Room 17

Every two weeks when I get my Clopixol ass injection, we fill out a Suicide Safety Plan.  One of the areas talks about what I can do to calm myself down.  Every two weeks, I list off the same things.  Lay down in my bed.  Take a hot bath.  Listen to music.  The form never changes.

This past Tuesday, I began to have horrific thoughts about killing myself and Katelyn.  The cycle of thoughts were rapid fire - kill yourself no I can't do that I can't leave Katelyn with no mother so just take her with you and kill her too you're a horrible mother! who thinks of doing that? so just kill yourself no I can't do that I can't leave Katelyn behind...and so on and so on. These thoughts are very invasive and very vivid.  I am still looking for a way to be able to turn these thoughts off.

So, I did what the form said and I went and laid down for a bit.  The thoughts wouldn't go away.  I got up and told Mike what was happening and he suggested a bath.  I turned the water on as hot as possible and climbed in.  As the steam rose up from the bath, my thoughts switched to slitting my wrists.  I could picture it.  I could feel it.  I could even smell the blood.  I was freaking out and decided to text my psych nurse (who does the ass injections).  Big mistake.  She told me to either go to the emergency room (uh-uh...never doing that again) or else she was phoning the police to come get me to bring me in.  Don't.  Ever.  Threaten.  Me.  You especially don't threaten someone who is struggling with suicidal thoughts.  I mean, wtf?

I told her I would go to Mental Health services and see a counsellor there.  My mom had to drive me because I didn't trust myself that I wouldn't just take off somewhere (like I've done before).  When we got there, my psych nurse met us on the stairs and said that my psychiatrist was available.  Awesome!  Within minutes of meeting with my psychiatrist, she said I would be going onto the ward.  Not so awesome!  She wanted to start me on a new drug that required very close monitoring and I'd have to be on the ward for a few days.  Shit shit double shit.  I relented and said okay, even though I wasn't.

I came home and packed up a few things and headed back to the hospital with Mike.  We're quite familiar with the routine by now so he didn't even do the long walk with me down the long, scary hallway that leads to the psych ward.  We just kissed good-bye at the main admitting station and parted ways.  I was lead down to the ward by a nurse and a security guard.

We went through the usual check in procedures...blood pressure, temperature, height, weight, and then all the intake forms (do I know why I'm there, do I have family history of depression yada yada yada).  I was then assigned to room 17.  I was quite disappointed to be on that wing.  There are three wings on the ward and the rooms 1-10 are where they try to bunk all the women (and it has the nicest bathroom).  Rooms 11-20 are for men and uncontrollables.  Blech.  There's two yicky bathrooms and it's such a loud wing, it was tough to sleep.  There were a few other women on the wing with me...overflow, I guess.  Even though I was in room 17, I still snuck over and used the nice bathroom :)

The drug my psychiatrist started me on is called Clozirol.  It has the potential to lower your white blood cell count so I would need to have weekly blood work done for the first six months, then every two weeks for the next six months then every month after that.  For the rest of the time I was on it.  I researched some great things about Clozirol but was hesitant about trying it because of its side effects.  They gave me a small test dose at 3:00pm and then had to take my BP every hour after that.  The test dose was minute compared to the amount I would actually be taking.  Let me tell you...this shit kicked. my. ass.  It felt like my tongue was fat and fuzzy.  I was slurring.  I couldn't put sentences together.  It was like being really, really drunk but not the fun kind of drunk.  I had free passes to leave the ward for smokes and I damn near passed out when I went for a smoke with Mike.

Granted, this pill is supposed to be taken at bedtime, but I can't be that far out of it with two small kids to care for.  I would sleep through a house fire on that shit.  So, on Friday I told my psychiatrist I didn't want to take the meds and I wanted off the ward (after being in there for four days).  She said I was going against medical advice but she couldn't force me to take the pills.  And with that..I was sprung from the joint!! Yipee!

I really hope that is my last time on the ward.  I did some anxiety and depression module work while I was in there (along with a lot of sleeping) and found some good tips and tricks for dealing with stress.  I'm also going to be attending a group session for coping with anxiety and depression every Wednesday, starting this week.  Lastly, I will be going back to regular counselling in January.  That's one key piece that I've missed out on this last year...not having regular, constructive support.

And so...I continue on.  This last day and a half have been the best days I've had in almost two months.  Maybe I need a little shake up every now and then to remind myself how good I really do have it and that things could always be worse.  I could be in a restraint chair all day, yelling at everyone that walks passed :-P