2--The Psychiatric Hospital

I don't remember my admission to the psychiatric hospital. Somehow, my money arrived at the hospital, but my purse did not. Being without my purse meant I had lost all my identification. My driver's license, my Social Security card, and my Medicare card were gone, and no longer in my possession. When you don't have a picture ID, you are basically a person with no identity. You can't cash a check, which means that the $400. that had been in my purse had to last me for a considerable amount of time. Luckily, there was nothing to buy at the psych hospital, Being a smoker in a non-smoking facility increased my stress level. However, Green Oaks provided a nicotine patch to help me cut my anxiety level. Not having a cigarette was more about stopping the physical habit of puffing and flicking. But I went without a smoke for two weeks.

The daily routine never changed. We had breakfast served from a portable dining cart. All the patients stood in line to get their trays plus any extra servings or condiments. After breakfast was a patient led meeting with information of different aspects with which the patients were dealing This was followed by lunch which was followed by dinner. The room had tables to hold four diners at a time. Who sat at which table was largely determined by who was in line for the trays first. Patients would get to know each other over mealtime conversation. There were some people who you didn't want to sit with. Observable symptoms did not disappear just because there was food involved. When one patient sat down to a table, she announced that she would not be speaking during the meal. She was aware that she was surrounded by people with mental problems, and that she didn't want to associate with people who were crazy. She tried to keep to herself all the time. During my stay with her I heard the "not associating with those who were crazy speech a number of times. I tried talking to her, but she would get a blank stare on her face and walk away. Those who were on heavy medication spent most of their time sleeping.

The middle of the room was set up for "line of site" patients. These patients posed a risk to themselves or others. The area was set up with four to eight recliners for those patients who were suicidal or otherwise in an offensive state of mind. I was moved to one of these reclining chairs with a blanket and pillow after I told the staff that I didn't feel like I had anything to live for. Despite my safe situation, I would have tried to end my life if there had been a way. These patients, me included, were sleeping most of the time. I was in this section for a week. It was easy to get in, but much harder to get out. The other patients in this area were only a few feet from me. My neighbor to the left was a heroin addict going through withdrawal and was in the hospital. When he finally came out of sleeping, three days later, I told him I had never slept with anybody for so long without seeing their face, and not knowing their name. We would talk briefly, then he would get a shot and quickly fall back to sleep. He was going into heroin withdrawal in a medically supervised manner. The patient to my right had Covid. He was a large fellow. He talked to himself in his sleep. He would say," Is this your final answer," and kept praying that certain people would be saved. His meaning was not plain to understand, but I liked listening to his voice. He had a deep voice like a preacher or Disc Jockey.

They took vital signs or a regular basis. One time my top blood pressure was 160. I remembered my mother's situation with her top number being180 and 200. I wanted an aspirin in case I was having a heart attack or stroke. I was wild for an aspirin. The nurses pointed out to me that I was making my blood pressure worse for all my screaming about getting an aspirin. They finally took me to the little glass enclosed room and gave me a butt shot. It was a combination of three meds that knocked the patient out. It could have knocked me unconscious, but one nurse told the shot giver to not give me so much that I would pass out. From what I had seen, everybody passed out, and after a few minutes they were back with the general population sleeping it off. Patients were no longer disruptive after getting a shot.

My doctor was not very helpful. In the two weeks and six sessions I only saw "my" doctor twice. The other four psychiatrist were of some help, but I never saw any of them twice. My doctor asked me a set of standard questions before I was released. One of the questions was "What do you have to live for?" I said the publication of my book. When I looked over the doctor's notes later, he had written that I had 'nothing to live for.' He was so absent and uninvolved that I never was able to correct his error.

A counselor from The Senior Source was in touch by phone keeping me up to date on my court doings and apartment packing. I had one hearing with the judge over the phone. She talked and she talked over me. Anytime I had something to say, she would start talking and I quit talking out of deference. What I had was more of a telling than a hearing.

The Senior Source employee was to later become my guardian. She made arrangements to pack up my apartment. I was planning to move from my apartment to a senior living community, I had problems with my legs giving out on me. When they gave out on me, I fell to the floor, leaving me with numerous bruises per week and several broken bones. I couldn't get myself up. My arms became as weak and worthless as my legs. I could be on the floor for hours. Once I was on the floor for three hours before I could get myself up. Another time I was on the floor for five hours, When the dog walker came, she was able to assist me getting to my bed.

I was living alone with two cats and a dog. They were no help in getting me up, although the dog laid on the floor by me. He was my moral support through all my falls. It seemed that living by myself, with my pets, was no longer an option. I had a 1400 square foot apartment that was full of furniture, books, albums, and clothes, I had been packing up for six weeks. The Senior Source employees packed the remaining articles and arranged for a moving company to haul my possessions to a storage room. They stopped on the way to the storage room and left as much furniture and boxes as would fit in my very small studio apartment where I resided after Green Oaks. My 1400 square foot apartment was vacated.

I left a horrible carpet. My dog was used to having an open door to go outside to do his business. He got the idea of the poop pads, but he always aimed at the edges, and missed the pad quite often. The bedroom carpet was more than stained with feces. The carpet would have to be pulled out and replaced after I moved out. I felt bad about it. My case worker said it was a health hazard. I avoided the problem by sleeping in another bedroom and getting a dog walking service.

I had a certified nursing assistant who helped me with paperwork and tasks like getting my license renewed and taking me to doctor appointments. I was set up with help before the guardian came into view, The Senior Source took care of helping me with things I couldn't handle on my own. My beautiful and loving black Lab named "Shadow" was rehomed. The shy cat "Miracle" hid out during the packing as was his daily way. When all the furniture and boxes were moved out, I was told that "Miracle" had been located. I never heard exactly what happened to him, but I have to believe he got a good home. I lost many a night of good sleep worrying that my little shy kitty had found a new good home. There was no information forthcoming to me.

The apartment was all packed up, and I was stuck in a room many miles away in Irving. I had a few of my possessions but as the days went on, I realized that there was stuff important to me that had gone to the storage room. The word from my guardian was that the judge would allow payment of the storage room rental till the following November. I had every reason to believe that I would be in a senior living apartment long before then, but I wasn't.

Continued "3--Frank as a Roommate"