Being admitted to the hospital was probably one of the most unnerving things I have ever done in my life.  I was allowed to take three outfits, pajamas, & my cell phone.  I packed my journal, toiletries, & stuck pictures of my boys in the pages between my Diana Gabaldon novel.  Nate & I tried to keep the conversation light as we drove to the hospital that Monday morning, but it felt like this damp, cloying pressure was squeezing us inside-out.  Nate stayed with me the entire day, helping me get settled & meet the nurses.  There was blood work & a parade of doctors & a bed that never stopped making noise (weird thing about hospitals?  pressure beds!  they routinely blow up & deflate so you don’t get bed sores).  I know one of the hardest things my husband has ever done was to leave me that night — I know he didn’t want to.  We were scared, of both the hospital & me.

There is a sweet little old lady that stubbornly paces the halls, with nowhere to go, nowhere to turn, & nobody that understands.  But I think I now how she feels.  ~note in my journal

The first night was restless. I missed my boys.  I missed the warmth of my husband beside me at night.  I missed knowing that my son was only one room away.  It felt like a hallow ache that would never feel whole again.  I woke up the next morning, cold & groggy, with a nurse checking my temperature & blood pressure.  She urged me to take a shower & promised that when I came out, I’d have a hot breakfast waiting.  I tried desperately to block out the sounds of crying babies while I showered – after all, my purpose here was to get better.  The towels were scratchy & tiny, but I came out to a steaming cup of coffee & eggs & pancakes.

p.s.  hospital food really isn’t that bad.  so it had that going for it.  in fact, it inspired me at the time:

The parade of doctors, therapists, & nurses was constant.  I met every morning with my team of doctors.  Immediately, they put me on an anti-psychotic medication & cut my antidepressant dose.  (I learned that one of the side-effects of being on too high a dose of antidepressants can be hallucinations.  hello, demon babies.)  I met with an occupational therapist, who worked with me on goals & triggers & expectations.  I chose not to attend group sessions, since I was the only postpartum patient there, but it was freeing to have that choice.  After lunch, I met with my recreational therapist, who walked the grounds with me, talked about stress relievers, & helped identify things that brought me joy.  Those were few & far between to think of.  & then the doctors…again.

& I saw Harrison.  The greatest part of UNC’s program is the focus on the bond between mother & child.  I saw Harrison every day – The Momma would bring him by after his morning nap & we would sit on the floor in my room & play.  I would work hard on re-learning to respond to him, & nurses & therapists were always close by to gently coach.  As the week went by, I became more comfortable with him & even watched him crawl for the first time across my hospital floor.  I am forever grateful that I caught that milestone at a time when I needed more assurance than ever. The best practice came when it was time for a bottle, & I could sit in my room’s glider, close my eyes, & try to rediscover the joy of my child.   & after every visit, a doctor would come in to discuss how I felt.  & I would cry.

I cried because I loved my son, but I didn’t feel like I knew him or deserved him.  I cried for everything I missed.  I cried for what Harrison missed.  I cried for Nate & the burden he now carried as a husband & father.  I cried for the terror that I lived through.  I cried for being shut between cold hospital walls, & a hospital bracelet that read “Psychiatry.”

At night, Nate would come by after putting Harrison to bed at my parent’s house.  We’d sit in my room & talk or sign out for an hour to go grab a Starbucks in the lobby (yep! I could go off the floor for an hour each day).  He would talk to me about Harrison’s bath, about his work day, about what was happening outside of the hospital walls.  My husband?  He is a rock.  & a saint.  After he left, my little room in the hospital became lifeless.  I would journal, read, or simply flip through pictures on my phone.  I texted with girlfriends.  They offered reassurance & unconditional love & loyalty.

You are worth the effort you are giving yourself. ~a text from my friend Mandi

& somehow, I fell asleep to the buzz of the nurses station.

I thought I would sleep more.  The program is even intended to let mother’s sleep as part of the healing process, but I found it near impossible between the medications & environment.  The main reason to admit someone into the hospital is to quickly change & stabilize medication in a way that cannot be done without close medical supervision.  In five days, they pulled me down to a level of Celexa that took ten weeks to build up to.  The withdrawal from the antidepressant was terrible.  Awful.  A headache that felt like it was splitting my center in half.  Nausea that had me rolling in the bed, moaning for some relief.  Night sweats that turned into violent cold shakes.

But it was worth it, in the end.  Because we found an amazing combination of medications that has helped make me whole again.

& there were, of course, some really notable things about a psych ward.

• They check on you every 15-20 minutes.  Not for medical reasons, but to simply peek in & say “hi.”  I get it, but it’s still really creepy.
• They put a weird “piddle pad” in the bed that is surprisingly soft.  I guess patients pee themselves?  (umm..not this one)
• No lamps or televisions.  Because they have cords.  That you might use to..strangle yourself?
• No cords = phone charging occurs behind the nurses station.
• Faucets & showers are on timers.  Scrub fast.
• There are no pens.  Only markers.  & tiny pencils with no erasers.
• & you can’t keep your bag in your room.  Because it has a handle.  & you might..strangle yourself?
• No hairdryers, curlers, straighteners, etc.  Which is why everyone looks crazier & like they took a dip in Albert Einstein’s hair care regime.
• There is a constant supply of ice cream in the day room freezer.  & apple juice.
• Someone has to watch you shave.  Even your box.  So you either hand over your dignity or look like a Sasquatch.

That was probably one of the hardest moments – shaving in front of a nurse in the shower.  Knowing that I was not trusted with a razor & that with all the privileges handed to me as a postpartum patient, I was still there for psychiatry.  & realizing that I needed to shave because I had to be there longer than just a handful of days.

But being in the hospital changed my life.  I don’t know where I would be if I had not gone in – possibly still in the depths of despair?  Still overmedicated on the wrong medication?  Still searching for answers & hope?  Would I have gone even further out of control & hurt myself or my family?  I am terrified to think of what could have happened, so I simply cling to what is & the fight we all fought together.

& the light that I feel now.

For more information on the program, please visit here & here.  & an amazing article on the program.  Far more information than I could ever convey on here.