Misanthrope
Mage
- Oct 23, 2018
- 557
(This got longer than I intended and became a bit bitter at points but maybe someone will find it interesting.)
There seems to be an interest in what it is like inside a psychiatric unit. So I thought I would write up some of my own experiences. I am neither for or against psychiatric hospitalisation. It serves some and damages others. So take from it what you will.
I can only really comment from a UK perspective within a localised area. I have been an inpatient seven times over the span of my life, both voluntarily and involuntarily. Either due to mania that becomes full-blown psychosis or depression that had me laying in my own piss starving to death. My longest stay lasted five months under a section. There is a world of difference between the two experiences. Later those experiences would drive me towards advocating for people detained under the mental health act. As a result, I have seen a lot, and have seen both the good, the bad, the ugly, and painfully absurd. I have seen abuses and amazing depths of kindness. Like any large system, you are at the mercy of who is working there and what dominant personalities are defining how the unit is run. The other patients on your ward at the time can also further define the experience.
There probably is no universal experience, other than maybe daytime tv, boredom, bland food, and the joys of waiting in the medication line. Beyond that, it is simply a lottery.
The Serengeti
The unit was mostly clean, comprised of two wards separated by a garden. It was a mixed ward but the patient rooms were separated by gender and existed in their own enclosed space. There were strict rules about patients not entering other peoples rooms. Near those rooms were the showers and toilets.
The thing I remember most about showering is just how tepid the water was and how cold the room itself was. If I was under observation it meant being stared at. Some nurses were courteous enough to turn their backs somewhat and read a book while the door was partially open. Others though would just stare at me like a zoo animal. It was an uncomfortable experience that further shrivelled my bits... There was also a bathroom, but it often wasn't clean enough to use because of the state other patients left it in.
There was a large T.V room with various chairs and sofas. The T.V was often stuck on one channel that you could request to have changed if people did not mind. Patients would often attempt to agree amongst themselves things to watch. It became pretty common to watch films in the evening and raid the overpriced snack machines with no healthy options available. Some people also chipped in for take away and it would be delivered to the hospital. These evenings were really comforting and something to look forward to. The only thing that could mar the experience was a patient kicking off in the TV room.
There were a few side rooms as well that generally ended up occupied consistently by various cliques of patients that had formed friendships, that played cards or borrowed other board games.
There was an art room. What was in there was very low-quality stuff, lots of things missing or damaged beyond being able to use effectively. Yep, there were indeed plenty of colouring books and puzzle books. As well as various board games, and some musical instruments and books of all sorts of variations, none of which were worth reading, but that is my opinion. That room though was only opened at certain times when it could be supervised.
The occupational therapist was a good bloke, he would play acoustic guitar and field requests and teach anyone interested how to play. He would create quizzes, and if a person felt like colouring in was too childish he would invite them to play scrabble or chess. I could see he was doing the best he could with what limited things were available. So there are good people within the system, it is not all bleak wasteland of nurse Ratchets from One flew over the cuckoo's nest. That is not to say though they don't exist in just as passive-aggressive tyrannical manner. Talking down to you like you are four and just pissed in their favourite vase. I will touch on that later.
There was a gym, not a very big one with only a few things but they were there and you could request access but you would have to wait for a member of staff that was trained to supervise and they would even take you through an exercise program.
There was a kitchen like area that had in it a large tank of hot water with a spout nozzle, used pretty much for hot drinks. But not so hot you could burn yourself on it. There were also fridges full of bread and that most dangerous of all conflict provoking things… milk! In a microcosm of people forced to live on top of each other needing access to tea, like starved vampires need access to blood. Milk was the start of world war three on multiple occasions causing inter ward disputes and the arrival of the police... People also seemed to like to decorate the ward with bread for reasons I can only likely attribute to chronic mind-numbing boredom!
There were other rooms as well used for various groups, but also for consulting with your psychiatrist when they did ward rounds.
At the time where I was there were various groups available split between occupational therapy type things and more cognitive behavioural therapies. There was even access to making pottery and having what you created fired in a kiln and sold to help the hospital. But there were also more practical classes that covered things like cooking, nutrition and sleep hygiene and how to stay on top of your medication regime. As well as various group therapies. Some centred on psychosis, or anger, or drug abuse. A lot of these groups over the years though have been cut and not replaced with anything. With an emphasis on drugging you and getting you out the door as soon as possible.
I had my own single room. There was not much in it but a wardrobe, bed, sink, mirror and a desk with some sort of puffy chair that did nothing for my back. The windows would only open a crack and looking down were hundreds of cigarette butts. The door had a rectangular window which meant any passing patient or staff could see in. I could always hear the sound of jangling keys and people moving through the corridors. Distant conversations punctuated by loud laughter or someone shouting obscenities at the nurses. Even at 3 am in the morning. There was a keycard lock which I kept on my person so no one could get in but other staff and the cleaners. So theft from my room never occurred. However, theft from out on the ward did.
There was a medical room, where they did a physical screening and took my blood and measurements and so forth. Beside that was a room where medication was dispensed at regular times throughout the day. You would pretty much line up and wait. The slow shuffle of people going in through the door and hearing every conversation about thrush cream and terrible nurses joke.
The dining room was not overly interesting just had tables and chairs and a cutlery tray and stacks of plastic plates. Food would often be the dominant thought on the ward because it broke up the monotony of the day. I think Gordon Ramsay would have likely come in screaming, demanding an explanation for what is this shit you are serving? Then less than politely inform everyone he would not even feed it to his dog.
The food basically came out in these preheated trolleys. There were various options. There were vegetarian and vegan options as well. However, what a food thing was called, versus what they looked like made you question if they had been labelled correctly. It did not matter what I chose. It all tasted bland. The reason for that though is some people can't have salt or sugar or don't like spices so it pretty much simpler to give everyone something bland and just about edible. In future excursions inside I made sure to take with me various spices and seasoning. There was also a fruit bowl that would be filled. It would not last ten minutes before everything was gone.
There seems to be an interest in what it is like inside a psychiatric unit. So I thought I would write up some of my own experiences. I am neither for or against psychiatric hospitalisation. It serves some and damages others. So take from it what you will.
I can only really comment from a UK perspective within a localised area. I have been an inpatient seven times over the span of my life, both voluntarily and involuntarily. Either due to mania that becomes full-blown psychosis or depression that had me laying in my own piss starving to death. My longest stay lasted five months under a section. There is a world of difference between the two experiences. Later those experiences would drive me towards advocating for people detained under the mental health act. As a result, I have seen a lot, and have seen both the good, the bad, the ugly, and painfully absurd. I have seen abuses and amazing depths of kindness. Like any large system, you are at the mercy of who is working there and what dominant personalities are defining how the unit is run. The other patients on your ward at the time can also further define the experience.
There probably is no universal experience, other than maybe daytime tv, boredom, bland food, and the joys of waiting in the medication line. Beyond that, it is simply a lottery.
The Serengeti
The unit was mostly clean, comprised of two wards separated by a garden. It was a mixed ward but the patient rooms were separated by gender and existed in their own enclosed space. There were strict rules about patients not entering other peoples rooms. Near those rooms were the showers and toilets.
The thing I remember most about showering is just how tepid the water was and how cold the room itself was. If I was under observation it meant being stared at. Some nurses were courteous enough to turn their backs somewhat and read a book while the door was partially open. Others though would just stare at me like a zoo animal. It was an uncomfortable experience that further shrivelled my bits... There was also a bathroom, but it often wasn't clean enough to use because of the state other patients left it in.
There was a large T.V room with various chairs and sofas. The T.V was often stuck on one channel that you could request to have changed if people did not mind. Patients would often attempt to agree amongst themselves things to watch. It became pretty common to watch films in the evening and raid the overpriced snack machines with no healthy options available. Some people also chipped in for take away and it would be delivered to the hospital. These evenings were really comforting and something to look forward to. The only thing that could mar the experience was a patient kicking off in the TV room.
There were a few side rooms as well that generally ended up occupied consistently by various cliques of patients that had formed friendships, that played cards or borrowed other board games.
There was an art room. What was in there was very low-quality stuff, lots of things missing or damaged beyond being able to use effectively. Yep, there were indeed plenty of colouring books and puzzle books. As well as various board games, and some musical instruments and books of all sorts of variations, none of which were worth reading, but that is my opinion. That room though was only opened at certain times when it could be supervised.
The occupational therapist was a good bloke, he would play acoustic guitar and field requests and teach anyone interested how to play. He would create quizzes, and if a person felt like colouring in was too childish he would invite them to play scrabble or chess. I could see he was doing the best he could with what limited things were available. So there are good people within the system, it is not all bleak wasteland of nurse Ratchets from One flew over the cuckoo's nest. That is not to say though they don't exist in just as passive-aggressive tyrannical manner. Talking down to you like you are four and just pissed in their favourite vase. I will touch on that later.
There was a gym, not a very big one with only a few things but they were there and you could request access but you would have to wait for a member of staff that was trained to supervise and they would even take you through an exercise program.
There was a kitchen like area that had in it a large tank of hot water with a spout nozzle, used pretty much for hot drinks. But not so hot you could burn yourself on it. There were also fridges full of bread and that most dangerous of all conflict provoking things… milk! In a microcosm of people forced to live on top of each other needing access to tea, like starved vampires need access to blood. Milk was the start of world war three on multiple occasions causing inter ward disputes and the arrival of the police... People also seemed to like to decorate the ward with bread for reasons I can only likely attribute to chronic mind-numbing boredom!
There were other rooms as well used for various groups, but also for consulting with your psychiatrist when they did ward rounds.
At the time where I was there were various groups available split between occupational therapy type things and more cognitive behavioural therapies. There was even access to making pottery and having what you created fired in a kiln and sold to help the hospital. But there were also more practical classes that covered things like cooking, nutrition and sleep hygiene and how to stay on top of your medication regime. As well as various group therapies. Some centred on psychosis, or anger, or drug abuse. A lot of these groups over the years though have been cut and not replaced with anything. With an emphasis on drugging you and getting you out the door as soon as possible.
I had my own single room. There was not much in it but a wardrobe, bed, sink, mirror and a desk with some sort of puffy chair that did nothing for my back. The windows would only open a crack and looking down were hundreds of cigarette butts. The door had a rectangular window which meant any passing patient or staff could see in. I could always hear the sound of jangling keys and people moving through the corridors. Distant conversations punctuated by loud laughter or someone shouting obscenities at the nurses. Even at 3 am in the morning. There was a keycard lock which I kept on my person so no one could get in but other staff and the cleaners. So theft from my room never occurred. However, theft from out on the ward did.
There was a medical room, where they did a physical screening and took my blood and measurements and so forth. Beside that was a room where medication was dispensed at regular times throughout the day. You would pretty much line up and wait. The slow shuffle of people going in through the door and hearing every conversation about thrush cream and terrible nurses joke.
The dining room was not overly interesting just had tables and chairs and a cutlery tray and stacks of plastic plates. Food would often be the dominant thought on the ward because it broke up the monotony of the day. I think Gordon Ramsay would have likely come in screaming, demanding an explanation for what is this shit you are serving? Then less than politely inform everyone he would not even feed it to his dog.
The food basically came out in these preheated trolleys. There were various options. There were vegetarian and vegan options as well. However, what a food thing was called, versus what they looked like made you question if they had been labelled correctly. It did not matter what I chose. It all tasted bland. The reason for that though is some people can't have salt or sugar or don't like spices so it pretty much simpler to give everyone something bland and just about edible. In future excursions inside I made sure to take with me various spices and seasoning. There was also a fruit bowl that would be filled. It would not last ten minutes before everything was gone.
