Miss Molly Mack

I told no one that I had been hearing a voice other than my own in my head since before my first suicide attempt. I thought they would think I am crazy, which is rather ironic, The voice continually told me I was unworthy, unloved, unimportant and that life would be better for everyone if I just killed myself. It was like listening to a CD on repeat 24/7. At the hospital after the second attempt I confessed to the doctor about the voice (Once I knew I could trust him). He said it would take a combination of medications and work on my part to get rid of the voice. Positive thinking, meditation, writing, etc. were all encouraged. I decided that since I argued with this voice often enough it needed a name. I went with Molly because it seemed to be a less harsh name. It turns out that the name Molly means bitter. Very appropriate! The best news of all is that Molly has been put on mute!!

Mars, Venus, Where the Hell am I

When I arrived at the psychiatric hospital I first they had taken me to a jail instead. It certainly looked like one. inside was a completely empty room to wait in. The paramedics stayed with me at this point. I was wanded for metal and then moved to a room with a few traditional medical items. It was at this point that I signed myself in. Signing your self in means you can request a discharge and the doctors will reach a solution. If they feel you need to stay they will get a court mandate. If you have a mandate you cannot refuse any treatment proposed by the doctor. Since I like to have the right to Say 'no!" like a two year old I chose to be voluntary. I was sent up to the fourth floor, what I so lovingly call Dante's Inferno. I was strip searched and given hospital 'clothing" to put on (mesh underwear, disposable blue pants and two gowns (one served as a gown, the other a robe). I did not have either of my wheelchairs with me so I had to use what looked like a 1970s ghetto wheelchair. Add in the yellow no slip socks and i was hot. :)
There are four floors to the building i was in. the forth floor held  the crisis unit (think of running around yelling i can fly tinkerbelle!) an the fourth floor unit. It was very convenient as patients bounced in and out of the crisis unit. These were the adults that could not stop responding to the voiced they heard, who tended to be aggressive, and as a whole seemed unmotivated to change. In line for breakfast there was a patient enraged  He started throwing chair and somehow just missed me.
Knowing there were people with homicidal ideation and even plans was enough to keep me awake all night. i was rescued by my psychiatrist said that was the wrong placement for me. As soon as a bed was available I would transfer down to the first floor. That unit was calm, friendly, and real. There were few instances of arguments.
Now before I make this sound too good here, we hqd MHAs who checked on us (yes, some even in the shower), a routine that  stqrted with groups ,we were awoken qt 7;45 and all made a mad scramble for the coffee. crappy decaf but it was coffee. I cannot wait to try the new  biggby by our house thqt was built this winter while I was done.
I was quiet, observing, and trying to figure out the people around me. To my psychiatrist I was withdrawing, isolating, and socially inappropriate. SIR, my normal may look a lot different than your normal but that is not a  psychological problem. . the major depression qnd fun little voice  screaming at me in my heqd provided plenty of entertainment.

Simon says

I always knew that this would be a journal of the different perspectives of life that I experience. It is my view of the world through experiences others may never have. My perspective on something major has changed and I will be sharing about this journey for a while, but let me start at the beginning.
I ignored the warning signs that I was depressed. I justified them. I ignored them. Obviously this is not the best response to take. At the time I was overwhelmed with the many health issues in my life and the fear that it will just continue to decline. We were also facing eviction from our apartment and had searched literally every resource we could. I began to think that Mom's life would be easier without me, that no one would notice or care, and that I could escape the pain. There was a voice in my head telling me I needed to die, that I was worthless, that no one loved me. So impulsively one night I took a bottle of coumadin, a blood thinner used in rat poisons. I then panicked and told Mom what I had done. I stayed in the hospital as a medical patient for 5 days but received no psychological treatment because they felt it was a one time illness. When I got home I began to research which of my medications would be more effective yet not painful. The same voice was almost constantly present telling me how worthless I was and how suicide was the only answer. Almost 2 weeks later to the day I attempted suicide again by taking a bottle of my cardiac medicine. I tried to hide it from Mom but one thing I cannot do is lie to her. I ended up spending all night in the emergency room as they monitored my blood pressure and heart rate. A whole bottle and neither level ever moved. God protected me for some reason. That afternoon they finally found an open bed in a psychiatric hospital, as the need is greater than the supply, and I was transferred to Detroit. I ended up spending a month there in treatment, mostly adjusting medications as we had to go slowly and carefully with my medical issues. I was diagnosed as Bipolar I with psychosis and Anxiety Disorder. I am now on 8 different medications to control everything.
This has been my worst nightmare. I could always handle whatever my body did but to have it interfere with my brain was something I could not imagine. I feel like my brain is floating in chemicals making it harder to think clearly and communicate what I want to say.
I will be writing more about my experiences from the other patients (Names changed for privacy) to medical staff to what I have learned. All I ask is that you please do not judge me as my diagnosis. I am still the same person I was before this happened and I am the same now, a little quieter but also a little wiser.

Homecoming

Today I was once again released from the rehab facility. I am so relieved to be free from all of the confines and limitations and difficult conditions. I celebrate my freedom and my overcoming and my accomplishments. I still have a ways to go, but I have gone so much further than I imagined possible. I use adapted tools for now (special dishes and silverware and pens) but will get back to using normal items. I still cannot do buttons or zippers or snaps or tie things but that will come with time. Thank God for pull on pants and super cute Sketchers tie-less shoes. I am able to do so much more than I could at the end of January and it is a blessing to be home. It feels weird to not be confined to such a small space, to be able to get a drink when I am thirsty, to have a choice over what I eat, to not share a bathroom with four strangers, to not have to wait until it is convenient for someone to give me my medicine. It would be better if my mother were not in the hospital right now recovering from a stroke and a serious infection. I am still lonely and still missing someone to talk to and be with.
Yet for so many at that place there will be no homecoming, no new freedoms, no return to family, no return to a "normal" life. That existence is all that they will know from now on and that breaks my heart. In so many ways it is so wrong. It is so neglectful, so undignified, so restrictive, so demeaning, so limited. People become diagnoses become problems. Many workers are there because they care and want to be there, but many are there because it is a job and it pays and they were hired. They do not have any investment in the job, any compassion, any dedication. It is a paycheck. The system is broken and after 3 months living it I can say how it is broken but not clearly how it needs to be fixed. There are so many things to fix and from so many directions - policy, hiring, staff behavior, staff ratio, facilities, etc.
Most of all tonight I am giving thanks for my return home and prayers for those that I left behind.

Family Means No One Gets Left Behind

I have joined up with the work of Reece's Rainbow to support children with special needs awaiting adoption in countries where being born with a disability is a huge disadvantage from the beginning. I want to introduce the three special children that I will be praying for and advocating for. Their photos are on the right side of the page and by clicking on their photos you can go to their bios and donation pages on the Reece's Rainbow site.

Shannon is six years old and lives in an orphanage in China. She has Down Syndrome, two mild un-repaired heart defects, and is a hepatitis B carrier. Her older information states that Shannon is an outgoing girl who loves to talk. She may only be able to say simple words but she can be the life of the party. She has Down Syndrome and has been diagnosed with two mild heart defects (an ASD and a VSD). She is also a Hep B carrier. Shannon's caregivers say that she just loves life like the rest of the children in the orphanage. She loves to eat play and watch cartoons. Shannon is always playing and smiling.

UPDATE

Rule number one: Never leave scissors out where Shannon can get to them. She currently has little to no bangs due to an attempt to create her own hairstyle. However, even a bad haircut cannot take away from Shannon;s sweet spirit and lovable personality. She is currently 6 years old and waiting very patiently for her mama and papa. Shannon came to the orphanage at about 7 months of age already able to sit and crawl. She has good motor skills but needs help with her speech. Her receptive speech is good and she can follow directions. Shannon can use three word sentences. Shannon is a sweet and huggable girl who is very curious. She loves to play with her friends and thrives in a noisy environment. Shannon is ready to be part of a loving family willing to help her reach her full potential. For interested families, video is available.

Yulia is a four year old girl with hydrocephalus and a club foot living in an orphanage in China. She was born with hydrocephalus and abandoned at the local train station at the age of 5 months. At 9 months old she had surgery to treat her hydrocephalus and has a small scar on her scalp. She also had surgery for an intestinal blockage and has a scar on her stomach. She has good bowel and bladder control. Yulia had a left foot that is clubbed but is able to walk with someone holding her hand. She can use chopsticks, draw lines and circles, and speaks short sentences. She is reported to have normal intellectual development. She is a talkative and active little girl who gets along well with other children and likes to play outside. She desperately needs funds in her adoption fund to help a family cover the costs of her adoption.

Olivia is currently in the process of being adopted by the Graves family in Maryland. They were drawn to the Reece's Rainbow site by another child who was adopted by another family and then through prayer felt led to adopt Olivia. They are currently in the home study process of the adoption procedure. They have three biological children and are calling their adoption journey From Odd to Even. They desperately need to raise funds to cover the costs of adopting Olivia and have stepped out in faith knowing she needs a family and that they have room in their family just for her.

Just Breathe

I will never again take for granted the gift that is breathing. For a while I have been having issues with difficulty breathing due to the mitochondrial disease but nothing like this. Whatever infection hit me hit me hard and set up a chain reaction of lupus inflammation and mitochondrial weakness in my lungs. I am getting by on breathing treatments every 4 hours around the clock (yes you can fall asleep giving yourself a breathing treatment sitting on the side of the bed) and the maximum dosage of cough syrup every 4 hours around the clock plus now steroids. I have had pneumonia, I have had walking pneumonia, I have had bronchitis and never have I had to work this hard to breathe. I am thankful that in the end this will taper down to a new normal for me. That it will ease off once the inflammation settles and the muscles come back on board as much as they are willing. I will probably do breathing treatments forever now, but I am blessed. I can breathe without oxygen (I cut that border line close a few times but I made it), I can receive the treatment I need, I am improving ever so slowly and I know that after this breath there will be another one. I am blessed. For now I am blessed to just breathe.

When the Caregiver Gets Sick

Yes, I am medically disabled. Yes, I deal with a lot of medical issues and use a wheelchair and am unable to work. But in many fundamental ways I am the caregiver for my mother. She has demylination of her brain and has a very limited functional memory. If she leaves the room looking for something odds are she will not remember by the time she gets to the next room what she is looking for. She loses things all the time. We have three sets of house keys so far. She mixes up medications. She does not remember to take medications. She does not remember to eat, or if she has eaten, or what she has eaten. She does not always know if it is daytime or night time. I am her memory for her. I take care of the bills and the paperwork, the items that place a demand on her brain that she cannot handle. I take care of the daily schedule and make sure meals are prepared and eaten on time. I set up her pills into daily pill containers and remind her at the right time to take her pills. I help her to remember and be calm and not feel afraid. Her body may be stronger in some ways, but my mind is stronger and so we work together,.
So what happens when the caregiver gets sick and there is no family to call in to pick up the slack? No family that cares enough to be involved and see the full picture and be willing to commit. No friends that can offer the help needed. Things start to fall through the cracks. When the caregiver is sick and out of the house, a telephone call can only do so much. Meals on Wheels provides one hot reliable meal per day. The others are a toss up. Medication administration that is so well planned when the caregiver is home falls apart. We finally had to set up for a home health care nurse to set up my mother's pills in the pill boxes for her each week while I am gone. But who is there to remind her to take them? I try to call each time a dose is due and remind her but I am not consistently available. Paperwork stacks up as it overwhelms her and is beyond her capabilities, for me to deal with when  I get home. Bank accounts get messed up without supervision. Her health, her quality of life suffers when the caregiver gets sick. And there is no back up plan for this in our society. There is no one to call to step in when the caregiver has to temporarily step out. I could not have planned ahead for this or found a respite placement for her, as it was an emergency situation. And yet the caregiver is responsible.