My hospital stay was from Monday, 19th of May, through Wednesday, the 28th of May.
I have a lot to write about that hospital stay.
The little dog is named Itzl.
As you can see by Itzl's concerned look, this group is for us to check in at, to let people know we are alive, doing OK, and not affected by such things as heat, blizzards, floods, wildfires, hurricanes, tornadoes, power outages, or other such things that could keep us off Daily Kos. If you're not here, or anywhere else on Daily Kos, and there are adverse conditions in your area (floods, heatwaves, hurricanes, etc.), we are going to check up on you. If you are going to be away from your computer for a day or a week, let us know here. We care!
IAN is a great group to join, and a good place to learn to write diaries. Drop one of us a PM to be added to the Itzl Alert Network anytime! We all share the publishing duties, and we welcome everyone who reads IAN to write diaries for the group! Every member is an editor, so anyone can take a turn when they have something to say, photos and music to share, a cause to promote or news!
This is our current schedule of regular IAN diary writers:
Monday: Youffraita
Tuesday: bigjacbigjacbigjac
Wednesday: Pam from Calif
Thursday: art ah zen
Friday: FloridaSNMOM
Saturday: FloridaSNDad
Sunday: loggersbrat
On Monday, the 19th of May, I was thinking of harming myself.
I called the Ascension Living Hope Center.
They have a 24/7 phone number.
The nice lady connected me with a nurse.
I asked the nurse if I should take an anti-depressant pill that I had on hand.
It was given to me three years ago when Tonia died, but I never took any of the pills.
The full bottle has been sitting here for 3 years.
The nurse said, no, that pill is not on our list.
She had my social worker, Mallary, call me.
I explained the situation to Mallary.
Mallary called for me to get transported to the nearby hospital.
Who came to my door?
A policeman.
He put me in the back of his police car, and took me to the hospital, less than a mile away.
When I went inside the hospital, I was told to take off all my clothes.
I was given hospital underwear and a hospital gown, and hospital grippy socks.
All my items were put into a plastic tote and locked up somewhere in the hospital.
I was eventually taken upstairs to the psych ward on the sixth floor.
(They do not call it the psych ward. They have a fancy name for it.)
By the time I got placed in my room, it was about 6 AM.
Breakfast and morning pills are served at 8 AM.
So, I only got a little sleep.
They gave me one anti-depressant pill.
When the psychiatrist talked with me on Monday, after breakfast, I was in a very good mood.
Talking like a happy man.
Talking like a maniac!
Ha!
That is when they realized:
- Thinking of self-harm = depression.
- Talking so happy = mania.
So, they diagnosed me as bipolar!
So, no more anti-depressant pills.
Instead, they put me on anti-psychotic pills.
Because I was a psycho!
Ha!
(I know, that is a bad joke.)
Before the new pills kicked in, I was pacing up and down the hall.
After a while, by Wednesday, I no longer had the urge to pace up and down the hall.
So, apparently, my very long walks I had been taking for about 3 years were driven by my mania.
So, in the hospital, here was my routine:
- 8 AM: breakfast and morning pills.
- 10 AM: group therapy.
- Noon: lunch.
- 2 PM: group therapy.
- 5 PM: dinner.
- 8 PM: snacks and bedtime pills.
I am staying with that routine for my meals right now, but not as strict, a little looser, as I feel like it.
But I am forced to stay with part of that routine Monday thru Friday, in order to go to the senior center.
And I am staying with the 8 PM time for my bedtime pills.
That way I can do my 9 PM chores and get to bed between 10 and 11 PM.
Here is my bulletin board loaded up with papers that were given to me in some of those group therapy sessions:
By the way, at the meals and at the group therapy sessions, there were only one or two other patients who were coherent enough to carry on a conversation.
Very few folks I could simply talk with.
Of course I could talk with the group leader.
I could write more here about the unusual toilets, and the upstairs outdoor patio, and the TV room.
The dining area was too cold.
The TV room was too cold.
My room was a little warmer.
Okay, next week I plan to write about the respite care facility I was sent to for just a few days.
Hugs!
