The trauma of 2017, Part 3a (The first 24 hours of lockdown)

I have a lot to say about the hospital stay, so please bear with me.

Back to my first night in lockdown…

As soon as I was done completing my paperwork, they showed me to my room, which was nondescript and it had a cold, sterile feel to it. 

As I entered the room, there was a bathroom/shower room on the left. The door wasn’t a typical door, but it was similar to what you would see in the stall of a rest stop - not a lot of privacy. I assumed that it was a safety precaution. 

There were two twin beds with dull, white bedspreads on them. Each bed had a small shelving unit next to it for personal belongings. Since this wasn’t a planned visit for me, the only clothes I had were the clothes on my back, so they gave me a hospital gown to wear. 

On the far side of the room, it had two windows to the outside, but they were frosted so I couldn’t really see out. The walls were white and bare and seemed to have more rounded corners to them, which I later learned was intentional (A safety feature for the patients). Fact: Rounded corner walls in psychiatric facilities are intended as safety features, as they help to reduce the risk of falls and intentional harm of patients.

By the time I got into my bed, it was almost 2 AM. My head was spinning, and my body was exhausted. I remember feeling twinges of fear, especially when I heard numerous shrieks coming from the hallway. Over the next few days, the sounds would become regular occurrences. And so, I prayed that God would comfort and protect me. 

Prior to going to bed, they gave me sleep medication (which I was hoping would knock me out), but a few hours later, I was still tossing and turning. It was partly due to a nurse coming in with a flashlight every hour on the hour to check if I was still breathing (A practice that would occur each and every night while I was at this facility.). During one of these hourly check-ins, I told the nurse that I still couldn’t sleep and again, they gave me even more sleep medication. Another thing that interrupted my sleep that night was that I got a roommate in the wee hours of the morning (Soon to be another regular occurrence during my stay.) All in all, it was not quite conducive to restful sleep, not to mention being in a frightening environment. 

Morning finally came. A nurse came in our room at 7 AM to wake us up. The first question out of her mouth was “How are you feeling? Followed by “Have you had any thoughts or feelings of wanting to hurt yourself or others?” My answer was “No.”

After the series of questions, (which would later become a morning routine), my roommate and I were instructed to meet in the hallway to get our vitals checked. By this time, I was already a bit nervous, given the previous day’s events and the lack of sleep. It was my turn, and the nurse took my temperature, which was normal, but when she got to my blood pressure, it was somewhat elevated. Again, the nurse started drilling me with questions on my mental state. In the anxiousness, I began crossing my legs, but I was soon chastised for that. Apparently, the simple act of crossing your legs can render the reading inaccurate. A few of the questions that I remember her asking were “Are you nervous? What are you anxious about? Do you feel like you want to harm yourself? Do you have thoughts about harming others?” After she finished the interrogation, she released me, and I was able to go to the dining room for breakfast. 

Breakfast was fine, but then after breakfast, each of us was given a menu and we had to choose what we wanted for lunch and dinner. Given my confused and frazzled state, I had difficulty deciding what I wanted or what I liked. I ended up copying off another patient's menu as I got so flustered. Throughout my time in the facility, mealtime planning was stressful and exhausting.

After breakfast, they gave me my meds, which again became a morning and night ritual. And, as usual, they watched me very closely to make sure that I actually swallowed my medication. 

After a little rest in my room, they called me, along with other patients and had us join in on some basic occupational therapy activities. {For those of you that have not heard of occupational therapy, it is a therapy that helps people regain or learn new skills to participate in daily activities.} Although I don’t remember exactly what we did that day, they would have us regularly work on crafts, as well as participate in coloring/drawing, and life skills-related activities. The one thing that I do remember is that I had difficulty with many of these activities. I was good with basic coloring, but when it came to a particular craft or cognitive activity, I had difficulty thinking for myself. This in itself was frightening because of the person I had been all my life. I knew that I was having these challenges, but I didn’t know what to do about it.

Later that afternoon, my psychiatrist visited me and asked the usual questions about my mental state as well as my sleep the night before. Given my challenging evening, as well as the difficult first day, he changed my daytime and sleeping meds. Daily doctor visits and medication modifications would continue to be a mainstay throughout my time there.

After dinner that day, we were allowed to have visits from our family members and friends. That day, my husband and in-laws came to see me. I had never been so happy to see my family. It was truly the only bright spot in my day. I vividly remember that first visit. After our time together, we said our goodbyes and as I watched my husband leave the facility, I remember an intense sadness and loneliness had come over me. I kept thinking to myself over and over “Am I ever going to be able to leave this place?” Even now after so many years later, it brings tears to my eyes, but thankfully it is all in the past and I am now able to write about it. 

Next week’s blog will be a continuation of the hospital stay.