The Long Version Part 2

By Monday I had decided that I really needed some help. I spent a good part of my work day researching company policy on leave of absence and short term disability coverage. I also informed my brother that I needed him to come help me. I was a mess. I discovered that to qualify for mental health disability I needed to be under the care of a Psychiatrist instead of just my normal doctor. I called around until I found one that could see me the next day and I requested a few days off work.

Going to shrink for the first time is a strange thing, or at least it was for me. I felt like people might be watching me or judging me in the waiting room. (I would never think less of someone that was seeing a mental health doctor, this is purely my own self-consciousness attacking myself. In fact, my doctor would probably know the clinical term for that.) There I was wondering if I should even be there. Was he going to just laugh me out of the office? And how do I even start to explain everything that has been going on? I filled out a little paperwork and then when it was my turn and the nice doctor asked me what was going on I burst out bawling in his office. Even though I believe this helped my case, it was not intentional. I told him about Dad and that I thought I needed some time off work. When he asked how long I said 2 to 3 weeks and he went with 3. Then I was handed another, much larger, stack of paperwork to fill out and sent back to the waiting room. After I left the office I sat in my car for about 30 minutes calling in to set up my leave of absence. They really make it difficult to take time off for mental health. It probably would have been easier to break my leg or something. Then I left and had to go over to the lab and get blood drawn. I suppose they want to know if there is a biological reason a person is crazy or if it really is all in their head. My tests all came back normal. That would make me a, uh, normal crazy person?

My official diagnosis was high anxiety and stress. I think the doctor over-compensated by placing me on an anti-depressant, sleeping pills, and Xanax for anxiety. I never took the sleeping pills because I'm scared that I won't wake up if I take those, but I started the other two. I broke both of them in half because I was also scared of the Xanax as I'm sure we have all heard the bad addiction stories about those. The anti-depressant ended up just making me sick as hell for the entire three and a half weeks I was taking it. I tried it at different times of day and different doses, but it didn't help. I was sick to my stomach and knocked out exhausted for most of those 3 weeks I was off work. I'm telling you, I know how to party! The Xanax seemed to be helpful though. I mentioned to the therapist (that I was also required to see to be off work) that I was still not able to sleep through the night because I would wake up with horrible chest pains and not able to breathe. I learned that I was having panic attacks in my sleep as well as the ones I already knew about when I was awake. As of now, I'm still not able to sleep through the night without a Xanax before bed. But even that doesn't help me to not be scared of sleeping. I stay awake until I literally can't anymore almost every night. I have horrible dreams that I won't even tell you about because they are so disturbing. Except for that one I had a few weeks ago when I was hanging out with LeVar Burton, he was lovely. :-)

Meanwhile, Brother came out to help me which I am really grateful for. We went to see Dad at the hospital a couple times. He didn't recognize Brother at first, which was really sad to see. He was still really out of it. After a bit he understood that his son was there and he was really happy to see him. Dad was still too messed up from the drug reactions to seem to care where he was, but he was happy too see us each day when we went to visit. After about 6 days the hospital was ready to release Dad, but we still had not been able to find a facility that would accept him due to his behavior issues from the first nursing home. The hospital tried to tell me that I was required to come pick him up and keep him in my care because I was the one that dropped him off there. A quick call to Adult Protective Services fixed them up on that option. APS informed them that they are required to find a suitable facility for him. Between myself, Brother and the social worker at the hospital I estimate that we called at least 30 nursing homes that all turned him down. Some because they were full, but mostly due to his records. There was a commitment hearing set up for the following Monday that would require Dad to go to court and if a suitable home had not been found he would be left in state custody and most likely be sent to a state hospital several hours away from me. Finally we found a place that would take him and he was moved on Friday evening.

We were very grateful that he would still be close by, but man oh man, this place was ghetto! It is an older facility that had not been well cared for, it was not clean and the people, with few exceptions, were horrible. Brother helped me get all his stuff moved in and set up for him, but sadly for me, he had to fly away back home to his own life. I tried really hard to be open-minded about the place and the staff. The director seemed nice at least. He gave me his cell number and told me to call anytime. I was worried after a week when I would call and ask about my Dad and the employees would respond with "Who is that?" Not long after he got there, I went to visit him one morning. I received a phone call that evening saying that they found Dad in the parking lot (This place allows residents outside whenever they want.) and he was trying to go in the street. He told the nurses that he was looking for me. Apparently he thought I was still there from earlier. They documented this as an escape attempt and moved him to the secured locked wing of the facility. This is where the really special people go, and I feel so sad for them. People are screaming all the time, I saw a guy peeing in the sink because he didn't want to go to the bathroom, and others just asked me for money every time they saw me. Dad told me he really didn't like it there and wanted me to take him home. Yeah, that sucked. When they moved Dad to the locked unit someone had the bright idea to put all his clothes into a large trash bag and leave it on the floor of his room. I complained for 4 days before I finally just put them away myself. The second time I called, the director of nursing actually told me that she had a busy job and just forgot that I had called before. But, it's okay because they were really sorry about it afterwards.

Shortly after he was moved he started to get more depressed and just wanted to sleep all the time. The day before I had to go back to work I went to visit and Dad told me that he hurt all over and couldn't get out of bed and thought he should go to the hospital. I informed the nurses who then in turn informed me that he had not been out of bed at all for 3 days! I asked if he could get some pain meds, but they thought it was a better idea just to send him to the ER. He was checked at the ER for blood clots in his legs and they discovered that he did have some arthritis in his knees, so they gave him pain meds and he was suddenly fine. Maybe I should be a doctor! After this episode, he has not been able to walk again on his own.

Please stay tuned for part 3 and hopefully the conclusion of the getting caught up stuff.

I would like to thank everyone for the kind comments you have left me. I really appreciate all the support I've received from you all. I feel bad that every time I post something I just get a flood of sympathy messages. I feel bad that I make you all feel bad. I wish I had more good news to share.