Failure in Care Systems

How many tragedies need to happen before the NHS realise that its care services for mental health patients are far below satisfactory?

A man suffering from paranoia and schizophrenia stabbed a 25 year old mother in 2006 and today evidence has been shown that a number of failing in his care could’ve prevented this tragedy. The report (http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/humber/8034521.stm) found that his condition was under treated and not effectively managed. He had even been assessed two days before the stabbing.

I, someone who has seen firsthand the failures in mental health treatment here, am not surprised in the slightest by the findings. My story, albeit not as extreme as this one, shows a number of failings and has led to many preventable suicidal moments.

Let’s start when I was hospitalised after my overdose in February. My answer to the question “If you had more painkillers on you, would you have taken them?” was “Almost certainly”. This led for the doctors to call for a proper psychiatric assessment which I had later that week. All good so far but this is where it starts to go downhill. The psychologist asked for an appointment at North End House, a mental health care unit where I could get long term treatment in terms of therapy, counselling, CBT, etc. After two weeks I still hadn’t heard anything. My GP sent a letter asking them again to make an appointment with me. I was still very suicidal and after a talk with my university tutor, he sent me for an emergency appointment with another doctor as it was obvious I was close to doing something very stupid. That doctor phoned and sent another letter to North End House asking what the hell they were playing at and low and behold a few days later I’m told that I have an appointment in a week or so. A full month after my overdose.

The appointment turned out to be another assessment and I yet again went through the ins and outs of my life, the whys and hows of February’s event. It was coming up to Easter at this point and I would be on my own in my house for a 4 weeks or so. I mentioned this, stating that I felt very vulnerable about it and would appreciate some extra support. The woman agreed and said they would get in contact soon. 4 weeks later. Nothing. I hadn’t heard anything from them over Easter and to this day I still don’t know how I got through it in one piece. It takes another week and THREE different doctors to finally get me an appointment. I get a half hearted apology saying that there had been some changes and my file must’ve slipped through the net.

Finally I was assigned someone and she is meant to be in charge of all my care. After a few late night phone calls to my crisis team (the only thing that’s actually a positive in the care system) and them assuring me that my care woman would phone the next day, it takes a week before she phones, the day before our appointment. During the first appointment she then leaves early saying that there has been an ‘emergency’. I was completely lost for the rest of the day. This was during my bad week (see previous posts) and I desperately needed some sort of support.

This week she is currently sunbathing in Portugal. Fair enough, I can forgive that, everyone needs a break, but I have been assigned no one as a backup. I feel failed, a burden that people can’t be bothered to look out for. More dangerously, I feel the need to prove that the system is failing. I want to make them feel guilty about how they treat people. My head is full of these dark, selfish, stupid thoughts at the worst possible time. I only hope, for their sakes as well as mine that I’m able to compose myself and keep these thoughts locked away because something needs to change. I can see plenty more tragedies to come is things carry on the way they are.

I Can't Go On

I am really struggling right now. Really struggling. It feels like a skeletal hand has gripped my pathetic heart and is squeezing it until it causes bitter tears to mark my cheeks. Add to that the overwhelming feeling of hopelessness and loneliness, multiply the feeling by about 46.2 and you get an idea of how I’m feeling.

I’m really worried that I may do something and yet I can’t bring myself to phone the crisis team. I’m on my own, enough alcohol in the house to knock me out, sleeping tablets and razors. And writing this is just working me up into a panic. I know I’m going to work myself up so badly soon that I won’t be able to stop myself from doing anything. That is how it works, that is how it always works. I go into some kind of blinkered state where all I can think about is harming myself and I HAVE to do it. I can’t stop myself, I watch my body do the things it does and I have no control.

I know I need to phone. My mobile is on the table next to me yet there feels like there is some force stopping me from picking it up. I just can’t do it.

I’m wishing for someone to ring, someone to stop me but it won’t happen. It’s almost 1AM here, no one rings me at this time, no one will read this in time.

I’m scared.

Please. Anyone. I need someone right now.

Numbing the Pain

Last night, I am ashamed to say, I resorted to drinking. Ever since my overdose two months ago I cut out all alcoholic beverages from my life. One, because I felt that I needed to show my housemates that I was making an effort to recover and two, I hoped it would cause my medication to finally work. My housemates never knew about my depression until my attempt in February. I have had many years of practice in hiding it but even my skills couldn’t hide an ambulance outside the house. They reacted very badly to say the least and phrases such as “You’re burdening so-and-so” and “You need to think of others” and my personal favourite “You’re not even trying, you need to try harder” were going amongst the ranks faster than a labour party email. I thought that if I cut out alcohol all together they would see how much I was trying. Don’t think it worked.

Yesterday things just got too much and I found myself drinking the little alcohol in the house before taking a trip to the shops and buying some more. I feel like a failure. I am a failure. I lasted two meagre months. And now, the numbing effect of drink seems appealing once again. I always knew that once I cracked I wouldn’t be able to control myself and now I’m afraid of what I may do. I’m on my own, no one nearby to stop me. I need to distract myself and it really isn’t working. I just need to last till tomorrow. I have an appointment with my doctor in the morning, I just have to last till then. 14 hours, 5 minutes.

Shit.

Sleep, Don't Weep

I hate this. I’ve lost count of the days since I last had a decent sleep. I’ve spent the day walking the forest paths of Kielder, the fresh air and activity, combined with the lack of sleep the night before, driving me to exhaustion and guess what? I can’t sleep. My head is aching. Actually, scrap that, my whole body is aching and right now, more than anything, I just want a few hours of deep, fulfilled, uninterrupted rest.

Of course my doctor knows all about my weeks of insomnia and gave the very encouraging advice of “try not to sleep during the day, keep active, and I’m sure you’ll break out of it”. This was after he said that he’d love to give me sleeping tablets but unfortunately he just can’t. Apparently it must say on my file “Unstable patient. Recent history of overdosing. Do not prescribe sleeping tablets at all costs even if it means the patient goes weeks without decent sleep and ends up looking like death warmed up.”

Of course I can see why he can’t prescribe me the things but something more than "I'm sure you'll break out of it" would’ve been nice. I’m going out of my mind at the moment. Honestly, how I didn’t end up walking into a tree earlier is beyond me. I think my doctor is just relieved that whilst I’m like this I just haven’t got the energy to act on any thoughts I may have or to work myself up into a dangerous state of mind. Of course over the past few weeks I have felt pretty shit in respect to my emotional state but I’m just too damn tired to bother about it. Danger is I drive myself so crazy with my miserable sleep patterns that I sneak far too close to the border of breakdown country and all the pent-up depressiveness sucks me in so deep that I end up doing something incredibly stupid.

I don’t know. I honestly don’t know what to do anymore. I guess I should go try and get some sleep...again. Doesn’t help that my brother is coming up to visit tomorrow, early, and I have to get up to meet him. Be surprised if he recognises me in the state I’m in. Oh well.