved!

Alas no, as I was told last night, same as I was told during my admissions to a similar (though inferior) institution last year “we can’t really help you with that as we’re not a specialist eating disorder unit”.

So I’ve done my bit, been open and honest about behaviours and symptoms, I have even said “I am totally out of control and need help” but the only ones listening (my fabulous team on the outside) are having diagnostic criteria, ED care-pathways and NICE guidelines shoved in their faces at every turn. For almost two years the fantastic CPN has been fighting to get the right help. I do have a very lovely dietitian but she is not a specialist dietitian and though she had shown to be knowledgeable, professional, caring and compassionate, she is well out of her comfort zone in trying to treat me. I have being seeing a fab therapist for months but the truth is i’m always just a bit too malnourished to take much away from sessions. In order to do the work I need to do in therapy I need to learn how to feed myself properly

So there you have it in a nutshell.- I have an eating disorder, its bad and the effects on my fragile mental health are huge.

- my body is eating itself

- I am stuck and I know it. It’s not quite as simple as “just eat something” I wish it were.

- in order to qualify for specialist treatment I could lop off a limb and lose a few kgs that way or I can simply carry on as I am which based on recent information suggests I will meet the diagnostic criteria for anorexic nervosa in approximately 6-8 weeks. I wore size 16 clothing in January (thank you anti-psychotics) I am too ashamed to admit what size my trousers are now. Of course over those 6-8 weeks I will become more and more likely to become seriously physically and mentally impaired. It does seem to me though that this is exactly what will need to happen before anybody steps up to offer appropriate care.

There is so much more I could and probably will say about this now that I have “come out” but for now I must put every bit of diet coke and tea fuelled energy I have into sorting this out or it is going to kill me.

When I was reassessed by the psychiatrist yesterday in an attempt to get the constant observation lifted. I told her everything and also pointed out there was no point in my being here as I couldn’t get the help I needed. She fluffed about for a bit and suggested I spoke to the consultant on Monday and “maybe he’ll be able to do something”. I simply replied “I wouldn’t put money on it”.

I just felt that you all deserved an explanation and I can see that you all really care which is very touching.

If anyone who reads this fancies a bit of specialist MH activism, feel free to get in touch.

And anyone reading this that has the spare tens of thousands of pounds to put me through private treatment, please do get in touch!

Zoe Xxx

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>Third Time Lucky?

Posted in bipolar, driving, DVLA, hospital, mental illness, World Mental Health Day, tagged , on October 10, 2010 | Leave a Comment »

>Today is World Mental Health Day so it seems somehow fitting that that I am, once again, blogging from my hospital bed. How did I end up here again? Perhaps I am forever doomed to mark the changing seasons with a trip to my local acute psychiatric ward for I have done spring, summer and now autumn.

Quite simply I was losing the battle for stability, I had high days and low days but mainly low days culminating in some very low days, until, on Friday I was so low that there seemed only one answer to the way I was feeling and I planned to take my own life.

Before my own encounter with depression- a depression so severe it brings with it a tangible physical pain, I saw suicide as a selfish act, an act perpetrated by those who didn’t have or didn’t want support; I saw it as a choice.

I wish I was skilled enough with the written word to express just how desperate I was, I wish I could describe that pain with words, the gaping emptiness, the crushing sadness, the fearlessness of death and the peace it would bring. I completely understand how one can feel that simply by not being here any more the pain will be over. I now see how easily one can answer all the questions the prospect of suicide raises- what about the children, friends, family?

My justification was simple, I wasn’t getting any better, my life was a mess, I was unable to do all the things I should be doing or any of the things I wanted to do. My mental illness was preventing me from being the parent, employee, friend and person I wanted and felt I should be.

So persuaded by my fantastic CPN (who must wonder why these things always happen at 4.30pm on Fridays) I, once again, checked into hospital “to keep me safe” and here I am.

I have had a slight medication tweak and not enough tea; again I should see the doctor on Tuesday to discuss what to do next. The doctor who did my admission on Friday night thinks all my health professionals need to get together to “re-strategise”. Bless, he’s obviously new.

This morning I woke- early and with that nervous excitement that so often indicates a swift change in mood. I’ll take it, thanks.

I almost forgot to say, the icing on the cake is that last week I lost my driving licence as I haven’t been stable for 3 months (or 3 minutes). I’d like to point out that DVLA were happy for me to drive for the 3 months it took to gather the reports and in fact don’t require me to stop until the 13th of October- something just doesn’t add up.

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>Time for T

Posted in bipolar, CBT, hospital, mental illness, therapy, tagged , on August 14, 2010 | 4 Comments »

>I feel like I’ve lost 9 months of my life. When I look back I can see snippets but I really have no idea where all that time has gone. However in those 9 months my life has changed immeasurably and forever.

I now face the prospect of rebuilding my life and fitting in all the extra stuff that mental illness and the pursuit of good mental health requires. I don’t really know where to start.

I know from previous experience that my usual rush to ‘get back to normal’ doesn’t help so I’m mindful to avoid it but then I’m left with “what do I do?”

Advice from others is always the same- take it easy, don’t rush, find new activities to fill my time. The problem is I don’t want new activities; I want to be able to do the old ones. I suppose to be fair I haven’t tried many new activities though I did have one foisted upon my by the occupational therapist at the hospital.

Occupational therapy is hard to define; even the occupational therapists themselves seem to struggle to define their purpose. I initially thought the aim was to prepare me in some way for the world of work again, I envisaged reading newspapers, maybe writing the odd newsletter or press release- but no, I was to make a greetings card.

I am not entirely against expressing myself artistically, indeed I drew and painted feverishly during my manic episodes, but cutting out stuff and sticking it to a card was not something I ever wanted to do so being made to do it for an hour whilst two strangers heaped false praise on my pitiful effort was cringingly awful.

I was asked what I thought of the finished item so I replied honestly, as I do, “I think it’s shit” (because it was). The ‘art’ session did nothing for my self-esteem though I did gain a hilariously tacky gift for a much-loved friend- in it I wrote “they forced me to make this, lots of love, Zoë xxx”

Not being ones to give up easily, much like the stalkers of the psychiatric ward, OT have also offered me the chance to do some cooking, who they think caters for the dietary needs of my children is beyond me, indeed one of the upsides of being in hospital is that there is no cooking.

If OT really wanted to help they could’ve made sure my sick note for work was up to date, helped fill in my council tax benefit form, sourced school uniforms online, ensured I saw the doctor when he was on the ward, even just made me a cup of tea and stopped for a chat.

However in an environment where any kind of therapy is a rarity perhaps the OT department should be congratulated, at least they try, even if it is a little misguided.

I have also started CBT- cognitive behavioural therapy; you can Google it for a number of explanations. As far as I can tell CBT is aimed at changing the way I think but without addressing why I think that way in the first place. I’ve had 2 sessions and so far all I can see is that I react in the wrong way to almost every situation! I clearly have a lot of work to do.

The good news is that this work will be done “on the outside” as I hope to be discharged from the hospital on Tuesday. I finally feel well enough to go home for good and this time I hope it is for good.

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>Day Hospital Disaster

Posted in hospital, mental illness, NHS, tagged , on June 7, 2010 | 13 Comments »

>Today I went to a local psychiatric day hospital; it was my first day of attendance and my last.

I got collected by the ‘bus’ (ambulance) later than expected this morning- I was irked but resolved to forgive.

I arrived and followed the crowd by signing in.

I stood alone in the hallway and after 5 minutes or so plucked up the courage to go into the office and speak to the woman who had spent the previous 5 minutes watching me stand there, tearing up. I said “this is my first day and I don’t know what to do”. She showed me to the ‘sitting room’ and said “just go in here a nurse will be along shortly”. So, I did.

I sat, and sat, I went outside and walked laps of the garden then came back in and sat some more.

I’d sat for just short of an hour when a man from the local authority came in to talk about ‘home safety’ he was introduced by a member of nursing staff who then left. The man offered “home safety checks for vulnerable people like yourselves, we don’t discriminate” he reassured the group. The home safety check on offer included looking for trip hazards and dodgy electrical cables “stuck together with insulating tape”.

I left.

I am acutely aware that I am capable of being very judgemental so I tried very hard this morning to give the day hospital a fair chance. I didn’t want to go but the lure of actual therapy; maybe someone to talk to, someone to listen and some help to get me back on my feet proved enough to get me in there- and that was what was promised.

Maybe if I’d stuck around until after the home safety talk I would’ve got something out of it but there is only so long I can sit and feel ignored. I can sit at home and ignore my emotional needs in comfort.

I won’t be going back.

I am a 34 year (and 364 days) old woman with a job and family I need to get back to. My home is safe, for now- I have a mortgage payment holiday in place.

Trip hazards and dodgy wiring are way down my list of priorities somewhere after getting my medication right and being able to care for all my own children on my own again. In fact I think trip hazards and dodgy wiring come way, way down the list.

I am trying very hard not to rush myself into a false recovery but I don’t feel I have much option. I’m not going to get the therapy I want and feel I need I just have to hope that I can get and stay healthy or get rich enough to go private next time

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