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Being a Public Psychiatric Patient

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As I said in my last post, I have stayed in two different types of hospital situation when I have been hospitalised for mental health issues. In the local public hospital and in a private psychiatric hospital. I have never had the dubious pleasure of being admitted to a public psych ward. 

My stays in the public hospital were in the general ward and the ICU. Obviously when I was in the ICU I wasn’t at all well as the result of an overdose. As soon as I was a bit more with it, I was moved to the general ward. I have been in the Emergency Department of two public hospitals with mental health issues and in the general ward of two public hospitals for the same reason. One was a quite large regional hospital, one was a large regional hospital and the other was a very small hospital in a country town (so small it didn’t even have its own Emergency Dept).

The response of staff in the ED to patients with mental health issues has improved over time. The first time I was at the ED was in 1990, the last time was in 2011. In 21 years things had changed for the better. They still aren’t perfect of course but generally much much better. The same goes for the general ward. I found the nurses much more empathetic in recent years than they were back in the 90s and early 2000s. I found the residents (doctors) much more able and willing to deal with a patient with mental health issues. In 1990 when I overdosed as a 16 year old, psych services wasn’t even called. Now I can rock up to the ED and ask them to call psych services and they will. And psych services will come. Eventually. The times I went to the ED in 2011 (several times) I had the most incredible psych services worker come to see me. He was great. Everything you could want in a psych nurse/worker. Brilliant in fact. I will never forget him and how much he helped me when I needed it. 

Being an inpatient on a general ward means you see more people. There are staff in and out all day long and there are usually visitors, if not for me then for the other people in the ward (generally a two patient ward). There isn’t a lot of privacy and there isn’t much chance of sleep. Basically a psych patient is kept in a general ward if they are a suicide risk (but not at risk of harming anyone else other than themselves) or if they are changing medications/withdrawing from medication/starting a new medication. And, in my experience, a psych patient is only put on the general ward if they are a client of Community Mental Health Services and there is no designated psych ward at their local hospital. A patient with a private psychiatrist is not likely to be admitted to a public hospital unless maybe they are recovering from an overdose or the like.

As I live in the country, there have never been many (if any) private practicing psychiatrists in this area. If you wanted private you had to travel at least 2 hours. If you needed a shrink you had to take your chances with Community Mental Health/Psych Services. When I was a client of theirs I saw a different shrink nearly every appointment I had. And I can’t say I would sing the praises of any of those shrinks. CMHS went through psychiatrists like normal people go through underwear. And you had to be in crisis to remain on the books. A Community Mental Health patient would get a case worker for 6 weeks. If you were stable (even remotely) at the end of 6 weeks, your case was closed. If things went to shit again after that, you had to be assigned a new case worker and start all over again. It was hell. 

Unfortunately last year when I was having a rough time, I didn’t have an after hours contact for my private psychiatrist so when things got bad, I had to be taken to the local hospital’s ED and they would called CMHS. As I said earlier, I was lucky that I got an amazing worker who knew exactly what he was doing and how to help me. Other patients aren’t so lucky. CMHS workers in my area are on call after hours and it is generally a wait of at least an hour usually more before they arrive (they are usually based in a town about 45 minutes away). So a patient with mental health issues has to either sit in the public waiting room with everyone else or if they are lucky, be put in a cubicle in the ED and tell their story to every nurse and resident that wanders in (and they do so on a regular basis). Not to say any of them treated me badly, they just all wanted to know what was wrong, how I was feeling etc etc. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Thankfully my partner did some of the talking for me when I just could not (or would not) talk myself. 

Living in the country there is always the issue of already knowing the nurses or other staff members at the hospital. This has happened to me a few times. Once I asked to see someone else for my triage assessment. Another time it didn’t bother me that it was someone I knew. Back in the 90s and early 2000s the ward nurses would often just stay away from me as a psych patient. I felt a distinct disapproval from some of them. Not so much in later years. Maybe the stigma of mental illness is changing slowly over time. Maybe. 



How I came to see a Shrink

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My first psychiatrist’s appointment was when I was about 21 or 22. It had been a long time coming. By my record I have been dealing with depression and anxiety since I was about 7 years of age. The older I became, the worse my mental health issues got. But I put my depression down to a wide variety of other sources such as being bullied at school, feeling that I was an outcast in my own family, my feelings about my biological father abandoning me, being fat, being in an unhappy relationship which then became an unhappy marriage, my mother dying when I was in my late teens, being attacked by Satan and not having a close enough relationship with God. I figured I had plenty of reasons to feel like crap and at that stage I knew very little about mental illness. When the topic of my low mood came up I was told by those I surrounded myself with to ‘pray harder’. Yeah, my church wasn’t any great help at that point*.

Breaking point came when I was speaking to my aunt on the phone and she told me about some of the things my cousin had been doing: my ‘crazy’ cousin. The cousin I had always been terrified of because I never knew how she was going to act or what she was going to say. She was seriously unstable and (rightly or wrongly) she scared me. I became increasingly uncomfortable as my aunt related my cousin’s behaviours to me as they sounded awfully like things I had either done, or had considered doing. Without saying anything to my auntie about my own issues, I made an appointment to see my GP about what was happening my own head.



* This is not a religious blog. I haven’t been part of the church for 15 years and I haven’t identified as a Christian since then. If church is your thing, that’s cool and you are welcome here as long as you don’t preach at me.