The first night in the hospital I was comforted by a foul-mouthed 18 year old and told it gets easier. It wasn't especially comforting since I was more scared and freaked out than I'd ever been in my life. Sleep didn't come easily with an unknown snoring roommate and roadside motel quality sheets. I prayed for what seemed like hours, more fervently than I ever had before. Eventually the sleep medication kicked in and the blackness came. I'd like to say I slept like the dead but that's only if it were a zombie movie. The nurses would open our door, shine a flashlight on our faces and check us out every 15 minutes. Every. Fifteen. Minutes. That night was worse than any of the nights I have spent in the hospital and that includes after giving birth.
The next morning was way too bright for the way I was feeling. The sunshine through my window was not enough for me to forget where I had spent the night. I knew I had signed up for this but that didn't erase the fear and anxiety warring in my stomach. It didn't help that everyone seemed to know where to go and what to do except me. I followed blindly along as we went to breakfast and to the group classes we had afterwards.
In a strange way it kind of reminded me of summer camp. If summer camp was like jail.
We were escorted everywhere when we weren't in the women's unit. No one was allowed off by themselves. Classes for group therapy were scheduled all day long and you were expected to be present at all of them unless you had an individual session with your doctor. Besides classes, sleeping seemed to be the most popular way to pass the time. Aside from coloring.
Yep, coloring. I have never seen so many grown women enjoy coloring like I did at the hospital. After half a day it occurred to me that it really was a great way to pass the time. It kept your hands busy allowing your mind to float on the surface. Very soothing and relaxing. That's my excuse for coloring as many pictures as I did.
So aside from the coloring and the group classes, I was finally able to see a psychiatrist. The whole reason for my in-patient status. The doctor and I went over my current medications and I had to give a detailed history of my mental health and the mental state of all close relatives. I was asked to dig deep into my memory for instances where my mental health wasn't on such an even keel. I didn't have to dig too hard. It turns out I had lots of reference points from growing up that pointed to a less stable mental condition. What I had thought of simply as a bad case of depression and occasional anxiety turned into medical terminology giving me an official diagnosis.
Bipolar Type II and OCD tendencies with General Anxiety Disorder.
The doctor said she was discontinuing both of my anti-depressants and the anti-anxiety medication. Instead I would be given an anti-psychotic as a mood stabilizer that I would take at night since its main side effect is sleep.
That night I did sleep like the dead. I woke up the next morning with my right leg asleep from hip to ankle because I hadn't turned over, only sleeping on that side. For the first time in memory, I woke up early without benefit of an alarm or crying baby. I was calm and ready to start the day. I knew when breakfast was and knew I wanted to shower before that. That's right - I had a goal. And I was able to accomplish it. For the five days I was there I got up every morning, showered, did my hair and got dressed. I hadn't had the peace of mind to shower every day since before Penny was born. Gross, I know, but the honest truth. Somewhere over the last year and a half I had given up on myself a little. OK maybe a lot. But suddenly it seemed like an objective I could achieve.
I was excited about facing the new day and every day that was to come.
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