Meeting with the head physician

Meeting with the head physician

Today I talked to the head physician. It’s the absolute opposite from what I was used to at the other hospital. They really try to work out with the patients what to do.

We all agreed things are heading in the right direction, but that there still is lots of work to do as well.

And so the smiled at me and said: “We are not finished yet!” But this was no threat, it was a promise to help me to get even more better.

And in this moment her optimism was so contagious, I believed her that there is still room for improvement.

And it’s official: I’ll drive home at the weekend. I am very happy about that.

Advertisements
A quiet Saturday

A quiet Saturday

During the weekend there are no therapies, and most patients go home. So I visited my parents, who live nearby, for cake and coffee.

My mother home a wonderful Torta Della Nonna for us, and it was delicious.

But most important was that I spoke about an issue that had plagued me for years: That I feel like a failure, because there are not grandparents. They would have been wonderful grandparents.

My mother told me: “I say this from the bottom of my heart: Everything is fine.”

And she meant it. I felt so relieved. I have no idea why I didn’t bring this question up long ago. The answer would have been the same.

A huge weight was lifted off my heart.

Countdown

Countdown

The last days before inpatient treatment are always hard for me.

First, I am very frustrated that I am so bad there is no other option than inpatient treatment – again. And there are so many unknown things ahead. I don’t know what to expect, who I will meet and how I will feel after it.

The hospital called once more and asked if I could come one day earlier. I refused. I have planned what I do and when I do it, and I want to stick to my schedule.

I am quite busy with cleaning and packing now. And I am busy silencing this voice in my head that constantly whispers in my head: “It’s useless, nothing will help you!”

Life goes on, Part 2

Life goes on, Part 2

Surprisingly everything goes smoothly. The new hospital called today, I will be admitted next Thursday (16.8.).

I and everybody around me think this is a good thing.

Now I have a week to bring everything in order and pack my things. That’s plenty of time, and unfortunately I am a seasoned things-needed-for-a-hospital-stay packer.

This week I have cancelled all my occupational therapy sessions, I needed the quiet. I will do the same next week, because there are things to do.

Life goes on

Life goes on

I agreed with the doctor of the new hospital that I would call them again after I told my psychiatrist that I want to be treated at another hospital. I did so yesterday, and I called the  new ward today and told them it’s done.

Now they will call me when I can be admitted.

After the call I cried. I don’t know why, but I felt relieved  after that. Now I am back to waiting again.

Mr. Meltdown is persistent

Mr. Meltdown is persistent

My sister in law gave birth to her child this morning. Mother and child are well.

It was a situation like Sammy’s death last year. I knew it was going to happen, but I managed to to block it out at the same time.

The pain that we have no children and my self hate are unbearable right now.

So I went to the outpatients clinic of the local hospital. I wanted to up my antipsychotic medication. The doctor, a young woman, was unsure about this and called another doctor. I heard her say “The patient is already on [insert my four psychotropic drugs here]. Can we up the dosis at all?”
I felt like somebody has stabbed my heart. So this is what I have become: A psycho that gulps down tons of tablets.

Demon Self Hatred rules right now. He doesn’t care how many medication I take.

Right now I can only hope that I reach the shore after this shipwreck. I am afloat on waves of feeling.

Ouch!

Ouch!

Today was a really lousy day. First I fell while we walked the dogs. My back has yet to forgive me for that, it still hurts.

We went to have ice cream, and I knocked over my bowl. That was it: My tears started to fall, and I couldn’t stop crying – in public, no less. I felt like the greatest idiot on earth.

 At home I calmed down. Our cat interrupted her strolling outside and snuggled up with me, my husband helps with the chores.

I know I overreacted, but I couldn’t control it at the moment. Right now I am very ashamed and feel very stupid.