Post 2 - The Funny Farm

This post is best read after my post labelled " Shattered by Workplace Bullying"

Wikipedia: "Funny Farm" can refer to:

• Funny farm, a pejorative slang term for a psychiatric hospital

• By extension, pejorative slang for many workplaces which are perceived to be dysfunctional

By the time it is suggested that you spend some time in a psychiatric hospital (due to a dysfunctional workplace), you realise the gravity of your situation. In my case my mind was no longer capable of producing positive thoughts. I could no longer engage in conversation with anyone, without moments of extreme anxiety and panic. I had become a recluse, only leaving the house to go to the gym (for stress relief) and to pick up my kids from the bus stop (because I had to).  Anything more that those tasks potentially created panic attacks so I had become almost completely agoraphobic finding enjoyment in nothing at all. I was nervous most of the time. When I did leave the house, I looked over my shoulders constantly to check if there were any looming threats and would lie awake at night thinking something dreadful was about to happen, a symptom I later found out, of post traumatic stress disorder. 

I found it difficult to concentrate on even the most simple tasks. I remember the day that my son and I had some time alone together. He had spent several hours devising a new game with lego, carefully typing and printing a rule book, and so excited to spend some time with mum trialing his creation. But his excitement faded into disappointment only 5 minutes into the game. “Come on mum, it’s your turn”, I looked at him blankly. I could not remember what he had shown me to do just minutes before. I was completely preoccupied and stuck in rumination that I could not retain any more information. My thoughts were fuzzy and distant and around this time I often felt as if my mind had drifted away from my body in some sort of survival mode similar to the day of my breakdown, because reality had become too painful.  I had been aware of this survival mode for sometime now but had managed to hide it from the family. It seemed selfish of me to be so distracted and depressed. I have such a beautiful loving family. But by now it had become my default mode to be distant and non responsive and it was in full view of those around me.

“I think it might be helpful if you spend a couple of days in hospital” my psychologist said gingerly, expecting kicking and screaming and insistence that I’m fine. I sobbed openly this time, but to the surprise of both the psychologist and my husband, I did not protest at all. These were tears of complete and utter relief, admission that I desperately needed help, that I’m not coping at all and I don’t like my family seeing me like this. I had to admit that I was drowning, and treading water had become a futile effort.  Just as I was starting to give in to the exhaustion and beginning to sink below the surface there was a lifeline, new hope that someone might show me how to save myself. “I think I’m ready for some help.”

Now I’m no expert when it comes to mental health issues, but what happened next was something that might have been avoided. My husband made the phone call to the hospital and insisted that I needed an urgent admission, worried that at any moment I would change my mind . The director of the hospital was due to call him back but it was me who answered the phone call, “We have some bad news for you….” That’s all I heard. There was some mix up with our health fund that was later sorted out, but it’s the “bad news” bit that didn’t sit well with me. My husband found me on the bed in the fetal position sobbing uncontrollably. “How can she say, “we have bad news” to someone so desperately depressed that they need hospitalization?” I sobbed to him. And I didn’t stop sobbing until I was sedated and put to bed that afternoon in the hospital bed. 

Stilnox is an interesting drug that made me sleep in a way I hadn’t slept for years. This was a deep, comatose state that I would drift in and out of for several days. Having become accustomed to light, interrupted sleep patterns without REM this restful sleep was a welcome change. I was enjoying the vivid dreams that had been absent in my sleep for as long as I can remember. 

On day 2 a strange thing happened. It was time for bed so I took a long warm shower after dinner and put on some comfy PJ’s then hopped into my bed feeling quite content in my new surroundings and slipping into the ease of having NO responsibilities.  I took my Stilnox at about 10 O’clock that night and before I knew it, it was 9 O’clock the next morning. I woke up, still in my bed but completely clothed, in tracksuit pants, a t-shirt, jacket and jogging shoes. In my cupboard were my PJ’s neatly folded and my only guess is that while under the influence of Stilnox I had decided it was morning and got myself dressed then decided to hop back into bed. At least, that's what I'm hoping, though it's never been confirmed!

I mentioned this incident in a group therapy session the next day, only to find out I was not alone. Several of the other patients had stories of things they had done on Stilnox that they didn’t remember but that they had evidence of the next morning, similar to my experience.  So I came up with a theory that the nurses medicated all the patients with Stilnox at 10pm then waited till we all fell into a stilnox trance and sat around laughing and drinking bourbon while telling us all to do silly party tricks like they do in shows when people get hypnotized. As I voiced my theory to the group the facilitating psychologist scribbled down lots of notes in his notepad then looked at me with piercing eyes. I don’t think he realized I was joking, and was probably jotting something next to my name about possible dilutional episodes…”Alcohol is a banned substance on the hospital grounds” he said dismissively. 

On day 3, I woke up and decided to get myself some breakfast. I always preferred to eat meals in my bedroom, because although I felt quite safe in the sanctuary of the hospital, the agoraphobia had set in and I had troubles trusting anybody or wanting to talk about my “stuff”. After breakfast I lay on my bed while I drank a coffee. I was only half way through my coffee and rested it on my chest while I shut my eyes for what I thought was a moment. I awoke when my husband arrived to visit me 4 hours later with the cold, half finished coffee still resting on my chest! He sat and tried to talk to me as I drifted in and out of slumber land, dribbling and slurring my speech, I tried to pretend I’d heard everything he had said, but really I had no idea. He said it was the most peaceful sleep he’d seen me have in a very long time, and he was right, sleep had become my new best friend as my body tried to repair from complete exhaustion.

By the end of the first week, I was no longer on stilnox but had been put on increased levels of antidepressant medication both morning and night with various sedatives available on request and things became fairly routine for the next few weeks. But it was about the 4^th week when things went really pair-shaped. I was no longer feeling overly safe in the hospital. I missed my family and my dogs and was having dreadful headaches and nightmares. I can’t complain about the hospital at all. All of the staff were very pleasant and friendly but I was reluctant to leave my room at all other than to get myself breakfast and dinner. I skipped lunch altogether to avoid a third trip out of my room. Apart from that I only left the room to visit the hospital psychiatrist and psychologist as instructed. I had become very tired again with the broken sleep and nightmares. When I visited my psychiatrist he prescribed stilnox again and told me to visit the nurses desk that night when I was ready to go to sleep. I did as he said and arrived at the nurse’s desk at 10pm. Another patient was already waiting at the desk to complain about her roommate being too noisy. We chatted while the nurses got me my medication and when the nurse returned with my pills I headed back down the hallway looking forward to a good night sleep as I swallowed my pills followed by a big gulp of water. And as I gulped on the water I heard a frantic voice yelling out my name down the hallway….”STOP!! Don’t take the pills!” I turned around as the gulp of water hit my stomach, stunned by the instruction. “What do you mean?” I said. “You didn’t take them did you?”. “Yes, I did” I said suddenly feeling nervous. “Oh my God. OK, just wait here a minute” she said as she disappeared into the back of the nurses station where they lock away all of the medication. The senior nurse was at the back of the station and I could hear my nurse saying “I’m so sorry, I must have mixed them up, I don’t know how I did it. Oh my God, I’m so sorry!!” The girl who was waiting to complain about her noisy roommate looked at me with a sympathetic gaze. “Wow! You look really calm for someone who’s just taken the wrong medication. I wonder what you took! Doesn’t sound good. I think I might go back to my room now. Good luck, hope to see you tomorrow.”  “Yeah, let’s hope so” I said shakily, as my nurse reappeared looking sweaty and flustered. “Um, it’s ok. Head back to your room and we’ll be down in a few minutes to have a chat.”

While outwardly I guess you could say I took it very calmly, on the inside however, my mind was racing a million miles an hour.

“WTF….go back to my room??” was what I wanted to say. But instead I turned and almost sprinted back to my room. I had overheard the words “MS Contin” from the nurses station so I wasted no time and jumped straight onto my laptop and googled MS CONTIN and orange-coloured tablet” as I had noticed it’s unusual colour before I swallowed it. The google search results were no more comforting than the nurse’s apologies:

The drug I had taken was 60mg of MORPHINE and the drug came with a big warning:  These tablet strengths (100, 200mgs) may cause fatal respiratory depression when administered to patients not previously exposed to opioids.

I could feel the colour drain from my face and by the time I’d finished reading the warning my nurse reappeared trying to act calm, clearly unaware of my ultra fast googling skills. “We’ve given you quite a strong pain medication as well as your stilnox by mistake. She giggled nervously in a failed attempt to lighten the mood, “you’re really going to sleep well tonight!! Now it’s ok, we just need to check on you every hour through the night. We will check your heart rate and vital signs but with all that medication you will be asleep through it all so don’t worry.” Meanwhile I was thinking “why don’t you just tell me straight…you are worried I might stop breathing…fatal respiratory depression”. “Yes, ok” I said wondering why I was continuing to act so calmly when inside I was beside myself with worry. When the nurse left I called my husband. It was now 11pm so he was surprised and concerned to get my call , “Hi it’s me. Look I don’t want you to worry but I thought you should know there’s been a medication mix up here at the hospital.” I said, sounding about as convincing as the nurse, “I’m just telling you incase I get rushed to emergency during the night, but they think I should be alright, they just need to check on me quite regularly.” I guess my calm tone was unconvincing “They WHAT??? What medication have they given you???” “Oh, I believe it’s morphine. But they seem to have it under control.” I replied trying to sound nonchalant. “MORPHINE! They gave you MORPHINE by MISTAKE? How much?” “Well, they didn’t say, but I googled it and it seems to be a bit below the potentially fatal amount, so that’s a good thing.” He wasn’t buying my “glass half full” attitude. I was starting to wish I had worded things a little differently, more like the nurse had done and leave out the “fatal” bit.

Needless to say that much to the surprise and amazement of the night time nurses, I was wide awake for every hourly check, “Hi, I would say…I’m still alive!” (wondering to myself whether I was ruining the Stilnox/bourbon party that night by staying awake!!) Then she would walk in with her torch to check my pulse. They said it would be almost impossible to stay awake with the cocktail of morphine and stilnox but I was too anxious to allow myself to drift off. I was petrified to close my eyes incase I slipped into a coma (which was another warning I read about after the nurse left the room, and I’d finished scaring the wits out of my husband). It’s all well and good to come and check on me for 5 mins once an hour. But what about the other 55 mins!! Seemed all too risky to me so I just didn’t allow myself to sleep which as it turned out wasn’t as hard as it sounds given that I had an allergic reaction to the morphine which made me wildly itchy to the point where I had scratched myself to pieces and had hot red welt marks all over my chest and back. The next morning I got up to have a shower but could not stand up unassisted. The whole next day I felt completely “out of it” with waves of dizziness and nausea followed by a painful headache as I apparently “came down” off the morphine.

Once over the whole ordeal, I decided to do a bit of laundry so headed to the communal washing machine. The girl from the nurses station happened to be doing her ironing. "Hi, I made it through the night" I said with a bit of a cheeky grin. She looked at me, cocked her head to the side, "I'm sorry...do I know you?". That's the thing about psychiatric hospitals, people often don't remember what they've said or done depending on what stage of sedation they are under. "Never mind" I said and went back to my little room. It was easier than trying to explain. 

I’d like to make you feel better about this incident by saying, I’m sure it’s a rare mistake for the wrong medication to be administered in a hospital. And of course, it didn't help matters that this mistake was made on a patient already highly paranoid about their personal safety to the point of agoraphobia. That’s certainly what I  was hoping would be the case. All the day time nurses kind of skirted around the elephant in the room when they came to visit me the next day. But the afternoon nurse was very honest. “I heard you were given 60mg morphine by mistake last night….bet you had a shit day?” “Yes, I’ve felt quite ill” “Don’t worry” she said “it happens all the time. You’d be surprised though, it takes a lot of medication to actully kill someone.” I guess that’s comforting in some strange way….