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Short form:
1. I went with George to see Dr. T, who was over an hour late getting into the office. Dr. T took a look at me and said, "There's nothing else I can do for you. You're in a crisis situation. Go to the hospital urgent care ward and tell them you need to see the on-call psychiatrist. Have a nice day."
2. Off to the hospital.
3. I tell my story to the triage nurse, who becomes very nice and gentle as soon as the magic words "crisis" and "suicidal" appear. Get signed in and sent to the waiting room. Less than 30 minutes later, George and I get ushered into a private examination room on the ward. An exceedingly kind nurse with a big white beard and Santa Claus glasses named Buster comes to take my history, and departs.
4. A few minutes later, an orderly, coming in to put a fresh sheet on the examination table, notices that I'm hugging myself and shivering (stress). He gets me a heated blanket. Bless him. :-)
5. 20 minutes or so later, the doctor arrives. Takes my history again, plus my presenting symptoms ("You have a suicide plan? What is it? Really? And have you hurt yourself in the last 24 hours?") and decides to page the on-call psychiatrist. (All this time I was thinking he IS the psychiatrist...)
6. Another 30 minutes... in comes the psychiatrist. More history, this time with in-depth questions about my state of mind. George fills in the spots where I start coming up blank (I'm *so* tired, and while I've been feeling better on the whole today than during the unbearable black pit of yesterday, I'm starting to flag). The psychiatrist says he can't get me a bed on the psych ward, but offers me space in one of the crisis centers, which are basically houses where one goes for several days and has monitoring and counselling available 24 hours.
For some reason, I just can't do it. Maybe it's the thought of giving up control in that particular way -- going into a house full of strangers, not being able to leave, not knowing what's going to happen next -- though if the psychiatrist had said "Jump on that gurney and we'll take you to the ward", I'd have been up and on it without a second thought. Still, it's what he suggested... after wavering for a few minutes, I err on the side of paranoia and decline the offer.
The psychiatrist nods, and gives me a list of contact numbers: if I change my mind, I can call any of the crisis centers and say that I'd spoken to Dr. S and they will fit me in ASAP. So the option is still wide open.
In the meantime, he gives me a prescription for 60 (!) lorazepam and 2 weeks worth of Remeron, a new class of antidepressants. He can't give me long-term care, but he's willing to put me on his patient roster until we can stabilize my medication.
Oh, thank God. After he left to get the prescription, I burst into tears. Not exactly relief... the feeling that everything is over and that I don't want to go on is still here... but something is being done, and right now all I have to do is go with the flow.
George and I leave with the prescription. Three health care assessments in 3 hours, not bad... and throughout it, George was unwavering in his loving support. He held me, rubbed my back, told me everything was going to be all right. Thank you, George... I love you.
7. At the pharmacy, I discover that Remeron has a GENERIC form which costs next to nothing. Considering I was afraid I'd have to spend up to $100, $20 seems like nothing. Good news!
8. Tonight I take the first tablet.
1. I went with George to see Dr. T, who was over an hour late getting into the office. Dr. T took a look at me and said, "There's nothing else I can do for you. You're in a crisis situation. Go to the hospital urgent care ward and tell them you need to see the on-call psychiatrist. Have a nice day."
2. Off to the hospital.
3. I tell my story to the triage nurse, who becomes very nice and gentle as soon as the magic words "crisis" and "suicidal" appear. Get signed in and sent to the waiting room. Less than 30 minutes later, George and I get ushered into a private examination room on the ward. An exceedingly kind nurse with a big white beard and Santa Claus glasses named Buster comes to take my history, and departs.
4. A few minutes later, an orderly, coming in to put a fresh sheet on the examination table, notices that I'm hugging myself and shivering (stress). He gets me a heated blanket. Bless him. :-)
5. 20 minutes or so later, the doctor arrives. Takes my history again, plus my presenting symptoms ("You have a suicide plan? What is it? Really? And have you hurt yourself in the last 24 hours?") and decides to page the on-call psychiatrist. (All this time I was thinking he IS the psychiatrist...)
6. Another 30 minutes... in comes the psychiatrist. More history, this time with in-depth questions about my state of mind. George fills in the spots where I start coming up blank (I'm *so* tired, and while I've been feeling better on the whole today than during the unbearable black pit of yesterday, I'm starting to flag). The psychiatrist says he can't get me a bed on the psych ward, but offers me space in one of the crisis centers, which are basically houses where one goes for several days and has monitoring and counselling available 24 hours.
For some reason, I just can't do it. Maybe it's the thought of giving up control in that particular way -- going into a house full of strangers, not being able to leave, not knowing what's going to happen next -- though if the psychiatrist had said "Jump on that gurney and we'll take you to the ward", I'd have been up and on it without a second thought. Still, it's what he suggested... after wavering for a few minutes, I err on the side of paranoia and decline the offer.
The psychiatrist nods, and gives me a list of contact numbers: if I change my mind, I can call any of the crisis centers and say that I'd spoken to Dr. S and they will fit me in ASAP. So the option is still wide open.
In the meantime, he gives me a prescription for 60 (!) lorazepam and 2 weeks worth of Remeron, a new class of antidepressants. He can't give me long-term care, but he's willing to put me on his patient roster until we can stabilize my medication.
Oh, thank God. After he left to get the prescription, I burst into tears. Not exactly relief... the feeling that everything is over and that I don't want to go on is still here... but something is being done, and right now all I have to do is go with the flow.
George and I leave with the prescription. Three health care assessments in 3 hours, not bad... and throughout it, George was unwavering in his loving support. He held me, rubbed my back, told me everything was going to be all right. Thank you, George... I love you.
7. At the pharmacy, I discover that Remeron has a GENERIC form which costs next to nothing. Considering I was afraid I'd have to spend up to $100, $20 seems like nothing. Good news!
8. Tonight I take the first tablet.
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(no subject)
I am glad you are at home and OK. My social work/activist self was getting up in arms at some of the treatment you recieved..waiting for an hour and then being told "There's nothing i can do for you" by your doctor is a pretty awful experience to someone in crisis. I am glad George was there with you for support, bless him, you have a great husband there as you know :)
I hope your meds work for you, and YES, thank goodness for generic meds! My pharmacy offered me generic paxil and i asked what the difference was, and was told the only one was price. I accepted it gladly, it cut the cost about in half.
Do you have a prescription drug plan? I know of some agencies that might be able to help you obtain one if not.
When you are better, I recommend seeing a doctor for a full physical. Seriously. Sometimes the testing can come up with more answers than you know.
Blessings and my candle is burning for you as you make your way to recovery...