Every year for the last three years I have been hospitalized for mania. That is, three hospitalizations in three years. To put that fact into perspective: I've been hospitalized four times, my first hospital stay was in 2007 but the second stay wasn't until 2013. That means I was stable for six whole years. But since 2013 stability has been hard to sustain.
All four of my manias have happened in the springtime. There's something about the sunshine and flowers blooming that send me into a tailspin. In fact, I wrote about me, mania, and the spring this time last year.
For the past few months I've been apprehensive about spring's arrival. I mean, three for three, what are the odds? And what are the odds that this year won't continue the trend? My boyfriend is claiming the Law of Averages for me. Meaning, my episodes will even out. I've had a crappy run of it the last three years, so my luck must look up soon. I don't know if I believe it, but I'm hoping that it's so.
Knowing that spring is coming and soon, I've been on high alert for warning signs of mania. For instance, twice in the past few weeks I've stayed up writing until the wee hours of the morning, midnight on the first occasion and 2am this morning. I felt incredibly productive and felt driven to keep working even though I know how important good sleep hygiene is. (Decreased sleep is often one of the first signs of mania and depression for me.)
You see, the mania doesn't care about my sleep. The mania is single-minded. But I can't feed into it, which I've now done twice.
However, I am taking care of myself: I take my psych meds regularly, I see my therapist every three weeks, I see my psychiatrist pretty regularly as well, I increased the frequency of my acupuncture sessions knowing that spring is a trouble time, I'm exercising and trying to eat healthy. On the self-care front I've got it covered. If only I could stop giving into the heightened-productivity impulses. I vow to work on that.
I claim that this year I won't be hospitalized.
But if I am, I will commit myself to recovery as I have done the previous four times. Neither mania, nor depression, will bring me to my knees.
I am more than my bipolar label.
Showing posts with label hospital. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hospital. Show all posts
Monday, February 22, 2016
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
My 4th Mania and 4th Hospital Stay
If you go back and re-read (or read for the first time) the blog entries for March 2015 it's pretty evident that I was headed for a manic episode. I was having sleep issues, I was posting more to social media, I was extra productive and creative, I had pressured speech (speaking quickly), and I had racing thoughts.
The mania started to surface in February 2015. I was grandiose in a job interview, basically told the interviewer "I'm the shit." There were other signs too (as mentioned above).
March 11th to 14th I was in Kentucky presenting at a conference. While there my manic symptoms escalated. My sleep issues worsened and I became extra emotional. The pressured speech and racing thoughts were worsening as well. My acupuncturist said the spring-like weather (it was warmer in Kentucky than in my home state of New Jersey) and the excitement of presenting a workshop did not help the mania. As I've written previously, spring is a trigger for my mania. All my manias, all four of them over the last eight years, have happened in spring, March to June.
Leaving Kentucky further worsened the mania. The flight was delayed, causing me to miss my connection in Charlotte, NC. There were hold ups at the airport and hotel. When I finally got to my hotel room it was after midnight. I had to be to the airport at 7am, so I had to be on a 5am shuttle. I only slept three hours that night. This was Sunday March 15th. Sleep, like spring, is also a huge trigger for me. I knew I was in trouble. I made an emergency appointment with my psychiatrist and acupuncturist for that Monday, March 16th. My psychiatrist increased my meds and told me to let her know if I still wasn't sleeping. My acupuncturist tried to bring the mania down. This session was my most intense acupuncture session in the two years I've been receiving treatment. I cried during the entire session. From the pain of the needles - I never cry from the needles, they're not very painful, for the most part, but the mania had me emotionally sensitive and physically sensitive. Each needle was incredibly painful. I talked through most of the session, explaining to my acupuncturist that I did not want to be manic. I lamented the fact that every spring for the last three years I had been manic (and also hospitalized). I wrote how the gospel song Withholding Nothing was extremely cathartic for me. I listened to it on repeat during my treatment. After this emotionally draining session I felt tons better. Calmer.
The next few days I slept three to four hours per night. Then, Tuesday night/Wednesday morning I slept an hour, at 6am on Wednesday morning. I was up all night on the computer. Being hyperproductive. Researching and writing. I knew I was in trouble after I woke from the one hour of sleep. I don't drive, so I text five of my closest family and friends asking for a ride to the hospital. It didn't occur to me to call an ambulance. Even though I had seen my psychiatrist two days prior, I knew that the mania had progressed too quickly, too fast for her to treat me outpatient. I either needed IOP (intensive outpatient program) or a hospital stay.
Even though I was in the throes of a heightened manic episode, I had enough sense to pack my hospital bag: loose fitting, comfortable clothes; underwear; toiletries; notebooks; and my bible. My mother returned home, my aunt, who I text for a ride, must've called her. When I woke I knew my mom wasn't home, but I wasn't sure where she was so I didn't think to text her for a ride. But my mom is the one who took me to the hospital. My aunt met us there.
The ER visit was pleasant enough. Since it was still early in the morning (in the past I've gone to the ER in the afternoon or evening) I didn't have to wait in the ER that long. I'm not sure if you're familiar with the process for a mental health hospital stay. But first you go to the Emergency Room. They have a crisis counselor assess you: they ask you a bunch of questions about your behavior, mood, and drug use. If you were accompanied to the hospital they also talk to your family member or friend, to get another perspective on your behavior and symptoms. The crisis counselor might also talk to your providers (therapist or psychiatrist). Next, a determination is made: inpatient (hospital) or outpatient (a few days per week of intensive therapy, but you get to live at home). It was decided that I'd be hospitalized.
Once I got to the behavioral health unit, it felt like returning to a second home. I hugged the nurses that I knew from my three previous hospitalizations. I updated them on what had been happening since my last hospital stay, only 10 months prior.
I don't remember much from the first few days. But the salient memories for me from this hospital stay are:
The mania started to surface in February 2015. I was grandiose in a job interview, basically told the interviewer "I'm the shit." There were other signs too (as mentioned above).
March 11th to 14th I was in Kentucky presenting at a conference. While there my manic symptoms escalated. My sleep issues worsened and I became extra emotional. The pressured speech and racing thoughts were worsening as well. My acupuncturist said the spring-like weather (it was warmer in Kentucky than in my home state of New Jersey) and the excitement of presenting a workshop did not help the mania. As I've written previously, spring is a trigger for my mania. All my manias, all four of them over the last eight years, have happened in spring, March to June.
Leaving Kentucky further worsened the mania. The flight was delayed, causing me to miss my connection in Charlotte, NC. There were hold ups at the airport and hotel. When I finally got to my hotel room it was after midnight. I had to be to the airport at 7am, so I had to be on a 5am shuttle. I only slept three hours that night. This was Sunday March 15th. Sleep, like spring, is also a huge trigger for me. I knew I was in trouble. I made an emergency appointment with my psychiatrist and acupuncturist for that Monday, March 16th. My psychiatrist increased my meds and told me to let her know if I still wasn't sleeping. My acupuncturist tried to bring the mania down. This session was my most intense acupuncture session in the two years I've been receiving treatment. I cried during the entire session. From the pain of the needles - I never cry from the needles, they're not very painful, for the most part, but the mania had me emotionally sensitive and physically sensitive. Each needle was incredibly painful. I talked through most of the session, explaining to my acupuncturist that I did not want to be manic. I lamented the fact that every spring for the last three years I had been manic (and also hospitalized). I wrote how the gospel song Withholding Nothing was extremely cathartic for me. I listened to it on repeat during my treatment. After this emotionally draining session I felt tons better. Calmer.
The next few days I slept three to four hours per night. Then, Tuesday night/Wednesday morning I slept an hour, at 6am on Wednesday morning. I was up all night on the computer. Being hyperproductive. Researching and writing. I knew I was in trouble after I woke from the one hour of sleep. I don't drive, so I text five of my closest family and friends asking for a ride to the hospital. It didn't occur to me to call an ambulance. Even though I had seen my psychiatrist two days prior, I knew that the mania had progressed too quickly, too fast for her to treat me outpatient. I either needed IOP (intensive outpatient program) or a hospital stay.
Even though I was in the throes of a heightened manic episode, I had enough sense to pack my hospital bag: loose fitting, comfortable clothes; underwear; toiletries; notebooks; and my bible. My mother returned home, my aunt, who I text for a ride, must've called her. When I woke I knew my mom wasn't home, but I wasn't sure where she was so I didn't think to text her for a ride. But my mom is the one who took me to the hospital. My aunt met us there.
The ER visit was pleasant enough. Since it was still early in the morning (in the past I've gone to the ER in the afternoon or evening) I didn't have to wait in the ER that long. I'm not sure if you're familiar with the process for a mental health hospital stay. But first you go to the Emergency Room. They have a crisis counselor assess you: they ask you a bunch of questions about your behavior, mood, and drug use. If you were accompanied to the hospital they also talk to your family member or friend, to get another perspective on your behavior and symptoms. The crisis counselor might also talk to your providers (therapist or psychiatrist). Next, a determination is made: inpatient (hospital) or outpatient (a few days per week of intensive therapy, but you get to live at home). It was decided that I'd be hospitalized.
Once I got to the behavioral health unit, it felt like returning to a second home. I hugged the nurses that I knew from my three previous hospitalizations. I updated them on what had been happening since my last hospital stay, only 10 months prior.
I don't remember much from the first few days. But the salient memories for me from this hospital stay are:
- I really liked my psychiatrist. Every psychiatrist I've had while hospitalized has been great.
- The food is always really good. But it took me about an hour or so to eat each meal. When I'm manic I'm easily distracted. I'll do anything but eat: talk to another patient, talk on the phone, wander around, etc.
- I didn't get many visitors this time. I normally have at least one visitor per day. I don't know if people were busy with their own lives and concerns or had conflicting schedules or no babysitters or whatever, but for whatever reason, less people visited me. It snowed one day while I was there and no one showed. I cried. I was on the phone calling everyone trying to find someone to come visit me. Understandably, people did not travel in the snow to come see me.
- I was supposed to be discharged on a Friday. That morning the psychiatrist told me he was concerned that I was only still sleeping three to four hours per night. So he was going to keep me until Monday. Three more damn days. I cried hysterically at the news. So instead of 10 days, I was hospitalized 13 days. This would be my second longest hospital stay. My longest stay was 17 days. To give you some perspective, most people stay, on average, 5 to 7 days. I doubled that number. It is incredibly hard to be "locked up." Meal times are scheduled. Computer and phone time, your links to the outside world, are rationed. Visiting hours are only two hours per day. You can't have any technology: phone, laptop, tablet, iPod. And your expected to attend group therapy and process why you're there in the first place. Plus, you can't go outside; there's no terrace or courtyard we have access to. So 13 days is a long ass time.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Blogging Survey: What is My Impact?
I've been blogging since June 2014, that's about 10 months. I had lofty goals for my blogging.
First, here are the not-so-lofty goals:
Well, I wanted to know what my readers thought. So I created a brief Google Form survey to find out. I've shared it to Facebook and Twitter, and now I share it here. Please take 5 minutes to anonymously tell me what you think of my two blogs, Manic Monique and the Huffington Post. I really do value your feedback.
And I need to know that I am having a positive impact. If the impact is not what I want, I am considering stopping blogging and instead devoting that time to my collection of personal essays.
Please take the 5 minutes and share your thoughts with me. I will be eternally grateful.
You can access the survey through this link here.
First, here are the not-so-lofty goals:
- I wanted to write again. Before June 2014, I had not written since my days as a poet in high school some 13 to 14 years prior.
- I find blogging to be very cathartic. I discuss stuff here, on Manic Monique, that I haven't even fully processed in 8 years with my therapist. And I love my therapist. But in session I tend to be guarded. On Manic Monique I have let down my walls.
- I wanted to demystify bipolar disorder for the average reader. Granted, my blog just represents one story, my story, but I wanted to show what bipolar is and is not or what it can or cannot be.
- And I wanted to write this blog to show that black people, and by extension, other people of color, of various races and ethnicities, too struggle with mental illness. It is not a wealthy white person's luxury problem.
- And now, for my lofty goal: the blog would serve as fodder for the memoir I want to write. In 10 months that I have been writing this blog and through the two memoir writing classes I have taken, this goal has shifted some. I no longer want to write a memoir. Instead, I'll be writing a collection of personal essays. Still very much memoir-inspired. But they'll draw from my non-fiction writing strength. (Memoir while non-fiction, draws heavily from fiction in terms of style. And I am no fiction writer.).
Well, I wanted to know what my readers thought. So I created a brief Google Form survey to find out. I've shared it to Facebook and Twitter, and now I share it here. Please take 5 minutes to anonymously tell me what you think of my two blogs, Manic Monique and the Huffington Post. I really do value your feedback.
And I need to know that I am having a positive impact. If the impact is not what I want, I am considering stopping blogging and instead devoting that time to my collection of personal essays.
Please take the 5 minutes and share your thoughts with me. I will be eternally grateful.
You can access the survey through this link here.
Sunday, March 15, 2015
SAD, Springtime, Mania, and Me
Most people have heard of SAD. Seasonal Affective Disorder.
Some people get depressed during the winter months due to the shorter, darker
days. I don’t tend to get depressed during the winter. Instead, all of my
manias (and hospitalizations) have happened during the spring.
I’ve been depressed three times and manic three times. But I have only been hospitalized during the manias. I’ve had a 17-day stay, then a 10-day stay, followed by a 5-day stay. The three hospitalizations have been over the course of the last eight years. During my hospital stays, I've found that most people there are admitted for depression or age-related illnesses like dementia. I have been the only manic person each time.
In short, I have to be careful with my sleep. Keeping consistent sleep hours and getting adequate amounts of sleep is crucial to stave off both depression and mania.
I’ve been depressed three times and manic three times. But I have only been hospitalized during the manias. I’ve had a 17-day stay, then a 10-day stay, followed by a 5-day stay. The three hospitalizations have been over the course of the last eight years. During my hospital stays, I've found that most people there are admitted for depression or age-related illnesses like dementia. I have been the only manic person each time.
For me, my manias have been a lot worse than my depressions.
I have Bipolar Disorder Type I. What distinguishes type I from type II is the mania;
hypomania, a lesser form of mania, defines type II, among other features. WebMD says:
People with bipolar I disorder experience full episodes of mania -- the often severe abnormally elevated mood and behavior described above. These manic symptoms can lead to serious disruptions in life (for example, spending the family fortune, or having an unintended pregnancy).
In bipolar II disorder, the symptoms of elevated mood never reach full-blown mania. They often pass for extreme cheerfulness, even making someone a lot of fun to be around -- the "life of the party." Not so bad, you might think -- except bipolar II disorder usually involves extensive and disabling periods of significant depression, which can often be harder to treat than if episodes of hypomania had never occurred.
When
I am manic, I am super creative and productive. Ideas come to me easily and
often. Ideas about career paths, writing topics, and projects. When I
am manic, I spend uncontrollably, racking up thousands upon thousands of
dollars on my credit cards. When I am manic, I sleep and eat less than normal.
When I am manic, I lose weight. When I am manic, I talk extremely fast. In short, the mania is wholly
disruptive to my normal routine.
Jessie, from Saved By the Bell, saying: "I'm so excited!"
My last manic episode occurred in June 2014, mere months
ago. Since then, I've returned to "normal", but over the past month I’ve felt the stirrings of mania. I’ve been
speaking quickly. I’ve been posting more to social media. I’ve been a bit
grandiose. Thankfully, I have not spent any money. I’m still digging out of the
tens of thousands of dollars I charged this past summer. But still my sleep has been off.
I’ve had sleep issues since the
depression set in in June 2013 (the depression would last a year; insomnia is a
common symptom) and it hasn’t reverted back to normal despite me being in a
stable mood. I was on Lunesta, a prescription sleeping pill, for the past fourteen
months. However, over the past two weeks I have stopped the Lunesta and am now
taking Melatonin, an over-the-counter supplement recommended by my psychiatrist. The Lunesta caused intense grogginess. The morning after
taking Lunesta I would lie in bed for too many hours of the day, halfway
between sleep and wakefulness. I cannot be productive in a permanent state of
grogginess and tiredness. The Melatonin has been working okay. But I still wake
frequently during the night and I wake super early in the morning. I’m not sure
if this sleep pattern is my new normal. Fortunately, my psychiatrist is aware of all of
this and is keeping an eye on my mood.In short, I have to be careful with my sleep. Keeping consistent sleep hours and getting adequate amounts of sleep is crucial to stave off both depression and mania.
I was out of town at a conference this week. The entire week
I was there I had anxiety around my sleep. Lying in bed, I would be thinking
about the following: how long will it take me to fall asleep, will I fall
asleep, will I be rested in the morning, and will I wake up (thoughts of
mortality frighten me from time to time). Mid-panic attack, I called my
boyfriend to process the experience. Trying to console me, he offered some
suggestions. After hanging up, I did some deep breathing to calm myself down. I
believe I fell asleep not too long after. However the next day, when my friends
asked me how I was feeling, as I would be presenting a workshop later that day,
I shared my anxiety around my sleep and started to cry. Heightened emotions are
also a sign of mania for me. One of my friends present who was at the conference with
me is also my acupuncturist. Thankfully she was around. She gave me a quick acupressure
session and I did some deep breathing and all was right in my world again.
I’m not sure if I’m headed for a manic episode or not, but
to be proactive I will be: increasing the frequency of my acupuncture
appointments from once every three weeks to once per week for the next month or
so and I
have appointments with both my psychiatrist and therapist soon. I will also
keep to my normal schedule and routine as much as possible.
I’ve written about how I generally love the mania, but I’m
not sure that the mania loves me back. I mean, I’m super productive when manic. This
summer alone: I started two blogs, wrote a proposal for a charter school, wrote
a curriculum for a mental wellness presentation, applied to graduate school for
social work, and started a memoir. Yup. I did all of that in three months. But
the mania is very disruptive and expensive for me. Not to mention, exhausting -- as
I’m sure you can imagine.
I would appreciate not being manic again for a long time to
come.
Note: My title is an homage to Ellen Forney’s captivating
graphic memoir (comic book memoir) about living and working with bipolar
disorder. Check it out: Marbles: Mania, Depression, Michelangelo, and Me.
Thursday, August 7, 2014
New Psychiatrist
I have been with my therapist and psychiatrist for seven years. I love my therapist! He is a walking contradiction. He's tatted up, has piercings, and wears combat boots. He curses freely. And is awesome at what he does.
My psychiatrist on the other hand is different. We didn't gel as easily. He's a little stoic. And over the past few months I have not been happy with his care. I was hospitalized twice in a year on his watch. In February 2013 the Tegretol made my liver sick, so I had to come off immediately. (I've had a number of side effects over the years from my psych meds). I had been stable for six years so he did not replace the Tegretol with any other meds. I was only on 100mg of Seroquel. I spoke to my friend/colleague/acupuncturist about my sick liver. She suggested I increase my water and fiber intake and start adding chia or flax to my food. I took her suggestions and within two months my liver healed itself. The liver can do that.
The second hospitalization occurred in June 2014. About two or three months prior my psychiatrist took me off of Lithium because it was subtherapeutic (meaning, there wasn't enough of the medicine in my system to be doing any good) and it was also exacerbating my psoriasis. Again, he did not replace the Lithium. And I was only on one medicine. Within two or three months I was manic again and hospitalized for five days. I don't last long on one medicine. I need to be on two medicines at all times.
When I was in IOP (intensive outpatient therapy) I got suggestions from the nurse on great psychiatrists. She gave me two women. This past week I had my initial visits with both of them. They were both great. However, one is in my insurance network and one isn't. The one that isn't in my network charges $450 for the initial visit and $200 for each subsequent visit. The one in my network takes my insurance and I don't have a copay. Of course I liked the more expensive one more! Thank god I make a great salary and can afford to pay so much for my healthcare.
The psychiatrist that I ultimately chose was amazing. She was very thorough. She spent an entire hour with me. She painstakingly went through my medical history: asking about mental and regular health, asking about my family history, asking about my six episodes (three manias and three depressions). She then made some suggestions. I was impressed with her care and look forward to working with her.
The psychiatrist that takes my insurance suggested I take a third medicine. I informed her that the Latuda has given me anxiety and restlessness, she said she could give me a medicine for the restlessness. I declined. My original psychiatrist lowered the dose and the restlessness seems to have gone away. I am not trying to add any more psych meds to my regimen.
I just want to encourage you all to actively self-advocate when it comes to self-care. You have to control your care. Know what questions to ask. Know your rights. And don't blindly take any medicine. Listen to your body. Know how you respond to different medicines and medicines at different doses. To be quite honest with you, the majority of psych meds come with side effects. But the side effects can be managed or minimized. The sucky thing is that it is trial and error. So please be patient. It takes time.
Here are the holistic suggestions from my new psychiatrist.
Sunday, June 22, 2014
Insensitive Comments
The first time I was hospitalized in 2007 a friend had heard about it. But he didn't know the reason I was in the hospital. When I told him, he said, "at least it's not cancer." I didn't say anything to him. But later I would become very upset about his comment. Mental illness is just as serious as physical illnesses. You can die from mental illness just like you can die from a physical ailment. I never did say anything to my friend. Fast forward six years. When I was hospitalized for the second time in 2013 I finally said something. I even told him about suicide and lack of impulse control. He apologized. And of course he didn't remember saying this to me. I'm glad that I finally said something.
Around 2007/2008, I went to Washington, DC to visit a few friends from college who were in law school. One of my friends was telling us about one of her classmates who had a nervous breakdown. She ended the story by saying, "well, not everyone can cut it." I was highly offended by her statement. But this friend did not know about my own struggles with bipolar disorder. And again, I did not speak up. I regret this to this day. I have never called her out on this.
When I was depressed in 2006, my mom snapped her fingers in my face and said "snap out of it." If only depression worked that way. I knew I was being irrational; I knew I was harboring negative thoughts. But I was powerless to do anything about it. Especially since I didn't receive treatment (therapy or medicine) for the depression.
I give you these three examples to caution you against making insensitive comments. You never know what another person is going through. But try to treat people kindly. "Everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about."
Around 2007/2008, I went to Washington, DC to visit a few friends from college who were in law school. One of my friends was telling us about one of her classmates who had a nervous breakdown. She ended the story by saying, "well, not everyone can cut it." I was highly offended by her statement. But this friend did not know about my own struggles with bipolar disorder. And again, I did not speak up. I regret this to this day. I have never called her out on this.
When I was depressed in 2006, my mom snapped her fingers in my face and said "snap out of it." If only depression worked that way. I knew I was being irrational; I knew I was harboring negative thoughts. But I was powerless to do anything about it. Especially since I didn't receive treatment (therapy or medicine) for the depression.
I give you these three examples to caution you against making insensitive comments. You never know what another person is going through. But try to treat people kindly. "Everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about."
How I Manage My Disorder
I went six years between my first (2007) and second (2013) hospitalizations. I pride myself on that. Through my three hospitalizations and three IOP's I've met people on their 10th or 15th hospitalization. Some people are chronically unemployed or on disability. They've let their illness dictate the course for their life.
It doesn't have to be this way.
To make sure I stay stable and highly functioning, I do a number of things:
It doesn't have to be this way.
To make sure I stay stable and highly functioning, I do a number of things:
- For the past 7 years, I've seen my therapist every 3 weeks and my psychiatrist every 3 months.
- I'm a compliant patient; I take my medicine faithfully, go to all follow up appointments.
- I make time for leisure (reading, hanging out with friends, going out to eat, getting massages, shopping, watching TV, etc)
- For the past year I've been getting acupuncture regularly. I'm trying to balance out my reliance on Western medicine with more holistic practices.
- I'm protective of my sleep. Not getting enough sleep can trigger depression or mania.
- I exercise two to four days per week. There are numerous health benefits gained from exercise.
- I try to eat healthy. I can definitely do a better job at this. I'll be going to see a nutritionist next week.
- I try to minimize my stress triggers. Grading my students' essays normally stresses me out. So I try to manage my procrastination. I don't always succeed at this. But I'm trying.
Thursday, June 12, 2014
Pet Therapy
In the hospital we had Pet Therapy twice during my 5-day stay. I don't really care for pets of any kind so I did not attend. However, the second time they came, I attended.
The dog had on a hoodie. It's owner also brought some other pieces from the dog's wardrobe to show us: a lace dress, a dress with a bow on it; there were lots of pink clothes. The dog owner also had a photo album of the dog in her various clothes. I feel like the dog has more clothes than I do. She is very fashionable! She even had a manicure and pedicure (with dog safe nail polish, of course).
The dog also sings! If the owner asks the dog to sing, she'll start barking in either a low or high register.
The dog is a volunteer with St. Hubert's Paws for People program.She is 9 years old. In order to be a pet therapy dog, the dog has to pass a series of tests: have to meet another dog and not be scared or vicious, people bang on pots and pans and the dog can't be bothered, they come in contact with various hospital equipment (wheelchair, IV pole, walker), and they have to follow commands (sit, stay down).
The dog's owner was very charismatic. I liked her. I'm glad I went to pet therapy. She became a volunteer to honor her dying mother's memory.
The dog had on a hoodie. It's owner also brought some other pieces from the dog's wardrobe to show us: a lace dress, a dress with a bow on it; there were lots of pink clothes. The dog owner also had a photo album of the dog in her various clothes. I feel like the dog has more clothes than I do. She is very fashionable! She even had a manicure and pedicure (with dog safe nail polish, of course).
The dog also sings! If the owner asks the dog to sing, she'll start barking in either a low or high register.
The dog is a volunteer with St. Hubert's Paws for People program.She is 9 years old. In order to be a pet therapy dog, the dog has to pass a series of tests: have to meet another dog and not be scared or vicious, people bang on pots and pans and the dog can't be bothered, they come in contact with various hospital equipment (wheelchair, IV pole, walker), and they have to follow commands (sit, stay down).
The dog's owner was very charismatic. I liked her. I'm glad I went to pet therapy. She became a volunteer to honor her dying mother's memory.
This is not a picture of the pet therapy dog (remember there are no phones allowed on the unit). This is a stock image from Google.
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
"Thank You" to My Visitors
I just want to take this time to acknowledge my family and friends who've taken time out of their days to visit me in the hospital. Our time is so structured on the behavioral health unit, that it's nice to see visitors daily from 6pm to 8pm. I have been incredibly blessed; not everyone gets visitors, and certainly not everyday.
The following people visited me during one or all three of my hospital stays:
Mom (my best friend)
Aunt Artima (my favorite aunt)
Aunt Ava
Dad
Anthony (a friend since 2007)
Melinda (my longest friendship; I've known her since I was 8)
Daisy (one of my best friend's aunt)
Pastor William
Grandma Betty
Aunt Cheryl
Leah D. (a friend since graduate school)
Chavonne (a friend since 7th grade)
Jeanean (a friend since 9th grade)
Terrell (my brother)
Corrisa (my sister-in-law)
Rajore (one of my best friend's dad)
The following people visited me during one or all three of my hospital stays:
Mom (my best friend)
Aunt Artima (my favorite aunt)
Aunt Ava
Dad
Anthony (a friend since 2007)
Melinda (my longest friendship; I've known her since I was 8)
Daisy (one of my best friend's aunt)
Pastor William
Grandma Betty
Aunt Cheryl
Leah D. (a friend since graduate school)
Chavonne (a friend since 7th grade)
Jeanean (a friend since 9th grade)
Terrell (my brother)
Corrisa (my sister-in-law)
Rajore (one of my best friend's dad)
My Psychiatrists
During my first hospitalization in 2007, my psychiatrist's name was a popular acronym with a scary connotation. I remember being frightened by his name (remember, I was psychotic and irrational). I got offended when he called me psychotic. At this time, I only associated psychotic with the definition that gets thrown about in the movies. Psychosis (comes from the Greek ψυχή psyche, "mind/soul", and -ωσις -osis, "abnormal condition or derangement") refers to an abnormal condition of the mind, and is a generic psychiatric term for a mental state often described as involving a "loss of contact with reality". People suffering from psychosis are described as psychotic (Wikipedia).
During my second hospitalization in 2013, my psychiatrist's name was an anagram of my personal psychiatrist's name. In 2014, I had the same psych from 2007. I came to love him this time.
I teach English so I pay attention to words. In fact, I love words. Words have power. Words convey deep meaning. Words are the building blocks of communication.
In 2013, I was also psychotic but less so than in 2007. I had a few very public arguments with my psychiatrist. When he did my initial meeting, he did not make eye contact with me. He kept his eyes on my chart or on the computer. I heard that he was brilliant when it came to figuring out the right medicine. After a couple of days, I was ready to leave. So I signed a 48-hour hold. This document ensures that the staff watches you carefully for 48 hours. At the end of the time period they make one of two recommendations: either to let you go, or, if you present a risk to yourself or others they will involuntarily commit you. This document goes in the first page of your chart. When it came time to meet with my psychiatrist I told him I would follow up the next day with my personal psychiatrist. He looked confused and asked me what I was talking about. I told him about the 48-hour hold. He became visibly upset and told me he could no longer treat me if I wasn't going to stay in the hospital and blindly accept his medical opinion. He walked out of the office. I followed him. This particular doctor doesn't do "story;" he only does data. If he had read my chart he would have noticed my 48-hour hold document on the first page of my chart, but he flipped right to the middle. By this time we are yelling at each other. I told him he has Asperger's and was probably hospitalized himself as a child or young adult. I know, harsh. I told you I was psychotic and irrational. Eventually, he talked me into rescinding my hold and remaining in the hospital. A few days later I started to respond to the treatment. After my severe skin reactions to the Lithium and Trileptal, he called me a "dermatalogic dilemma." Shortly thereafter, my insurance kicked me out of the hospital after 10 days. My psychiatrist frantically asked me what should he say to the insurance company to get me to stay. They weren't hearing it; I had to go. But you know what, by the end of my hospital stay, this doctor was making eye contact with me! A huge feat for him, I'm sure.
One of the patient care technicians told me the insurance companies kick people out of the behavioral health unit as soon as they show signs of getting better. So my 17-day stay in 2007 wouldn't be possible anymore. This same tech said that this new policy has increased the relapses they see. People get released one day and are then right back on the unit after a week or a month. Insurance companies do not care about people.
In 2014, I actually requested my doctor from 2013. But he was on vacation when I arrived on the unit, so I was assigned to another doctor. This doctor is charismatic and funny. I truly enjoyed meeting with him. I asked if he could be my personal psychiatrist, but he doesn't see private patients. He works at the hospital full time. He said a lot of his patients ask to see him privately; I can believe it. I told him that I lost weight (I always lose weight when I have an episode, whether depressed or manic). But instead of crying like I did in 2013 (because losing weight meant I was really sick), I was very happy. At my heaviest I got up to 171 pounds. When I entered the hospital on Thursday I had gotten down to 158! I would like to lose 23 more pounds (I'll be joining the YMCA later this month so I can continue exercising over the summer vacation). The doctor said maybe we can leave you manic for two more weeks so you can lose more weight! If only! We both cracked up laughing at this. I've been with my psychiatrist for 7 years. He's Korean-American and is very stoic and serious. My two meetings with this doctor showed me that I can have more out of my relationship with my psychiatrist. I asked him to recommend a new psychiatrist to me; someone with his temperament and personality. My social worker said that is a rare combination for a psychiatrist. I hope I can find a good substitute for this doctor.
I like to write thank you notes to express my gratitude. I wrote one to both of these psychiatrists. And I apologized for arguing with last year's doctor and telling him he had Asperger's. They both thanked me for my thank you's.
During my second hospitalization in 2013, my psychiatrist's name was an anagram of my personal psychiatrist's name. In 2014, I had the same psych from 2007. I came to love him this time.
I teach English so I pay attention to words. In fact, I love words. Words have power. Words convey deep meaning. Words are the building blocks of communication.
In 2013, I was also psychotic but less so than in 2007. I had a few very public arguments with my psychiatrist. When he did my initial meeting, he did not make eye contact with me. He kept his eyes on my chart or on the computer. I heard that he was brilliant when it came to figuring out the right medicine. After a couple of days, I was ready to leave. So I signed a 48-hour hold. This document ensures that the staff watches you carefully for 48 hours. At the end of the time period they make one of two recommendations: either to let you go, or, if you present a risk to yourself or others they will involuntarily commit you. This document goes in the first page of your chart. When it came time to meet with my psychiatrist I told him I would follow up the next day with my personal psychiatrist. He looked confused and asked me what I was talking about. I told him about the 48-hour hold. He became visibly upset and told me he could no longer treat me if I wasn't going to stay in the hospital and blindly accept his medical opinion. He walked out of the office. I followed him. This particular doctor doesn't do "story;" he only does data. If he had read my chart he would have noticed my 48-hour hold document on the first page of my chart, but he flipped right to the middle. By this time we are yelling at each other. I told him he has Asperger's and was probably hospitalized himself as a child or young adult. I know, harsh. I told you I was psychotic and irrational. Eventually, he talked me into rescinding my hold and remaining in the hospital. A few days later I started to respond to the treatment. After my severe skin reactions to the Lithium and Trileptal, he called me a "dermatalogic dilemma." Shortly thereafter, my insurance kicked me out of the hospital after 10 days. My psychiatrist frantically asked me what should he say to the insurance company to get me to stay. They weren't hearing it; I had to go. But you know what, by the end of my hospital stay, this doctor was making eye contact with me! A huge feat for him, I'm sure.
One of the patient care technicians told me the insurance companies kick people out of the behavioral health unit as soon as they show signs of getting better. So my 17-day stay in 2007 wouldn't be possible anymore. This same tech said that this new policy has increased the relapses they see. People get released one day and are then right back on the unit after a week or a month. Insurance companies do not care about people.
In 2014, I actually requested my doctor from 2013. But he was on vacation when I arrived on the unit, so I was assigned to another doctor. This doctor is charismatic and funny. I truly enjoyed meeting with him. I asked if he could be my personal psychiatrist, but he doesn't see private patients. He works at the hospital full time. He said a lot of his patients ask to see him privately; I can believe it. I told him that I lost weight (I always lose weight when I have an episode, whether depressed or manic). But instead of crying like I did in 2013 (because losing weight meant I was really sick), I was very happy. At my heaviest I got up to 171 pounds. When I entered the hospital on Thursday I had gotten down to 158! I would like to lose 23 more pounds (I'll be joining the YMCA later this month so I can continue exercising over the summer vacation). The doctor said maybe we can leave you manic for two more weeks so you can lose more weight! If only! We both cracked up laughing at this. I've been with my psychiatrist for 7 years. He's Korean-American and is very stoic and serious. My two meetings with this doctor showed me that I can have more out of my relationship with my psychiatrist. I asked him to recommend a new psychiatrist to me; someone with his temperament and personality. My social worker said that is a rare combination for a psychiatrist. I hope I can find a good substitute for this doctor.
I like to write thank you notes to express my gratitude. I wrote one to both of these psychiatrists. And I apologized for arguing with last year's doctor and telling him he had Asperger's. They both thanked me for my thank you's.
Tips On How to "Beat" the Hospital
While you are on the behavioral health unit everyone is watching you and taking notes: the social workers, the nurses, the psychiatrists, and the patient care technicians. My first hospital stay I was there for 17 days; 10 days for my second stay; and 5 days for my most recent stay. Through my three stays, I've learned what they're looking for:
- Shower
- Eat regularly
- Make up your bed; clean/organize your room
- Attend as many groups/activities as you can
- Make an effort
- Speak about your experience; be reflective
- Be compliant
- Be proactive and advocate for yourself
Recap: How I Ended Up in the Hospital
This entire past year I've felt awful. Last week or two (the end of May/ beginning of June 2014) I started to feel better. I thought I was turning over a new leaf in terms of my mood. But I was suspicious. If it acts like a duck, talks like a duck, it's a duck. Meaning: it's mania.
And I was right. It was mania.
I saw my therapist on Tuesday, June 3rd. I told him how I felt. At the end of the session we agreed I wasn't manic. It was just normal stuff to get excited about: dating, moving back home to get out of debt, wanting to get my driver's license, and traveling plans for my summer vacation. On Wednesday, June 4th I went to Brooklyn for a Janelle Monae concert with Chavonne and Niama. After the concert Chavonne asked me "What's going on?" At first I didn't know what she was referring to. Then she asked if I was manic. To be honest, I resented the question. Why couldn't she be happy for me that I turned over a new leaf? No longer sad and depressed? Then I had to check myself because I had been thinking the same damn thing! To placate her, I told her that I had seen my therapist the night before and we agreed that I wasn't manic. So I wasn't. But I still couldn't kick the doubt.
I got home from the concert at 1am. I did not sleep all night. I text my therapist at 10:56pm. We text back and forth for two hours. Then we spoke on the phone at 1:30am. I told him what Chavonne asked me and shared my own concerns. After we hung up I crafted the Update Email, but did not hit send because I didn't want to raise any red flags with a 2am email to my family, friends and coworkers. I proofread the email a dozen times. I really tried to lay down. But I kept getting up to add and tweak the update email. I read and responded to a few emails on match.com. I read a little of The Fault in Our Stars. And then it was 6am. Time to shower and get ready for work.
By now I'm totally spiraling into mania. I hit send on the email at 6:35am. I get dressed. I tell my mom that Chavonne asked if I was manic. I make the mistake of telling my mom that I didn't sleep. I really intended to keep that to myself. But I wasn't at my best going on no sleep and all. So I let it slip. Now her antenna is up. And she doesn't want me to go to work. I tell her that I talked to my therapist this morning. And that I was going to skip work Friday to go to Intensive Outpatient Therapy (IOP). I know I need to go get help. But I also need to go to work. It's the students' last day and I want to finish the year with them. I was so sad that I didn't get to finish the 2012-2013 school year with my students. I went out on disability April 19th through the end of the school year. I needed to hold out and finish my last day with my students.
By this point I'm fighting to keep my eyes awake. My mom and I have reached a compromise: I get to go to work but will be leaving early, at noon, then going straight to the emergency room. I try to play it cool and act normal. I sing along to the radio. I try to make light conversation. When all I wanna do is sleep.
Before my mom drops me off at work we stop at Dunkin Donuts so I can buy munchkins for my students. I also grab a coffee and some hash browns. I know I need to eat something. Walking into the building I feel like I'm sleepwalking. In fact my eyes are closed and I am walking slowly to my classroom. I run into a coworker. She sees my eyes closed. Shoot. I make up a half truth about how I was out late in Brooklyn at a concert; didn't get home until 1am. I don't mention that I haven't slept. Finally I make it to my classroom. It is nice and dark. And at this hour the building is still empty. I check the schedule for the day and see that Advisory starts at 8:30am. My advisees graduated on Sunday so I'm free during this time. I pull the beanbags behind my desk and lay down after setting my alarm for 8:30am. It's too quiet and my thoughts are starting to rattle around in my head. I turn on Pandora radio to the Mumford and Sons station and lay down in the darkness. I don't fully fall asleep but I lay there; I force myself to lay still, to rest since I didn't sleep the night before. I wanted to lay down until 8:30am; I didn't make it, I was too distractible. I go to look for my principal so I can tell her about going to the hospital. I preface the conversation by asking her if she read the emails I sent about the new senior elective I want to propose and about using the bipolar memoir in my graphic novel elective. I finally get around to telling her that I am going to the hospital. She is incredibly supportive; I love her so much. The fact that she is religious and a mom of four makes her incredibly understanding and caring. I then make my rounds to tell my colleagues that I'll be going to the hospital. I teach my classes. I read aloud Arthur's Summer Vacation, a children's book. I get great feedback from my students about their experiences in my class. I even cover a class for an absent colleague. I go see my colleague who also is my acupuncturist and she teaches me three yoga deep breathing moves. She tells me if I can get my breath to my gut that means my mania isn't as high. It works. I feel calmer, less manicky. Before I know it, it's noon. Time to go.
Before we head to the emergency room, my mom and I go grab lunch. I wanted to eat at Food, but there was no where to park. So we go eat at the restaurant that's on the ground floor of the hospital. We both order turkey burgers and sweet potato fries. We both cut our sandwiches in half. It took me so long to finish the half of the sandwich. I knew if I didn't make it a priority, then I wouldn't eat. We arrive at the emergency room around 1pm. I don't get admitted to the behavioral unit until 11pm. There's a lot of waiting. I said to my mom that last year's emergency room wait was more fun. She responded, "Krystal, people are sick." Indeed they were. There were a lot of people being wheeled in on gurneys in neck braces. Not sure if they were in car accidents or not. The emergency room was very somber. My aunt comes around 7pm to wait with us; she also was with me last year in the emergency room. While waiting, I text all my friends to tell them that I'll be admitted. I text until my phone's battery dies.
When the crisis worker came to interview me to see if I would be admitted or not, he asked tons of questions. Did I do drugs? Did I do drugs at the concert last night? Am I sure I don't do drugs? No heroin, cocaine, weed, cigarettes, alcohol? I answer a confident no. My vices are not drugs, they are sex and shopping. He asks how much have I shopped; I think I spent $1000 this time around, whereas in 2007 I spent $10,000. He asks about my family's mental health history. I don't have many answers for him. I don't know. My uncle, mom's younger brother, committed suicide when I was in middle school. And I have a cousin who was hospitalized with post-partum depression. But that is all I know. I have relatives receiving SSI, but I don't know what their diagnoses are.
And I was right. It was mania.
I saw my therapist on Tuesday, June 3rd. I told him how I felt. At the end of the session we agreed I wasn't manic. It was just normal stuff to get excited about: dating, moving back home to get out of debt, wanting to get my driver's license, and traveling plans for my summer vacation. On Wednesday, June 4th I went to Brooklyn for a Janelle Monae concert with Chavonne and Niama. After the concert Chavonne asked me "What's going on?" At first I didn't know what she was referring to. Then she asked if I was manic. To be honest, I resented the question. Why couldn't she be happy for me that I turned over a new leaf? No longer sad and depressed? Then I had to check myself because I had been thinking the same damn thing! To placate her, I told her that I had seen my therapist the night before and we agreed that I wasn't manic. So I wasn't. But I still couldn't kick the doubt.
I got home from the concert at 1am. I did not sleep all night. I text my therapist at 10:56pm. We text back and forth for two hours. Then we spoke on the phone at 1:30am. I told him what Chavonne asked me and shared my own concerns. After we hung up I crafted the Update Email, but did not hit send because I didn't want to raise any red flags with a 2am email to my family, friends and coworkers. I proofread the email a dozen times. I really tried to lay down. But I kept getting up to add and tweak the update email. I read and responded to a few emails on match.com. I read a little of The Fault in Our Stars. And then it was 6am. Time to shower and get ready for work.
By now I'm totally spiraling into mania. I hit send on the email at 6:35am. I get dressed. I tell my mom that Chavonne asked if I was manic. I make the mistake of telling my mom that I didn't sleep. I really intended to keep that to myself. But I wasn't at my best going on no sleep and all. So I let it slip. Now her antenna is up. And she doesn't want me to go to work. I tell her that I talked to my therapist this morning. And that I was going to skip work Friday to go to Intensive Outpatient Therapy (IOP). I know I need to go get help. But I also need to go to work. It's the students' last day and I want to finish the year with them. I was so sad that I didn't get to finish the 2012-2013 school year with my students. I went out on disability April 19th through the end of the school year. I needed to hold out and finish my last day with my students.
By this point I'm fighting to keep my eyes awake. My mom and I have reached a compromise: I get to go to work but will be leaving early, at noon, then going straight to the emergency room. I try to play it cool and act normal. I sing along to the radio. I try to make light conversation. When all I wanna do is sleep.
Before my mom drops me off at work we stop at Dunkin Donuts so I can buy munchkins for my students. I also grab a coffee and some hash browns. I know I need to eat something. Walking into the building I feel like I'm sleepwalking. In fact my eyes are closed and I am walking slowly to my classroom. I run into a coworker. She sees my eyes closed. Shoot. I make up a half truth about how I was out late in Brooklyn at a concert; didn't get home until 1am. I don't mention that I haven't slept. Finally I make it to my classroom. It is nice and dark. And at this hour the building is still empty. I check the schedule for the day and see that Advisory starts at 8:30am. My advisees graduated on Sunday so I'm free during this time. I pull the beanbags behind my desk and lay down after setting my alarm for 8:30am. It's too quiet and my thoughts are starting to rattle around in my head. I turn on Pandora radio to the Mumford and Sons station and lay down in the darkness. I don't fully fall asleep but I lay there; I force myself to lay still, to rest since I didn't sleep the night before. I wanted to lay down until 8:30am; I didn't make it, I was too distractible. I go to look for my principal so I can tell her about going to the hospital. I preface the conversation by asking her if she read the emails I sent about the new senior elective I want to propose and about using the bipolar memoir in my graphic novel elective. I finally get around to telling her that I am going to the hospital. She is incredibly supportive; I love her so much. The fact that she is religious and a mom of four makes her incredibly understanding and caring. I then make my rounds to tell my colleagues that I'll be going to the hospital. I teach my classes. I read aloud Arthur's Summer Vacation, a children's book. I get great feedback from my students about their experiences in my class. I even cover a class for an absent colleague. I go see my colleague who also is my acupuncturist and she teaches me three yoga deep breathing moves. She tells me if I can get my breath to my gut that means my mania isn't as high. It works. I feel calmer, less manicky. Before I know it, it's noon. Time to go.
Before we head to the emergency room, my mom and I go grab lunch. I wanted to eat at Food, but there was no where to park. So we go eat at the restaurant that's on the ground floor of the hospital. We both order turkey burgers and sweet potato fries. We both cut our sandwiches in half. It took me so long to finish the half of the sandwich. I knew if I didn't make it a priority, then I wouldn't eat. We arrive at the emergency room around 1pm. I don't get admitted to the behavioral unit until 11pm. There's a lot of waiting. I said to my mom that last year's emergency room wait was more fun. She responded, "Krystal, people are sick." Indeed they were. There were a lot of people being wheeled in on gurneys in neck braces. Not sure if they were in car accidents or not. The emergency room was very somber. My aunt comes around 7pm to wait with us; she also was with me last year in the emergency room. While waiting, I text all my friends to tell them that I'll be admitted. I text until my phone's battery dies.
When the crisis worker came to interview me to see if I would be admitted or not, he asked tons of questions. Did I do drugs? Did I do drugs at the concert last night? Am I sure I don't do drugs? No heroin, cocaine, weed, cigarettes, alcohol? I answer a confident no. My vices are not drugs, they are sex and shopping. He asks how much have I shopped; I think I spent $1000 this time around, whereas in 2007 I spent $10,000. He asks about my family's mental health history. I don't have many answers for him. I don't know. My uncle, mom's younger brother, committed suicide when I was in middle school. And I have a cousin who was hospitalized with post-partum depression. But that is all I know. I have relatives receiving SSI, but I don't know what their diagnoses are.
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