A few months ago, I was lying in bed when I felt this strange sensation in my mind. “Oh Shit!” my mind frantically screamed. It was the beginning of one my especially troublesome bouts with schizophrenia – one of many. I immediately jumped up and dialed mom’s number, but hung up before she could answer. Dad would be angry with me. I called 911 and they took me to the emergency room. I talked some to the paramedics, but as my illness progressed in it’s intensity, I grew quiet and withdrawn.
In the emergency room, I began to believe the doctors and nurses were laughing at me. They sent in person after person to talk to me. “But they’re laughing at me!” my mind screamed. I would stare at the ceiling and just rock back and forth. I wouldn’t say a word – even when they sent in an extremely kind social worker to talk to me. Each person would leave the room frustrated. They all wanted to help me, but I couldn’t communicate with them to tell them what was wrong. It was maddening in it’s most maddening sense. I could still hear the nurses laughing at me down at the nurses station down the hall!
I was freezing cold and had balled up on the upright hospital bed trying to stay warm as mom walked in the room. “Thank you God!” I said at the sight of her. It was the first words I had spoken in the two hours I had been in the emergency room.
“Dr. Shriver doesn’t know what to do with you,” mom said with bed hair. “They say you won’t tell them what’s wrong.”
“They’re laughing at me mom!”
I could hear the nurses cackling. Just then, the doctor walked in.
“We are going to sedate him and send him home with you,” he told my mother. “Let him sleep until he feels better.”
“He says y’all are laughing at him,” mom told the doctor.
The doctor frowned and instructed a nurse practitioner to get me some medications – something to calm me down and something to help me sleep.
“Mom, this was a mistake,” I said with a pleading air to my voice. “I want to go home with Maggie.”
I remember mom getting me home and in the bed. I distinctly remember Maggie jumping up on the bed with me and she began to lick my hair which aggravated me and soothed me at the same time. I went to sleep and slept for 14 to 15 hours and was a different person mentally when I woke up. The storm had passed. You know the hardest part of this whole ordeal? I knew it was happening. I knew I was acting and thinking crazy. It was as if I had two minds – a schizophrenic mind and a rational, sane mind. I will never forget the futility I felt in that emergency room for as long as I live. I hope it never happens again.
6 comments:
Is there a card in your wallet with contact info - that says what your condition is and who your doctor is? My husband has to carry one because of his health problems - just in case he's not able to communicate and needs help. I've got one because of my allergies. My neice has one because she's deaf.
It gives me some peace of mind that we'll be taken care of even if we can't tell them what's wrong.
Grannie
I hope it doesn't happen to you, either. Sounds scary! *hugs*
That was an amazing peek into what you are feeling when you aren't feeling well. I often think of you and how awful that must be when it happens. It kind of seems like a panic attack in the fact that you know what you are feeling is not rational, but you don't know how to make yourself stop feeling it. It's scary even when you know what it is. The part that is hardest is you have to kind of ride it out until it stops.
I too hope it never happens to you again Andrew. I see first hand how frustrating and scary it is for everyone concerned. Hugs friend.
Oh, how awful for you. This post makes me want to hug you. I too, am hoping it never happens again. Big hugs. :)
That must have been so horrible for you Andrew..i too hope it never happens again..the advice about the card is good though...I remember feeling very disoriented when i had a bad panic attack some time ago..it is almost a physical sick feeling..will catch up on the rest of your blog later..hope your much better now.
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