Posted by Gracie2 on October 15, 2002, at 21:35:21
Made a serious suicide attempt last March and woke up in ICU, where they were debating the need to put me on a respirator. I have no memory of the overdose, my reasons for it, the trip to the hospital or my treatment there. At first I was just confused, and then I wanted to go home.
After a week in the pyschiatric ward, I was bored and unhappy and recieving no real treatment beyond the medications I had been taking previously. I convinced a counselor that I was ready to leave the hospital, but first I had to be interviewed and discharged by the ward's supervising psychiatrist.
The nurses told me that this doctor had been head of the psychiatric division in the largest, most reputable hospital in a city known for it's hospitals, although he had retired from that work after 30 years. He looked pretty much like I expected, a well-groomed, older man with a head full of white hair. I thought he looked kind, but that was an illusion. He said, "I've been looking at your records, and I understand that your husband and your son brought you to the emergency room here after you overdosed on Xanax and Tylenol." I said that my husband had told me the same thing, but I didn't remember any of it. He says, "I understand you have a history of this sort of thing," and I said, "No, well sort of, I've been hospitalized twice before - once after an accidental overdose that produced seizures, and once for depression." He asked me if my son had been involved in those admissions and I said that he had. The doctor leaned back in his chair and said, "Well, congratulations. Not only have you managed to screw up your own life, you've probably done irreversable damage to your child,
and he will need intensive psychiatric counseling after this..." he was looking through my chart and he flapped his other hand in a dismissive wave. Obviously, my overdose had been nothing more for him than a pathetic attempt for attention
that had damaged my son (who is 20).
I stared at him in shock. I'd been expecting questions about myself, prehaps my own unhappy childhood, my absent father and my selfish, abusive mother. Instead, he sat like an inquisitor, accusing ME of being conceited and unloving towards my only child, how horrid I was to subject him to the devastating acts I had pulled. By the end of the interview, I was crying
and begging him to release me from the hospital so I could make it up to my son.By the time I left the hospital, I really hated that man. I would not have seen him again for follow-up treatment if he was the last psychiatrist in the world. But he did direct my attention from myself back to my family, and how my actions affected them. Although my son was raised with a great deal of love and care, and he
is everything I wished for - intelligent, healthy,
funny, handsome, loving, with great self-esteem...I did scare the hell out of him, and now I see that, and I'm sorry. At any age, I only want him to feel safe with me, a port in the storm. I never felt like that with my own parents...I've always felt that I'm on my own.I always wonder if this renowned psychiatrist could have assumed all this from reading my medical records and one interview. I think not, since he did something "telling" in our exit interview, when I was released. Despite my dislike for him, when we stood up I offered my hand and thanked him. He looked at my hand and said, "I have a cold." He had displayed no symptoms of a cold during our interview, and I found this to be inexcusably rude. Because of the sheer boredom on the mental ward, I washed my hair every morning and showered twice a day, so I knew that I didn't look or smell unclean. I thought he was just being his asshole self.
-Gracie
poster:Gracie2
thread:1304
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/psycho/20020829/msgs/1304.html