Treatment

It was one o'clock in the morning and I had just said goodbye to Ryan and Philip.  I was escorted to the building I where I would be receiving treatment.  He unlocked the doors and let me inside.  It was dark and quiet. Everybody was in bed except the three nurses I saw behind the desk when I entered. 

I was not allowed to keep my bag.  I was given a laundry basket and toiletries tub.  My clothes would go in the laundry basket in my room.  The toiletries would go in the cabinet behind the nurses desk.  I could ask for them if I needed them, but had to return them as soon as I was finished.  There was a nurse in charge of medications.  She took my two blood pressure pills, iron supplement, and pain medication.  She locked them up and would call me up twice a day to take them.  After I put my things away, they took my bag to a back room to store until discharge. Will I ever be discharged? Can they help me? 

I was taken to a back room to be checked. They wanted to make sure I wasn't bringing anything in with me.  I had to take my clothes off.  They documented my tattoos and any scars.  I was asked to drop my underwear, bend down, and cough.  I never imagined that I would be checked for smuggling something in my butt.  Next I had to remove my bra and they saw that it had underwire.  They could cut the underwire out or put it with my bag.  No underwire, shoelaces, cell phones, or razors were allowed.  I let them keep my bra with my bag.  Now I had no bra on and was going to leak until I could get nursing pads back on. How had I gotten here? Was this a mistake? 

Philip was still sleeping fine.

I had one more intake procedure.  I had an interview with the night nurse.  He asked about what had been happening and why I was there.  He talked to me about his wife and the postpartum struggles she had.  He said, "Hormones are rough". I was sitting in a treatment facility, talking about my problems, and leaking all over my shirt.  Yeah, I guess you could say, "Hormones are rough". At this point, it was about 2:00 in the morning.  I asked him what time people get going in the morning.  He said between six and seven.  It 
would be an early morning and I needed sleep. Would I be able to sleep? 

They showed me to my room.  It had three twin beds and a bathroom.  I got ready for bed and laid down.  I started to cry and one of my roommates stirred. I put my head under the blanket and tried to stop.  My thoughts were rushing, the room was spinning.  The bad thoughts were attacking. I cannot hurt anybody here, Philip is safe.  The visions swirled and were overwhelming me again.  I need to sleep. Can they fix me here? Will things be the same when I get home? 

I woke up in the morning, still wondering if I had made a mistake.  It was early and I was tired, but it was time to get up. The bedrooms would be locked starting at 9:00. We needed to make our beds, get ready, and head into the main room.  Breakfast was on a table in to-go boxes.  I looked at the scrambled eggs with biscuits. I wasn't hungry at all, but I made myself eat a few bites. It took a lot of effort and I didn't have the energy to spare.  I put it in the trash. Food just doesn't taste good anymore.  Will it always be this way? Is it hopeless?

Orientation started at 9:00.  There were three other newbies, they looked as terrified as I felt. We were told the rules and looked over the daily schedule. I would be on unit restriction until I saw my psychiatrist. I couldn't go to the cafeteria for meals or go out for activities.  I would be locked in this building until I was taken off restriction. The medication nurse called me over.  They couldn't get one of the medications that I needed.  I called Ryan and started crying as soon as I heard his voice.  He would bring it for me, but I couldn't see him today.  There were no visiting hours, I would have to wait 32 hours to see him.  I wouldn't be able to see Philip at all, no children were allowed inside the unit. Did we make a mistake? Does Ryan think we made a mistake? Will they be able to fix me? 

We would have group therapy twice a day.  During my first one, my psychiatrist called me out.  I told him everything. I had been crying off and on all day.  He told me it sounded like Postpartum Depression. Thank you! I figured that was what I was experiencing, but he was the first to agree and verbalize it. He prescribed me a sleeping pill and a mood stabilizer to start the process. Both were pretty low doses and he would see me again tomorrow.  He also took me off of unit restriction. I spent about ten minutes with him, but he had done something! Maybe I will get better.  Will these pills help? Is there hope?  

The rest of the day felt like forever. I was locked in a room with a tv, but I didn't have the remote. There were "fresh air breaks" which I found out quickly were actually smoke breaks. I could make and receive ten minute phone calls. The phone would beep a warning and then cut off. I called Ryan three times throughout the day.  I was also able to go with a supervised group to the cafeteria for dinner.  I still wasn't very hungry.  I saw people from my group going back for more, but not me.  I had eaten a whole grilled cheese for lunch.  

We walked back to the unit.  They counted us several times.  They unlocked the two doors and we were back inside.  There is something about knowing you are locked in and have no freedom. I have never really appreciated my freedom until then.  On any given day, I can go for a walk, go for a drive, or just step outside of my house.  I checked myself in, but it was not my decision when I got to leave.  That was up to my assigned therapist (who I hadn't met yet), my psychiatrist, and the nurses.  They would be taking notes about how I was doing each day.  I wouldn't want to see the notes for that first day - cries a lot, doesn't eat, doesn't interact with others. 


The medication nurse called me up. Along with my other pills, I would start my new ones tonight. It was 9:30 and lights out was at 10:00. I was still tired from the night before and migrated to bed. How will this go? Here goes nothing, but will they even work? I fell asleep in what seemed like five minutes, but anything was less than what I had been doing. I woke up feeling like I slept well.  I was still tired, but it was early. I got ready and went to the main room to eat breakfast.  I opened the box and saw the same meal as the day before.  I was going to force myself to eat at least half of the biscuits, gravy, and scrambled eggs. I took one bite and it was delicious! I ate every single bite.  I was eating again! Had the pills worked? It was too early to get excited? I shouldn't get my hopes up. 

My second day was good.  I talked to my psychiatrist and he upped my dosages.  I didn't think it was a good idea.  I had been tired all day, even falling asleep during group therapy.  He insisted, I guess he is the expert.  The day was similar to the day before, but there was going to be visitation! My parents, sister, and Ryan came. They took turns, leaving somebody at registration with Philip. I was still having thoughts of hurting him and wasn't feeling love.  It was better for him in another building.  He was safe, protected from me.  Visitation didn't last long and then it was gone.  It would be another 48 hours before I could see anybody.  

Each day was similar to the next.  There were activities, meals, group therapy, medications, psychiatrist visits, and a lot of listening to people's stories.  I looked around and saw a room full of non-violent people with problems like my own.  They had attempted suicide, had depression, or had thoughts to harm themselves or others. There were all races and all types of people.  There were sons, daughters, mothers, and fathers. There were also people of every age. There were people dealing with loss, changes, and health problems. I think about that group and it cements the fact that depression can happen to anyone. 

I finally met my therapist and she sat with me as I made a safety plan.  She said that I needed to have a therapy session with Ryan before I could be released. I was fine with that, I had already told him everything.  He was still standing by my side.  Would he think I was getting better? I felt like it, but could people tell.  This is the first time I had heard anything about being released.  I felt excited for the possibility. Was I ready? What if it's the same when I get home? 

Along with a therapy session, there were two more visitations. Ryan came to one by himself, leaving Philip with my parents.  He was doing so much, but was making time to drive across town for me.  He was up every few hours during the night with an infant.  What would a single mother do in this situation? Luckily he was able to take some time off work because I was in the hospital. During the other visitation, I got to see Philip! I still didn't have feelings, but he sure was cute.  My parents, Ryan, and Philip came to the cafeteria when I was eating dinner.  Then visitation began and they rotated like before.   

They started to talk about discharge, but seemed to be very back and forth.  They don't typically discharge on the weekends, due to the different staff.  They said they would release me the next day! I called Ryan and shared the good news.  The next day, they took it back and said I needed one more day.  I was devastated and called Ryan crying. My insurance covered a week, so that is what they wanted to keep me.  At least that's what it seemed like to me.  They ended up changing their minds again and I could go home! I brought my hamper, sheets, and blanket to the front.  They gave me my bag back and I got ready to go.     

I spent six days in treatment. It was the closest thing to prison I will hopefully ever experience.  My freedom was gone, but me and my family were safe.  I was scared that things would be the same as before when I got back home. I would have to come back for outpatient treatment for the next three mornings. Would I have to come back for inpatient? Was I ready? Is this as good as I will get? I am still having bad thoughts.  Will they continue forever? I still had a long way to go, but I was ready to try. 

Ryan took great care of this Little Bug while I got the treatment I needed!