It never really occurred to me how many of my group mates had never been admitted to a psych ward. Well, I’ve got two different perspectives on being on the ward: as a nurse and as a patient. It’s definitely eye opening when you know what it’s like on the other side. It’s hard knowing that every staff member on that unit has read into your file and knows what your deepest secrets are, and they casually talk about it during their lunch breaks with comments like, “God I feel bad for her” or “Jeez, I didn’t know she was crazy like that.” It’s definitely painful to know that I’ve worked alongside some of those nurses too. Which is why it was so hard for me to seek help in the first place.
But I’m not here to talk about being a nurse. I’m here to talk about what it’s like being admitted to the unit. First of all, it’s absolutely terrifying. Most of the time, no one voluntarily goes into the psych unit. You’re usually placed there involuntary because you’ve said the magic words, “I want to kill myself… or someone else.” Me telling my OBGYN that I had thoughts of hurting myself and taking my baby with me was what landed me in the psych ward the first time. It’s still hard to admit that because I look at Maverick every day with love, and I couldn’t imagine taking him with me like that…
Stripped, uncomfortable, & cold
I hate the initial part of admission because you always spend so much time in the ER. Both times that I went, I was told to change into patient pajamas, and I couldn’t have anything with me like shoes with shoelaces, my cellphone, my wallet, nothing… I hated it, because as I was sitting there slipping deeper into my denial of what was happening, I couldn’t communicate with my husband - my only support person at the time. This is a problem for me. I hate that when we have suicidal patients, we take away their only means of communication to their support. I also hate that family can’t be the one to stay with you while you wait. They made it uncomfortable for me having a higher ranking officer wait with me, who knew nothing of what was going on with me. Unless the patient states it is a safety hazard for that person, hospitals should let the support person be the patient’s choice. I mean, come on guys.
The first time I was admitted, I waited in the room for almost 6 hours. In the ER, the room for suicidal patients is an empty room with 3 sets of double chairs. It’s a cold room. You have no pillow, no blanket, no call bell. Your safety attendant sits in the room with you, awkwardly staring at the same popcorn ceiling that you look at, because they also can’t have their phones. Also stupid. After a few visits with the ER doctor and your nurse, they all congregate in the back with the psychiatrist who makes the ultimate decision of whether to admit you or not. They wand you down to make sure you’ve got nothing on you that could be used as a weapon, and then take you up to the ward and do the longest admission process ever.
The stigma of the ward
The hard part about being on the unit for me was already explained. I hated being admitted and knowing that people could see that I was there. I begged to go elsewhere because I didn’t want nosey people in my chart. I almost asked to use an alias instead. It almost hurt me more being there than it helped.
In all honesty, the unit wasn’t very helpful to begin with. It was so dark, that you could barely tell the different between night & day. The windows were barricaded with a metal sheet that had holes you could literally peep through. They didn’t allow for much light to get in. So you could only tell the difference because you saw fluorescent lighting in the day time. You’d sleep in a room where there was a plastic bed frame, and foam doors. You weren’t allowed to sleep with the light on because it wouldn’t let you get “restful sleep”. Even if that was the only thing keeping you from thinking there were demons out to get you. The day would start early with vital signs, and you could either go back to sleep until breakfast, or wait in the milieu room. I always went back to sleep.
Breakfast was brought up, and there would be a morning huddle. People would choose who would be a leader, introduce themselves, and then choose “sponsors” for new patients. It was stupid, but it gave the ward some order. I never volunteered, and I rarely spoke. Group sessions were held throughout the day, but when I was there, it was a very poor group setting. Nothing particularly helpful. It was more helpful talking to the doctor, and that’s usually not the case.
I’d rather do outpatient treatment
When I was admitted to partial hospitalization, it helped me out more. I was able to see my family and have their support, while also being with group for most of the day to talk things out. I don’t normally talk to my husband about these things, because a lot of the time, I want to be distracted from them. If you need the help of your family, then opt for outpatient treatment. If you’re having a crisis, opt for inpatient treatment to stabilize before going to PHP.