One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Next

"Don't sass me bro - I will 302 you!"

When I was a child, I had a tooth removed by an oral surgeon who's performance was less than stellar. I walked out of that office in severe pain, crying hysterically and covered in blood. That day, I vowed to never go to the dentist again because I was so damn traumatized. Since I still have my teeth (and they are in relatively ok shape) it is obvious that I broke that vow to myself. However, when I was ready to give dental medicine another shot, I selected was a wonderful, friendly, patient, and gentle woman who has never made me cry. She also gives out fancy dental floss after every cleaning (screw that waxed string nonsense that snags and gets stuck in your teeth). 

Moral: One should not allow one miserable, isolated experience set the tone for similar future experiences. Don't pass final judgement until you have tried something at least twice.

*****

As a basis for comparison, I would like to provide a snapshot of my stay in the *Mental Institution ™ before I describe my treatment at Allegheny General. 

Those of you who have met me IRL know that I have never stayed overnight in a hospital prior to my admission to the Mental Institution ™. Due to some Issues I was having, some friends suggested (as far as a 302 can be considered a suggestion) that I take some time off for intensive inpatient treatment. As such, I stayed in a facility for 5 days beginning April 8, 2013. 

When I walked into the psych facility for the first time, I was convinced that I fell through a rabbit hole and Alice would show up at any moment offering me a cup of tea. That may have been the psychosis talking, but even a "normal", well-adjusted  person would agree that this place was weird as shit. A quick survey of the main room showed a gentleman standing in a corner banging his head over and over and over and over again. From a room down the hall, a woman was screaming as loud as a human can scream regarding whores, the devil, and a cousin who wronged her 27 years ago. 

The overarching thought in my mind was, "Damn! My friends must reeeeeeallllllly think I am crazy to send me here!" 

Luckily, I arrived shortly before the 10:00 pm "lights out" mandate. A good night's sleep would refresh me enough to be able to mingle in the morning. Unfortunately for me, my roommate enjoyed standing directly above my bed, asking me random questions (have you ever put mustard in corn?) until I explain that sleep is important and I needed a lot of it. 

We were provided the luxury of meeting with the doctor each morning. This was the first thing I did on the first morning I was there. Before I say what I am going to say, here is a disclaimer: I have the utmost respect for anyone in the medical field. They have to retain so much knowledge, handle difficult patients (like me), and clean up bodily fluids that I don't even want to believe exist. The psychiatrist who was handling my case in the psych ward, however, was an absolute idiot. I will leave it at that because that could be a whole separate blog. (Maybe look for a spinoff someday?)

In a psych facility, you cannot expect much privacy because someone checks on you every 15 minutes to ensure that you haven't made a shank out of a plastic spoon. Ironically, this actually happened while I was institutionalized. Perhaps they could have watched the individuals with a history of violence a bit more closely, rather than walking in on me while I was pooping. Just a thought. 

Due to my optimistic nature, I always try to find some good in any situation. While the staff was unprofessional, the food inedible, and the environment was frightening at times, the other patients were some of the loveliest people I have ever met. My private conversations with the other patients were far more helpful than any conversation with the doctor or group therapy session. I met many bright, kind, insightful people who were simply going through hard times in their lives. These conversations alone were worth five days of my life. 

*****

When the emergency room doctor told me that I had to be admitted to the hospital for my pulmonary embolism, I definitely groaned in my mind and probably with my mouth, too. Since the psych hospital was the only other experience I could compare it to, my heart was so sad and I began to pity myself. Any second, they were going to take away my shoelaces, strip search me to look for "marks", and confiscate anything on my person that could provide even the slightest bit of amusement. 

Imagine my amazement when I was wheeled to my room, offered a turkey sandwich, and instructed on how to use the television! On a semi-lecherous note, the male nurse was like a tall glass of water on a hot August day. 

At that moment, I knew that I was really going to like it at AGH....

*The name of the mental facility has been redacted as there is a pending PA Department of Health investigation into some of their practices. I wonder who would initiate such a thing?!