Upon my appearance for breakfast at the dining room on day 2, a woman introduced herself as my nurse for the morning and told me she had tablet for me. She handed me a tiny plastic cup with a little white pill in it, which I assumed to be the 10mg of escitalopram. The nurses watch you take your medication, so I didn’t want to scrutinize it too much, but I do like to see the packaging and to see it popped out of the blister pack. I swallowed the tablet anyway and put my faith in the nurses who had dispensed out my medication for me.
By the morning of day 2, I still felt miserable and had thoughts of going home and ending it all. It felt hopeless as always, knowing that I’d most likely just end up overdosing again, it’s just a question of sooner or later. I questioned how I was going to cope with life when every little situation prompts me to want an escape. I dreaded having to go home and face my family after my mishap, the initial meeting with them in the Emergency Department was bad enough.
At about mid morning, one of the OTs came into my room give me the group timetable. She explained that it can be unhelpful to ruminate and with my eyes rimmed with red and my face tear streaked, I could kind of see her point.
I was called to the nurses station where a social worker led me to an interview room. Because I’m still living with my parents, I didn’t really need any aid in that sense. I was referred onto another service run through the hospital social work department- the service for patients who present to the ED with thoughts of suicide or a suicide attempt.
Later in the day, another social worker from aforementioned service came to talk to me. She handed me a pamphlet and told me she’d give me a call tomorrow if I was indeed discharged that very same day, or another social worker in their office would get in touch if I was discharged later on. It’s now been three days since I left hospital and have not been the recipient of any phone calls- typical…
I attended the Christmas Crafts activity with the OT- I may be bah humbug and all this year, but I do enjoy doing some arts and crafts. Plus, hospital does get rather boring. Received a Christmas ornaments kit from the OT and made these decorations;
Well, I started the angel in hospital, finished it off and made the wreath at home. Felt a bit like I was in primary school again…
My friend who had been in the same ward of the same hospital this time last year encouraged me to check out the art room. I did, and painted a picture, though I’m not very artistic.
There were relaxation training groups run for half an hour every day, but because I’m not a fan of meditation or mindfulness at all, I didn’t attend.
When I was not in my room, I spent my day wandering the ward, or else for the most part, in the TV room.
During the evening, I stopped being upset, but then got agitated- very agitated and frustrated. I strolled the ward and the courtyard a few times to try and walk it off- unfortunately the feeling didn’t leave. I don’t often get this way, but when I do, I find the need to a) throw something b) scream or yell in frustration or c) punch the wall in what’s an alternate way to self harm. I’m usually not an aggressive person, but in that particular instance, I found myself going back to my room to punch the wall a few times. Not hard, but enough to make some noise apparently. I’d forgotten there was still another patient in the room. “Was that you banging on the wall?” “Err…no,” I said awkwardly, and feigned ignorance.
After dinner I was feeling a bit calmer. The night shift nurse assigned to me happened to be the one who did my admission the night I arrived on the ward. She sought me out while I was in my room and said to me, “Oh you’re BtF, I didn’t know that. I did your admission, do you remember?” I confirmed that I did. I was once again led to an interview room where we spoke briefly. On my first meeting with her I found her to be quite unfriendly and intimidating, but that night I didn’t find her quite as bad as I initially thought. She asked me to come to her if I felt unsafe and I hesitantly agreed. I thought of the cuts already made earlier in the day and the blood stains on my bed sheet as a result. Hmm. A bit late for that…
Anyways, by now my accounts of the past few days are probably getting a bit tiresome. Only one more to go in the series…!