Doctor's call

After we met with the O.T. lady another social worker came in to talk to us. I honestly couldn't remember what we talked about because I was nervous about seeing the doctor. I put too much emphasis on what he would diagnose me with, that I couldn't concentrate. That is another thing depression robs you of. It takes so much energy and effort to concentrate that it almost becomes impossible.
After group, an older man came walking in the activity room. He was sweating profusely and ghostly white. Later I learned his name was Benny and he just came in on a bender. I learned that most of the people on the unit were alcoholics or addicts. I was the only "young" one on the unit without an addiction. It didn't really matter why you were there to the other patients and the staff. Depression is depression and it doesn't matter how or why you were there. The goal was the same for each of us to be stable, have positive coping skills, be put on medication and have a follow up plan (counseling) so we didn't relapse. Most importantly you couldn't have any thoughts of harming yourself or a plan in order to be discharged. The doctor had to be 100% convinced you were stable or he/she could order a 24 hour hold on you.
Since I was admitted voluntarily, I knew in the back of my mind I could leave at anytime. Some of the patients were ordered on a police hold to stay for a certain length of time. Most of the time it was one week.
I went to my room to take a shower and there was a knock on my door. It was the nurse telling me the doctor was ready to see me. I hurried up and got dressed. I walked down to the same little room where I was admitted.
 I met with a psychiatrist who I will call Dr. P and a nurse. Dr. P looked at me and said, "I here you want to go home." I didn't know if this was trick question or what. So I replied hesitantly, "Yeah." Then he said, "I don't think that is a good idea. It will be 80% harder to do this at home without the support. You will feel better in a few days. I would like to keep you here until Sunday at the earliest." It was like getting kicked in the stomach by a horse. So far I was not impressed by Dr. P, but I didn't have a choice but to listen to him. I was also maybe a little skeptical of his wisdom because he was a man and this was clearly a woman issue, but I needed to trust him and let him help me.
He started asking me questions. I answered them honestly. He asked about the depression and when it started. He asked about my anxiety and my inability to sleep. Dr. P asked if I had any auditory hallucinations or visual hallucinations. I answered no. He asked if I had any period in my life when I felt I didn't need to sleep and I felt like a superhuman. I said no. He was trying to rule out bi-polar. He said bi-polar is over diagnosed right now by many psychiatrists. We talked about my family history and my lifestyle. Dr. P started to bash my husband. I looked at him and he told me that the nurses tell him everything in report. I didn't care for it, but many people were not happy with him so I wasn't surprised. My loyalty was to Phill and I knew the true story. He didn't just leave me. The timing wasn't ideal and I went through hell while he was gone, but that very thing was a blessing in disguise. If Phill was home, we may have continued to miss all of the signs and I would have gotten worse.
Dr. P asked what medication I was on and I told him. He asked me who prescribed it for me. I told him my O.B. did.  Dr. P told me that he wouldn't expect an O.B. to know what to prescribe, but that the medication I was on would have never worked.
He changed my medication to Celexa 20 mg and Ambien 10 mg. He also prescribed Thorazine 50 mg as needed for anxiety. He diagnosed me with postpartum depression and I was relieved that I wasn't completely insane.
I went back to my room to look over my large packet sitting on my desk. My room was totally bare except for two beds, a desk, and a little bathroom with a shower. Just then the phone in the hall rang. It was a free for all to get to the phone. I answered it and recognized the voice right away. It was Phill. I burst into tears. I sobbed into the phone, "Phill I am in a mental hospital!"