GP Appointment

I visited my GP today asking for scripts for the Pristiq and Seroquel. She didn’t provide them to me. Instead, she rang up Dr T’s office requesting an ‘urgent appointment’ for me as I haven’t seen her since August and don’t have an appointment until January. ‘Urgent appointment’? But I’m fineeeeee. I’ve been doing okay since discharge; I’m still seeing the hospital psychologist until the youth counselling agency picks me up, I’ve gotten through my exams and even managed to pass all my first year units.

GP had a conversation with the secretary in which she was told I had ‘missed a few appointments’. Missed a few appointments? I called up and cancelled two for legitimate reasons! Once when I had uni stuff on, and once because I was in the psych ward. I was told by GP that I must give these appointments priority over uni, going out with friends, and basically everything else. GP told the secretary, “She’s asking for these antipsychotics and I don’t feel comfortable giving them to her.” It doesn’t help either that it seems the hospital didn’t send the discharge letter through to my GP and so she has no documentation of what medication I’m on. The only correspondence she has received is from the Emergency Department, detailing my overdose/s.

And so, I’ve been told she is waiting for Dr T to call her back to see if I can get in to see her. I will then be notified of whether she can or not, and if not, GP will provide me enough meds to tide me over until I see Dr T. I’m feeling rather apprehensive about seeing Dr T again, terrified of how she’ll react and what she will say of my most recent overdoses and subsequent hospitalisation and worried about whether she’s willing to continue prescribing me the Seroquel or not.

Home

Yesterday on the 21st of November, four weeks from when I was first admitted, I was discharged from hospital. It was only when I left that I realised my day of discharge came exactly a month from when I was taken by ambulance to my local ED on the 21st of October. Funny how certain dates can become significant without us meaning them to.

So where to from here?

First things first; get through my exams. Three exams, three days consecutively. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. I am fully expecting to fail my first one tomorrow. Hell-o summer school.

I have an appointment with the hospital psychologist on the coming Monday. Given last appointment he had me rubbing ice up and down my arm as an alternative to cutting, I’m rather skeptical as to how beneficial going will actually be. I had almost forgotten why I was so firm in my resolve not to see a psychologist again after ending with R. I definitely remember now. Apparently I am being referred to YL, a youth counselling agency. Yet again I’ll have to start all over, become comfortable with someone new and retell my story. Can’t wait.

I’ve also been told I should see my GP. I am yet to make an appointment. It’s been explained to me before what GPs can do in terms of mental health care, but I still don’t quite understand. What much can be done in ten minutes, besides obtaining a script? I still have enough of my Pristiq to tide me over for now, and I was given a free box of Seroquel from the hospital as discharge medication.

Self harming in hospital, a ‘big deal’ apparently

I wish I could verbalise what’s in my head instead of keeping it locked up inside.

I wish I could be honest about how I’m feeling.

I wish I had the courage to ask for help when I need it.

I self harmed yesterday. To be honest, I’ve been self harming throughout my time here. Even when I was on specials, I cut myself the one time the nurse wasn’t watching me, in the shower. It’s just that yesterday the psychologist asked why I was crying the previous day. I admitted I had cut myself both the day before and that day. “Can you show me?” he asked. I said to him it was on my thigh and he spotted the patch of blood that was seeping through my jeans. I told him I did it half an hour ago when he asked, and he went off to tell the nurses.

One of the doctors on my team came to see me and to look at the cuts. They weren’t deep. As expected, I had my blade taken away from me and was also placed on 15 minute obs.

The registrar came to speak with me today. She tried to explain why self harming is a big deal to them. Infection, septicaemia, cutting a major artery, it’s not a ‘normal’ way of coping… In turn, I tried to explain why self harming isn’t a big deal to me. I’ve done so for about seven years now and they’ve never been all that deep. She spoke of staying here until I learnt a different strategy to cope instead of self harming. My tears almost turned into laughter then. If that’s the case I’ll be here for years… I informed her my exams are next week on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. Told her with uncertainty I want to be discharged, as it’s easier to study at home rather than on the ward. She’ll speak to me about what the plan is tomorrow apparently.

It’ll be four weeks in this public psych ward on Sunday, and now there are only two other patients who were here when I arrived.

Still in the psych ward

Where was I when I wrote my last post? Ahh yes, sick of hospital and wanting to go home. This time a week ago I fully expected to be discharged within that week. Yet I’m typing this whilst sitting on a hospital bed behind my curtained cubicle.

I fear home may be harder than I initially thought. On my overnight leave last weekend, I spent much of the time in tears, with thoughts of ‘It’s too hard’ and ‘I can’t do this.’ My thoughts turned to overdosing, but the thought of how much of a fail it would be if I did that the one night I was at home stopped me. So where does that leave me I wonder? Sick of being in hospital, yet can’t cope if I’m at home.

On Monday I met with the consultant. Being only the second time meeting with him, he’s not yet someone I’m comfortable with. I was dismayed to find the registrar, whom I was at least somewhat comfortable with, was only a replacement and had left. Instead, I found myself with the regular registrar now on my treating team, someone who I hadn’t met before. “I’ll see you next week WFH,” the consultant told me at the close of the ward round. “Err…next week??” I replied uncertainly. He then told me they want to make sure I see a psychologist once I’m discharged from hospital and that they’d discuss my discharge at the big ward round on Wednesday. I have my reservations about seeing a psychologist again after beginning and ending with three already, but it seems that’s the only solution people have for me. The result of the ward round on Wednesday? I asked my nurse and it is apparently written in my notes, “Estimated discharge date: 1 week?” So I don’t have a certain day I’m going home as of yet.

I recall in May at my last admission to the private psych clinic, my psychiatrist had commented, “Public hospitals don’t tend to keep you for very long.” Based on my first admission to a public hospital which was only for three days, I thought she was right. Yet on Sunday I will have been here for three weeks, which is plenty long enough. In this twenty person ward, there are five others who have been here longer than me. And my nurse was telling me last Sunday that the longest stay she’s encountered while here was four months. Goodness, how do they tolerate that?!

Off Specials

I was placed off specials this morning. Huzzah! I am no longer being watched 24/7, with a nurse constantly by my side, following me everywhere I go. There was two of us on specials in the past few days. While I was placed off specials, the other man was too, but only because he was being transferred to a more secure unit. I recall the registrar warning me only a few days ago about being put in a secure locked unit and ‘having my rights taken away.’ While I feel bad for the other man, I must say I’m glad our positions weren’t reversed. Surely I’m not that unwell anyhow. Much of the time I feel as though I’m not sick enough to be in hospital, let alone being specialled or placed in a locked ward.

My Pristiq has been raised from 150mg to 200mg. I’ve also been taking Seroquel as PRN for anxiety and sleep, and for the past few days I’ve been having 50mg in the morning and 50mg at night.

I’ve been here for almost two weeks now, and I expressed to my nurse and the doctor today that I’m sick of hospital and want to go home. I’ve been told the consultant, whom I’ve only met once thus far, will review me on Monday. Tomorrow I have overnight leave and will return to the ward on Sunday. I think that’s probably a bit of a better option compared to being suddenly thrown into the big wide world again.

20

Yesterday the nurse spotted where I had scratched myself on the arms.

Yesterday I had my share of the room and all my belongings thoroughly searched by two nurses.

Yesterday they took away everything they considered sharp, as well as all phone and laptop chargers.

Yesterday they found my blade as well as a drawstring I had fashioned into a noose.

Yesterday I was put on specials, which means a nurse is within a few metres away from me every minute of the day.

Yesterday they just kept giving me PRN medication; 3 doses of lorazepam and a dose of Seroquel.

Yesterday I also turned 20. Happy birthday to me, huh?