Hospital (Yes, Again)

So, today has been one of the most unpleasant days of my life.

If you read my previous two posts, you know that I took a lot of Ativan last night in order to cope with some feelings regarding my breakup. I ended up scaring my roommate, and after calling poison control and the pharmacy for second opinions, she called 9-1-1. I was heavily sedated at this time, so the next thing I remember is being woken up by my roommate and two paramedics.

The next thing I remember is waking up this morning in an unfamiliar hospital, and being told I had been “formed”. This means that I was deemed a danger to myself or others, and that the hospital could legally hold me for up to 72 hours to receive psychological evaluation. I was pissed. I took some extra Ativan… it clearly wasn’t a suicide attempt.

I was transferred to a hospital with emergency psychiatric services around 11-12. Up until this time, I had been repeatedly refused my medication, even though I feel much worse emotionally and physically when I take them late.

Anyways, I thought the doctor would see me quickly, and that I would be out the door in a couple of hours. That is not what happened. I waited in a locked ward for 10 hours, during which time I received one sandwich, two cookies, one cup of water, and no medication.

I had a panic attack. I cried and cried, asking for the form to be lifted. I felt so claustrophobic trapped in this shitty room involuntarily for an unknown amount of time. Since I woke up this morning, I have just wanted to go home. I finally had my psychological evaluation around 10, and after additional waiting for follow-up questions and a final recommendation, I was able to leave the hospital around 11.

I remember nothing about the ride to the hospital or the initial evaluations. My roommate recently informed me that on multiple occasions, I threatened to “take Tylenol next time and wait to die so I don’t have to deal with any of you.” That might have something to do with getting formed. I also apparently forgot every ten minutes that my vitals had been taken, and got lost on the way back from the bathroom, which are far more funny and less scary.

There is no moral to this story. I mean, I guess don’t OD on Ativan. It really isn’t that dangerous though. (I am an awful person) My roommate did the right thing by calling someone; she thought they would monitor me overnight and send me home in the morning. She couldn’t predict the awful things I would say. Honestly, I couldn’t either. I can’t imagine saying those things to a doctor, especially one with the option to hold me involuntarily. And the form does make some sense given the threats I was making. Although, getting my medication 14 hours late wasn’t necessary, and dinner would have been nice. The assholes who allowed that to happen have no excuse.

I am home now, and extremely happy about it. I have taken some gravol and melatonin to counter the effects of taking my medication late (namely nausea and difficulty sleeping), so I imagine I will be asleep very soon. That’s about it for my terrible, awful, no-good, very bad day. Don’t have that day.

Sarah

 

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