"The System"

I will be picking up this blog once again, telling my entire story at a later time.  First, I'd like to talk about last weekend, August 26, 2011.
I suffer from insomnia.  I also have PTSD.  I grew up in a violent, frightening atmosphere.   The trauma I have lived through would bring the Chief of Psychiatry to his knees.Yet, I survived.  I was helped along the road to recovery by my loving family, wonderful friends, a beautiful horse, and an amazing dog.  Along the path to recovery I have also encountered "The System"....to be more specific, the mental health care system in the state of Michigan.  I fell apart in my mid-30s's and was introduced to this system, at the University of Michigan Hospital...the infamous 9-C (Psych Unit).  I found caring nurses and staff members on 9-C, to whom I will be forever grateful.  I also became acquainted with Psychiatry's dark side...the Psychiatrists themselves.  I was medicated, chided and ridiculed by these men.  After several weeks, I was told I had two choices:  The State Hospital at Northville, or the Menninger Clinic in Topeka, Kansas.  I chose the clinic.  It was the best decision I ever made.  The clinics excellent staff, nurses, techs, doctors, occupational therapists, activities therapists, and my therapist made life seem worth living.  I was one of the most fortunate patients in the Trauma Unit, as my therapist was Dr. Glen O. Gabbard, one of the most famous psycho-therapists in the world.  We met twice a week for one hour over a period of six months one year, and six months in the following year.  I was given tools by the staff in the Trauma unit, and by Dr. Gabbard himself, to begin rebuilding my life.

It was not easy.  It was, in fact, the biggest challenge in my life.  I was hospitalized many times at the U of M's 9-C and other facilities in the county. I attempted suicide many times.  Slowly, I learned. I found out-patient Psychiatry and therapy to be of little value to me.  Outpatient psychiatrists prescribed drug after drug.  I felt numb and detached every day.  Years later, I managed to wean myself from these psychiatrists and their medications.  It was difficult, but I completely understood the risks. I knew I had to stand on my own two feet and recover.  At times it was a hellish nightmare, but I did not give up.

I was a life-long equestrian.  Seven years ago, I met the right horse.  While I was searching for a lively Thoroughbred, I happened across a lovely little mare..a registered American Paint.  I saw in her kind eyes a chance for redemption.  She was only four years old at the time, and quite a handful...an ex-race-horse on the Paint Circuit, her destiny was to spend the rest of her life as a brood mare.  I trailered her to a Dressage barn, where we stayed for a year.  Sunny taught me patience, and the beauty of a soft hand, and an easy touch.  We showed in Dressage for a while, but after a lifetime of show barns, I wanted to simplify our relationship. We went to other barns, but I soon tired of being involved in the barn owner's agenda, outrageous boarding fees, drama, and incompetent care.  Now we have finally found our "forever" home at a small barn in Dexter, Michigan.  At this barn, the owners were extremely knowledgeable, kind, and helpful.  True horse people.  They adopted Sunny and I, in a sense.  It felt, and still feels like family.

Now.  Back to the "System".  I had been seeing the same Psychiatrist for a number of years.  He was kindly, however, he was elderly and forgetful.  The "System" makes it very hard to find a Psychiatrist...particularly one who takes Medicare.  I was still fighting the physical effects of constant anxiety, and was given medication after medication.  None of it really worked.  I only felt peace at the barn, with my beloved mare.  

The last time I saw this Psychiatrist, I was given Ambien for sleep, Valium for Anxiety, and Imipramine as an anti-depressant.  I was most certainly less anxious, and I could finally sleep.  I would sleep so deeply, I often went sleep-walking, with no memory of it the next day.  Last Friday, according to witnesses, I was found down by Mill Creek by Sheriff's and firefighters.  The trek to this creek was one that I walked daily with my dog.  Apparently, I was barefoot and un-responsive.  I was transported by ambulance to the U of M Psych ER.  When I finally came to, I was dazed and quite confused.  Nothing looked familiar.  I was asked if I knew where I was.  I did not. (However, it should be noted that the Psych ER had been recently re-modeled, and resembled nothing I had ever seen before).  I was asked to name the President, the month, and other questions.  I answered correctly to all of these questions.  Hour upon hour I waited.  My husband was not allowed to come back and see me.  Eventually, I was told I was being "petitioned".  I repeatedly asked to view this "petition for commitment".   I was denied.  Much later, I was informed that the U of M had no beds available.  In fact, I was told there were no beds available anywhere in the county.  I was given medication, and I finally slept.  At some point, in the very early morning hours I was loaded on to another ambulance for transfer to to a facility on Gratiot, in Detroit, right in the center of the well-known "war zone".  The building was crumbling in decay.  During the admission process, after being asked many questions, I was strip-searched. I was led to a room and given a gown in which to sleep.  The mattress was thin, bumpy, and made of vinyl.  I could feel every coil in my back.  The next day, I found myself on a unit with approximately 18 men.  I was the only female.  (Some of the trauma in my background involved a gang-rape).  I was terrified.  Eventually, I met my Psychiatrist.  He showed me my petition.  It was vague and incomplete.  It had been signed by a U of M nurse.  My doctor was outraged.  He noted that I had been on Ambien (a sleeping medication) for over a year.  He told me this drug is well-known to cause sleep-walking, in which an individual would be capable of doing complicated things, while in a dream state.  He also noted that when Valium was added to the mix, the risk of this behavior intensified.  He stated out loud, with my husband present, that this was negligence.  Pure and simple negligence. I was not suicidal, and had been quite stable and happy for at least 5 years.  He also noted that I was given the same combination of medications at the U of M Psych. ER.  He simplified my meds to the safest and most basic regime.  He felt that I should NEVER have been petitioned.  Unfortunately, I had to wait in this unit to make sure the new medications did not cause me problems.  

This unit made the "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest" set seem mild.  I was not allowed to stay in my room.  I was forced to remain in the "day room" with all of the other patients, with a TV set constantly blaring, the occasional fist fight, and loud arguments were terrifying.  I witnessed a nurse being punched in the face by a patient, and watched him slam another worker with a jug of water.  The man was tackled and dragged to the "Quiet Room."  There was only one activity daily.  One involved crayons and glitter.  The other involved readin out loud the symptoms of depression.

I was released just this Tuesday. I felt humiliated, exhausted, and quite shaky.

Yes, Ann Arbor, this is your local University of Michigan Department of Psychiatry.  This is how they "heal".