(Or: Acute Inpatient, Take Two – Day Four)
Today was an absolute unmitigated disaster.
Let’s contextualise. I asked my mother to make some difficult phone calls, starting with the head of the care coordinator team, to more or less fire my current care coordinator, discuss when Complex Needs will get back to me, and ask about interim care.
Meanwhile: my care coordinator arrives. Is very sweet and caring but absolutely ineffectual. Learned some interesting things though.
I later have a meeting with the consultant psychiatrist. The same one who reduced me to tears last week. I was told that I would be discharged on Wednesday, REGARDLESS of whether or not I felt safe enough to do so. I was told in no uncertain terms that I would not be here long, and while it may get reassessed, I’m out of here come Wednesday.
This did not go down well. I started crying.
To add insult to injury: I am told there is a patient who is very sick, and would I move wards. Where to, you ask? Why, to a low security OCD ward. I am not OCD. I’m suicidal. I say no. But it really does prove just how much they want to get rid of me.
My partner arrives, and I have a full blown dissociative seizure. Screaming, crying, convulsing, the works.
Now my timeline gets odd, because I was having a seizure. I was dragged across the ward, publicly, while screaming and convulsing. The consultant knew, and saw me, and thought it appropriate to do absolutely nothing. I was taken away from my partner who is experienced at helping me through them. I was left alone for an extension period of time and completely ignored. Battered myself extensively on the head and scratched my arm severely.
Meanwhile: my partner calls my mother. She calls the ward, and convinces them to let Sarah back. I have to get myself to a neutral room – again around the ward while hysterical – and she calms me down. I speak to an absolute wonder of a doctor who listens – bear in mind that I have no filters and I’m ridiculously upset – and get written up some lorazepam. I calm down. My partner calms me down. All is OK.
Except that it really fucking isn’t, at all.
I’m not upset about the discharge date, per se. I am ridiculously upset that nobody has been listening. I tell him I am suicidal and he still thinks it appropriate that I would leave so early, even if that hadn’t changed. So I am unsafe. Even when I thought I would be.
Random extraneous knowledge from today:
1) Despite multiple conversations to the contrary, I’m going to be assessed by the young group in Complex Needs (16-25) which we’d previously agreed would be entirely wrong for me.
2) The lead psychologist for Complex Needs is on leave for several weeks, so God knows when they will get around to assessing me.
3) There is a psychologist, somewhere, who is developing something for interim care before Complex Needs gets around to it.
4) My blood pressure is scarily low and nobody has done much about it.
5) My face cream hasn’t been written on my charts. I’m not allowed to use it. Problem ongoing. Argh.
6) I have asked at least a dozen times. But it appears that the Complex Needs team are the only people who can do Tier 4 referrals. That’s right. Everything I’ve fought for rests in Complex Needs.
If it weren’t for my family and fiancée I just don’t know what I would do. They have been extraordinary and continue to be. With them around, I know they will make things happen. They will get me there.
I’ll be OK.