My Hospital Experience

I just want to take a moment to delve more into my most recent hospital experience, because I was initially very confused about it, and writing helps me figure out how to really perceive things.

Last week, I wanted to kill myself. I got set off by a fight with my partner, over something so so stupid, as usual, and then a switch got turned on in my mind, as it does, and suddenly all I could think about what going home and taking a knife to my throat, because my life is painful and horrible and I make Craig’s life awful and painful as well. Let me be clear here: I don’t want to make Craig suffer with me. I don’t want to only bring harm to the person I love the most. But I don’t know how to control my own emotions and reactions. Anyway, I wanted to kill myself. I started to cry because of how hopeless my situation was/is, and Craig, knowing that I have lately developed into someone who plots their own death at the littlest of things, brought me to the emergency room at the Health Sciences Centre here in St. John’s, where I live, so that maybe I could get some help.

Now, I’ve tried counseling before. It’s offered for free through the University and so for the past year or two I have been doing that. But the counseling offered there sucks! It is so bad, you guys. It’s a looooong wait to even get in, and once they get you in, they stick you with a psychology student who has no idea how to help you. My counselor just mostly stares at me blankly, or gives me worksheets to fill out. Worksheets!!! Anyway, so even though I’ve been trying, the counseling that I’m in is ZERO help. I need to see a psychiatrist or a clinical psychologist. But here’s where it gets fun – it’s apparently impossible to see either of those people where I live! They tell you that if you are in crisis and need immediate mental health care, to come to the emergency room or call the Mental Health Crisis Line (1-888-737-4668, in case anyone needs it). Guess where the crisis line directs you? To the emergency room! Okay, so to the emergency room I go. I tell the triage nurse that I want to kill myself, and she brings me in right away, speaks to me very gently and kindly, takes my vitals, the whole nine yards. She calls the mental health nurse to come and evaluate me, cool. She tells me I can’t leave now or she’ll have to call the police. So I wait. I wait for hours. About three, to be specific. No one talks to me during this time, though they do talk about me, asking each other to keep an eye on me, as though I am deaf, or a piece of furniture. This would make anyone feel worse, I’m sure, but when you’re in crisis, it’s a real punch to the gut. But I know I have a tendency to take things personally, so I try and ignore it and internally talk myself down.

Fast forward to when things start to get so. much. worse. A male nurse suddenly comes into the room I’m sitting, and proceeds to speak to someone. He says something like “Hey, we’re going now”. I, having no idea he’s talking to me, keep staring at my shoes, until he starts yelling “hey you! Hello, you!” Oh shit, that’s me. So I get up and follow this guy, I’m confused, I’m upset, and this guy is about to make it a whole lot worse because he is a fucking prick. I wish I’d gotten his name to remember it forever and tell people about him, I really do. Anyway, you may remember that Craig took me to the hospital, and he’s been waiting for me in the waiting room this whole time. New Mean Nurse does not give a shit. He tells not me but another nurse in the room that he is putting me in a cab and taking me to the Waterford Hospital. Craig gets left behind in Eastern Heath, and New Mean Nurse ignores me when I ask if I can let him know where we’re going. Now, if you’re not from where I live, you probably don’t know anything about the Waterford, but it is known for being a shitty, awful mental hospital, and most of the people I’ve spoken with who have stayed there have said that it traumatizes them even more. I purposely went to a different hospital to avoid going to this one. But of course, no one cares what I think! Or that I am a human person! Especially not New Mean Nurse, who, while waiting for the cab, jokes around about his new baby to someone in the lobby that he obviously knows. While in the cab, he jokes with the cab driver again about his new baby and about how “hit one red light and you hit em all, hardy har har”. He does not even acknowledge that I am in the vehicle. I am telling you, this guy made me feel as small as gum on your fave Birkenstocks. I stay completely silent in the cab, wishing I was dead rather than headed where I am.

When we finally get the Waterford hospital, I am completely creeped out by how every door locks, and no one seems to treat you like a human person. The security guard unlocks the front door to let us in, and the triage nurse says “Who do we have here?” This is when New Mean Nurse, may he rot in hell, says “Oh I didn’t even get her name”, shrugs, hands over my forms from the Health Sciences and says “good luck”. I think he said it to her. Maybe he said it to me. It doesn’t matter, that guy should not be left alone with someone in crisis. Anyway, so this nurse checks me in and then I am locked in the waiting room for another few hours. The room has blacked out windows and a fucking fake skylight. Wtf. It feels like a prison masquerading as a hospital.

Finally, an intake nurse (I guess, keep in mind that no one is telling me anything about what is going on!) calls me out and locks us into a plain room with two couches and a window (so that everyone in the nurses’ station can see us and make sure I’m not attacking her, I guess), and asks me why I’m there. I’m like, “well, I don’t know, I waited around at the other hospital for hours and then they suddenly sent me here”. This nurse is kinda mean in that she’s obviously short tempered, but I still like her a lot more than the last one. She kinda laughs at this and says “No, why did you come to the hospital in the first place?” Now, obviously I’ve already explained this at the last hospital, so I’m not sure if it’s just that no one bothers to talk to each other about these things, or read the files, or if they just want to catch you in a lie because they think you’re crazy, but in any case, repeating that I wanted to kill myself was pretty re-traumatizing, made me feel worse, and the question in general just made me feel stupid, like I had made a mistake in coming here and she was trying to let me know that I was wasting everyone’s time. Anyway, I explained the situation to her, and she seems pretty dismissive of my issues, telling me “You’ve got a good life” referencing being almost done my degree, and also telling me, “You should’ve just asked your family doctor for medication”. As if that is how you fix everything!!! WHAT! Obviously, I have thought of that, but I think that I have BPD, and I know that medications are a lot of trial and error and have some really really bad side effects, and I really didn’t think it was responsible to be medicated without getting referred to actual therapy like DBT or a psychiatrist/clinical psychologist.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. She brings me back to the waiting room and tells me to wait there. I still have no idea what’s going on. I’m trying to remain hopeful that maybe I can finally see a psychiatrist and start getting some fucking help. More hours go by. Finally, someone else calls my name and takes me into the same room as before. He tells me he’s a med student and asks me a whollllllle lot of questions. It’s the most anyone’s ever bothered to ask me about myself. Finally, I think to myself, finally I’m getting somewhere. This guy is going to see that I have a huge problem, and he’ll refer me to someone who can help. LMAO NOOOOOO. Wrong again! He tells me that he’s going to send me home with a trial of medication and a referral to therapy that can help me (Thank God! I think. Maybe it was all worth it!) and he needs to consult with other doctors first. He locks me in this tiny little room, nothing to stare at but the walls (I haven’t had my phone this whole time). After quite some time, he comes back with someone who I assume is a psychiatrist. This guy is a lot older, he’s asian, and he is mean. He asks me why I’m here, WHICH I’VE ALREADY ANSWERED THREE TIMES BY NOW AND WHICH IS HUMILIATING. Then he asks me why I won’t kill myself. This question is super weird and when I tell him it’s because someone would have to find me, he kinda makes a face like that’s a stupid answer, and goes “So?”. This throws me way off but I say something like “ahhh well I don’t want to hurt anyone or traumatize anyone from that!” And he acts pretty unimpressed and asks if I feel safe if I leave. Safe? I say, I guess. I assume I’m getting a referral and some meds and I can finally go home, get some sleep (This whole ordeal has been exhausting) and begin to heal. But no, that would be waaaay too easy. The New Doctor says that he’s not giving me any medication because of the “side effects which you’ve already expressed concern about” and that I need to ask my doctor for antidepressants. He asks if I feel comfortable doing that (I don’t, for reasons already stated), to which the Med Student butts in and excitedly says “Yes she’s already said that; she said she’ll do it” (He had indeed asked me about my relationship with a doctor, I had not indicated that I would do this). I, being already dehumanized in this situation, having very low self-esteem and a lot of anxiety already, don’t say anything. They ask me how I’m going to get home, and when I say I have NO IDEA because I don’t have a phone and I lived close enough to walk home from the first hospital but not this one, the asian doctor makes a weird face. I feel like everything I say must just sound stupid or crazy. He asks me if I have private insurance, I tell him, yes, I have it through the university, but he shrugs it off, telling me that’s not good enough and that if I had insurance I could see someone a lot faster, but because I don’t (???) I’m going to be put on a waiting list to see a psychologist through Eastern Health. This is the same thing that was told to me the last time I tried to kill myself, six months ago, and no one has called me. They make me sign a sheet of paper and then lock me back up in the waiting room, where I give them Craig’s number so they can call him to come get me.

After a little while, the asian doctor comes back in the waiting room, acts surprised that I’m still there, despite being locked in, and tells the security guard that he can let me leave now. (?????) The security guard opens the front door and suddenly I’m out in the cold, rainy street, hoping that Craig is on his way.

And that’s that. No help, no hope, nothing. I was so angry with myself when I got home, because I had wasted a day with nothing to show for it. The way they treated me in there even confused me for a few days, I thought that maybe there was nothing wrong with me except that I wanted attention and I was wasting everyone’s time for it. I thought that up until I googled the Waterford and found other people online who had been made to feel the same way. Now I’m back to thinking that I am a desperate person who needs help, tried to get it at the HOSPITAL, but was instead told off and sent away.

I sure do feel hopeless now.

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Author: undiagnoseddiary

I write about my ongoing struggles with mental illness. I hope my anonymity lends itself to honesty so that someone else who is struggling can see that they are not alone. View all posts by undiagnoseddiary