Mistakes

My mom had to get me out of the hospital.
It was like the doctor (Dr. B) didn’t speak the same
kind of English I spoke last weekend and
they were going to experiment with my
medication indefinitely until I brought my
mom in to threaten fire and brimstone to
get me out of a heavy duty lock down ward.

I guess I need to go backwards to explain this:
I STUPIDLY CHECKED MYSELF INTO A MENTAL
HOSPITAL WARD, so I could get help regulating
my medicine that we all agree was not working.
I freaked out (had a panic attack, then anxiety attack)
in Dr. A’s (first appointment) psychiatrist’s office
last Thursday, he concurred, “my meds are off,
but go to the nice little hospital down the road
and we will help you get regulated. When a female
bed becomes available.”

BULL SHIT!
AND I REPEAT BULL SHIT
FOR EMPHASIS!

My back hurt everyday as usual, so they gave
me a different medication for my back than the
medication that did work -THAT I BROUGHT WITH ME,
that medication was sent to the pharmacy for
safe keeping.
What?
Oh shit?

If I had gone into an emergency room
with an empty bottle of pain killer that I said
worked would the ER doc have given
me a different med, because he doesn’t
believe in doctor Q’s prescription?  I guess
that’s the way things work in this nifty new
hospital. Ask me if I saw the doctor (Dr. A or B) before they
changed my meds. Go ahead, just ask.
Now ask me if I saw any doctor before they changed
my meds. Well of course you know the answer
to both questions is no.

Friday, I saw my case worker,
who I just met him on Tuesday, who drove
me to the Mental ward, oh I should be more pc,
lets call it the general psychiatric ward where there was
a female bed available. I had spoken to a therapist, for hours,
at the clinic who seemed to think my course of action was reasonable.
I thought my course of action was reasonable. I’m obviously very naive
and
stupid.

You just can’t walk into any psych ward and have them believe you.  You must be crazy to present yourself to the hospital for help. Right?
It’s just as crazy as going up to your friendly neighborhood pharmacist and saying Dr. D, “I think my meds aren’t calibrated correctly. Can you help me with that?” In the far, far, far past, the pharmacist was the one who gave a shist about his patients because he was also a doctor who knew what meds to give to certain
patients who were a bit nervous and sad, like me.

Not now. Now, I need to get a special doctor
who gets bribed (too strong of a word)
no, enticed, by pharmaceutical companies
on a regular basis to pimp a certain
company’s drugs rather than prescribing
the one that worked in the past for me
that kept my weight up (don’t laugh,
I don’t want to look like a skeleton anymore.
Halloween is over.)  This doctor (Dr. A,)
never saw me as a patient during my five day
vacation in the heavy duty psychiatric lock down ward

So my warning bells were going off,
but you just don’t have bad reactions to
things in the mental ward, you can find yourself
having Haldol, Ativan orally and Ativan INJECTED INTO
my arm because I obviously
needed to calm down. My brain was having
terror/anxiety, so they put me in a place to keep me
“safe” though I was never a danger to myself or others. I just cry alot, hmm maybe they were psychic and see that I was going to
cry until my shirt got wet or something lethal like that Oh, I know, Margaret stop laughing, I was going to proceed to talk to someone at such a high rate that their head would spontaneously explode. Like spontaneous combustion…

It was quieter, until they brought a real heavy duty
schizophrenic girl in who scared the bejesus out of me
and made me want to run, but all the doors were locked.
She was screaming I want to die, I want to die
they parked her bed in front of my door, I was on bed alarm
since I had seizures from withdrawal from Clonazepam.

So
I was stuck there, thinking, “I don’t want to be
rude and shut the door in her face, but she’s still chanting/screaming. As soon as they moved her
I jumped from my bed set off the alarm and ran
to the TV room to watch anything. Guess what was on, CONSTANTINE, really?
I like Keano Reeves, but the timing sucked, I got to watch as a
girl jumped to her death, REALLY? But the girl next door was
screaming her head off and thrashing still. Where was Dr. B
asking about demonic possession?

I’m stupid this way.  I ask for help, assuming that they
(a psychiatrist) will believe what I’m saying
(or at least check my records),
not keeping me locked in,
waiting for me to attack a nurse
or trying to harm myself.

While they pushed me into withdrawal in one medication
while they offered me a medication I was allergic to.
Mysteriously, my refusal of the medication is what got me
put into the heavy duty ward.

Scarey, Amenuensis style mistakes.

I’m better off outside in the world
driving a truck as a scrapper, who
can’t lift steel or any metal.
Which means I need to really
go home and garden, until it snows
then I’ll have to pace patterns in my driveway
using footsteps, like a crazy person who can
at least see the sun behind the clouds.

I forgot to mention, there were no windows that I could
look out to see the sky. How’s that for treating my Seasonal
Affective Disorder? HAH!

I just wanted to go home and see my children, who were not allowed to visit. Why? Hospital policy. My children were not allowed to see their mother in a hospital, all the more scary for them. ESR(he’s 18 now) and my mom came together so I got to see one/four. Twenty-five percent of my offspring. Girlie has been clingie since I got back. Duh, I wonder why. I’m so angry, there is nothing I can do. Other than wait for a response from the hospital who treated me like crap. Like a mental patient, because mental patients are obviously without rights. We’re crazy and might harm ourselves by checking into the local psych ward.

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