My husband Sean, has a mental health condition. He relies on medication so that he may have a happy, productive life, and family. At the end of May, his medication started failing. He became very sad and was feeling suicidal. We immediately took him to the Emergency at the hospital. He sat for hours in the main waiting area, while people with gashes, flu, and broken bones went ahead of him. All of those things trump mental health. He was sent home after a doctor talked to him, with papers full of Distress Line numbers, Therapy Group numbers, and some breathing techniques. He came home and continued to fail, crying continuously and getting very close to taking his own life. I searched frantically for the paperwork he had been given, and called the Distress Line. They told me to call family, and if they were unavailable, to call an ambulance. Ok, thanks. I called the hospital. They said to bring him in. We did, and again we were told to sit in the main emergency waiting area... for hours.
There were lots of sports team injuries that afternoon, that all went in ahead of Sean. He was in mental distress, but we waited. It was evening by the time we got into the mental health waiting area. It was very late in the evening when we finally saw a doctor. They admitted my husband. He was in the hospital for a week. They took him off one of his medications entirely, (an anti-psychotic) and then sent him home. He wasn't stable, obviously. Two days later, we returned to the hospital, with the idea that if he had just been released from a week's stay, he would have a bit of a fast-track to emergency care.
We were wrong, and again we found ourselves waiting in the emergency waiting area with all the physical ailments, broken bones, and sprained ankles. For hours, again. After we spoke to another doctor in the wee hours of the morning, he was told to go home and practice positive self-talk. Guess where we were the very next day? Back in Emergency. At a different hospital this time. We waited again... and they finally admitted him. Over the course of 3.5 weeks, he was weaned off of the medication he had been on for 6 years, and started on a new medication that sounded like happiness and stability in a pill.
All was going well, the beginning of that fourth week, he was completely off the old meds for 2 days, and fully on the new meds at full dosage... so it was time to go home. "Besides", they said "we need the bed". The doctor said Sean was stable, but to just watch for restlessness. Oh, okay.
Sean was home for one day, not sleeping at night, when he started complaining about chest pains, tingling in his head, headaches, and feeling like his insides were racing... We looked up side effects of his new meds, and every single one of these complaints were on the list. I told him to try and work through it, that they were just side effects. We were told that the doctor that was caring for Sean at the hospital would be resuming care after his discharge. We had an appointment on Wednesday. Just have to make it to Wednesday. Tuesday, Sean called the doctor's office to get his appointment bumped up. The doctor was not available, and it was at this time that we were informed that our appointment on Wednesday was not with the doctor. It was merely an orientation. What?
Sean's complaints were on-going for six days, until Sean started calling everyone he could think of (my entire family), the pharmacist, the hospital, Health Link Alberta, 911, and my best friend. He knew something wasn't right with himself, but he couldn't adequately put into words what it was... He was panicking. He was frantic. Was this the restlessness I was supposed to look out for? I was confused and scared. My best friend and her husband drove to our house. They drove him to another hospital. His heart was racing and irregular, and they got him in right away. Heart trumps mental health.
I got my sister to take our 4 year old son, and went to be with Sean. By the time I got to him, he was catatonic. Lying on a bed, staring at the ceiling, not blinking and barely able to move.
He had told the doctor he had died, and was now awake in the afterlife. I was a mess.
The doctor told me he was having an adverse reaction to the new medication. He was in Akathisia. He was in Atrial Fibrillation. He was in severe sleep deprivation. He was shutting down. Another psychiatric doctor came in, and said "This will be the third admittance to hospital in 2 months, Sean. Do you understand?" Sean made a barely audible sound. I didn't understand. Is there a limit to getting mental health help? Was she shaming him? He needed help, and I didn't really care how many times we needed to take him back to the hospital. Was this comment necessary? They admitted him again. Thank god, they admitted him again.
Now we start again. Trying to find a combination, a medication cocktail that will keep my husband alive, and healthy, and productive. And still Sean. My loving, caring, creative and gentle best friend for life.
There are a lot of preconceived ideas regarding mental health. These are people's lives. These are real concerns. Mental health is real. Just because we can't put a cast on it, doesn't make it less important.
We need changes to happen. We need mental health emergency rooms. We need accessibility to proper resources, at all times. Not just from 9 to 5 on weekdays. We all need it. Mental Health affects us all.