The Turning Point

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In life there are always moments that define us or change us. One of these moments came as I was preparing to go back to work after having my daughter. While I was at my 6 week appointment, I scored really high on the scale for postpartum depression. It was a ten question multiple choice questionnaire. Doctors highly encouraged me to go to crisis, despite going to therapy my entire pregnancy and before, plans to return to EMDR therapy, and appointments in place to seek mood stabilizers. My talk therapist never sent me to crisis as she did not think I was a danger to myself or anyone else. The doctor sent me because of a potential liability and a point system designed to help. In this case, it did not serve its purpose.

In the Crisis Ward

My husband came to the office, picked up our daughter and took me to the emergency room. Security took my cell phone. I changed into a scrub like outfit. All contact with the outside world was severed. The place was hectic. My bed was in the hallway. A doctor stopped to take my vitals and ask me some questions. As we talked, I shared I had anxiety being there due to my ex-boyfriends experience. Doctors tied my ex down. Gave him an injection to sedate him and made me leave the ward. He was like a zombie and sleeping for days. He ensured me that those things hardly ever happen. A nurse gave me some water but I missed out on lunch since it was now 2pm. I had not eaten since I planned on grabbing something on the way home from my appointment. By this point I was starving.

Avoiding Contact

While waiting in the hallway, others tried to speak to me. The person on the stretcher next to me was talking to herself about murder and alien abductions. One woman walked by me and tried to get my attention. She pulled up her shirt to show me her bruises. She indicated the bruises were given to her by personnel in crisis. I made a point to avoid all eye contact and avoid any interaction with anyone there.

After some time passed, several people were released or transported to other facilities. A nurse offered me a room where it would be more quiet. I took the offer and finally broke down and cried.

At some point I started hearing yelling and a commotion. A man and a woman arrived. They started energizing each other. Police or security took the man to a room, strapped him down and sedated him. The one thing assured never happens, happened. My anxiety went up at that point. The woman was still in the hallway and kept asking for her glasses, among other things. She kept indicating she didn’t belong there and asked repeatedly if she was in a sanitarium. It was after some time that I had to give up the room and go back to the hallway to avoid a riot. She repeatedly yelled and refused to calm down.

Another woman arrived and nurses locked her in her room. She was banging on the door and screaming. The door was two feet from my bed in the hallway.

After some time a young boy went home. It broke my heart to see someone so young there. I moved to his room. The woman that was yelling in the hallway was in the room next to me and kept yelling about her glasses.

At some point I feel like being in that place would actually drive me insane! I begin to question if I am I really like these people. I begin to question the system and how it has now failed me.

I realized that the possibility of staying the night increased. Very upset, I started thinking about all the things I do with my kids at night before bed. I miss my family more than I ever have. After dinner, everyone got quiet, so I asked for the phone to call my husband. He picked up, thank god! I was glad to hear a familiar voice and know my kids were doing alright but missed me. He told me he spoke to a counselor and they asked him some questions.

Going Home

Shortly after that, the counselor came to speak to me and get some insights. She told me she talked to my husband and really saw no reason for me to be there. The time was now past 9pm. I called my husband to arrange for pick up. Finally, after 7 hours, I could go home.

7 hours.
7 hours of fear.
7 hours of anxiety.
7 hours of my life I will never get back.
7 hours to think about my priorities.
7 hours to decide I would never return to that place.
7 hours to decide to never let my anxiety and depression control me anymore.
7 hours to become stronger.
7 hours that showed me that darkness can lead to light.