Day 323 – When Ellie left her happy home
When I went to university for the first time I left behind a very strong support network and really struggled with college life. Here my mother helps me out by telling how things were for her, letting her youngest daughter free in the big bad wide world.
When Ellie first went of to university she was really excited to be leaving home. and could not wait to start university life in Manchester. She was taking History with Politics mainly because she had a great History teacher at St Paul’s who had really inspired her. She had been practicing for this for years by playing a game with the Argos catalogue where we would give her an imaginary budget to fit out a flat and she would cut and paste the catalogue in the old fashioned way using scissors and pritt stick.
University life wasn’t what she was expecting and the course was not inspiring. Despite this she completed her work and by the time she decided that the course was not for her she was offered a place doing English starting the following September simply because the English Department Head said he preferred having students who worked at the subject.
She came home and worked and was all sorted for starting at Manchester in September. We as parents felt that the extra year would make the move easier.
The term started well and we hardly heard from her. But then one night when I was talking to her on the phone I could tell she was very sad and homesick. We went to visit her and it was obvious she was not happy. She loved the course but was finding that she was missing home. Gil decided that if I took the phone call from her she would cry so I got banned from talking to her. I could text or email as this didn’t have the same effect. It was not a good solution in the end as Gil would say I was out when she phoned and she cottoned on.
As soon as I picked the phone up she got upset. We rang the uni and asked for some advice to help her settle. One accommodation block was better than the others for students finding it hard to be away from home and we put her name down for a place there. It took a while but when she moved in the situation improved and before we knew it she was on the ents committee and contributing to the uni students newspaper.
Day 322 – Mummy to the rescue, part two
Daddy the hero
Next morning I waited and waited for the doctor and when I realised he was coming at the end of the morning surgery I started to get worried. I rang a friend and she said she would collect Catherine from play-school and hold on to her just in case. When Dr Pink arrived at the house I was relieved as he was our doctor and as soon as he examined her he said he wasn’t sure what it was but he definitely wanted her in hospital. Gil came up from work and drove us straight there. We arrived during handover which sounded to me like a lot of talk and I waited and waited.
Eventually a doctor sauntered towards us and then realised he had forgotten his stethoscope. It was so surreal. He sauntered back and I said I had sat up all night convinced that my child was going to die if I fell asleep and he said, ”Now,now”.
Finally he examined her, rang the bell and within minutes the bed was surrounded. They had great difficulty finding a vein as they had collapsed and I had to sign a form for emergency surgery. One of the reasons that it is hard to diagnose is that at first it concertinas in and out and it is only in the acute stage that the section of bowel sticks.
The surgery was successful and the surgeon came by and announced that they had whipped out her appendix “while we were in there.”
This finished me as I hadn’t a clue then that any surgery they perform in that area they remove the appendix in case of confusion later. One of the nurses explained it to me.
It was classed as a near miss at the doctors. Her Godmother, Sarah, was raging, but I was just glad that she was okay.
Another problem arose once Ellie was taken off the drip. The nurses tried every kind of milk formula and milk and soya milk with varying combinations of bottle shape and teat but she refused the lot. I had been breast feeding her up till then and the shock meant I could no longer do this. It was very upsetting for Gil and myself to see her so distressed and the staff started saying that she would have to have a naso gastric tube fitted.
I stayed in hospital with ellie and that evening when Gil came in after work he saw the extent of the problem and said the reason she kept refusing the bottle was that she knew I was there and that if I went home for the night and he stayed with her it might work that she would take the bottle from him.
I found it difficult to sleep that night and phoned the ward at 6 30 am. The Staff Nurse said that she held out till 3 in the morning and her Dad had carried her round all that time while trying the bottle. She said that she suddenly gave up the fight and drank the formula and they were now both fast asleep.
The staff were impressed with Gil’s logic and when I came in I was able to give her a bottle from that time onwards.
Day 321 – Mummy to the rescue
After Ellie’s first Christmas which we spent in Moville she developed an infection as we travelled back by ferry. I took her to the doctors the next morning and she was prescribed antibiotics for a chest infection. She was seven months old at the time.
A couple of days later I felt she was no better and took her back to the a different doctor as it was holiday time and was told to “give the medicine time to work”. Happy that she had been checked over I kept trying to get her to drink but to no avail. When Emma was born I bought a book by Dr Hugh Jolly which was supposed to provide the answer to any dilemma on child rearing. It had languished gathering dust ever since but I dug it out and read through the childhood illnesses section till I came to a description of a child with intussusception of the bowel. My instincts were sure that that was what was wrong and it said that the child needed immediate surgery. I phoned the doctors in the middle of the night and this was the time a doctor from your own surgery answered the phone.
I told him what I had read in the medical book and that I was very worried about how ill the baby was. He said “Is she your first?” This lit the touch paper and I replied that she was my third but even if she had been my first I was very sure that she was getting worse not better.
He came out and brought a colleague. He agreed she was very ill and that she had a severe gut infection but he did not think it was intussusception. He gave us some sachets of dioralite and said that our own doctor would come out and check her next morning. I sat up all night with her and tried to get her to have some fluids but she would not take anything.
Day 320 – The bad friend, lover, sister and daughter
Much of the feelings that are associated with depression have a tendency to stem from guilt. For myself whenever I am feeling low I focus on how much of a bad friend I have been to people, how much of a terrible girlfriend I have been in various relationships or what a bad sister or daughter I have been to my brother, my sister and my parents.
One of the wonderful things about my friends, which was particularly highlighted by the posts of Ms Monica Kenny and Ms Elly Keay is that they are warm of heart and filled with forgiveness. I have cancelled plans at a moments moment because I have been depressed, anxious or just unable to bear anybody’s company other than the boys. Though I am sure my friends have often been left angry and frustrated, especially when only an excuse of I am feeling unwell is given, never have they given up on me and turned their back when it w have been acceptable to do so.
The same applies to my family. Though I have missed birthdays and anniversaries and forgotten to do the duties of a sister and daughter by and large they are forgiving and forgetting.
With relationships things are not quite so clear-cut. There have been many others before the boy who could not cope with the constant dips of the depression and who have walked away when it got to hard. The same has been the case for the boy, things have been touch, but like one other before him he has always stuck it out and just waited upon the rising of the sun.
I feel for these boyfriends, my family and my friends because for years we have all of us, even myself, been in the dark about what it is that I suffer from so often. I hope that now, that in the future, my own insight into my illness will not only prevent further episodes of the crippling kind, but that it will help me to be more honest about what is wrong and why it is that plans have to be cancelled.
I have messed up more times than I care to count, and to all of you that stuck it out and even to those who could not, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your attempts at understanding and your ongoing forgiveness and compassion to a girl who so often fails and who will ever feel guilt over the ill that so often causes me to fall where I wished I could have stood tall.
Day 319 – The other Elly, part two
This is the second part of a guest post written by my good friend Elly, see Day 318 if you missed part one.
So the manic phase: It was scary and harrowing for all of us, it was very difficult to discern the truth of the situation while still being supportive of someone we all cared about so much. I’ve switched to the third person because two of the other girls we were at uni with were in constant contact with me during that period. The biggest shock for me was how quickly it all escalated, from slightly worrying to full blown terrifying. It was especially hard to know how to be supportive. The issue of mental illness vs physical illness was definitely a consideration at that stage. If it had been a physical problem I wouldn’t have thought twice about going to the hospital, it’s a known quantity, you just go, just be there. In the manic phase though going to see Ellie could have actually reinforced her belief that everyone at the hospital was out to get her. I distinctly remember having a conversation at the time were I said I just had no reference point for how to help, no awareness of the most appropriate course of action.
As Monica, Chris and Ellie’s mum have pointed out you just need to focus on the good times. There are so many, but some of my favourites come from the weekly brunches Ellie started holding on Saturdays that started out as civilised, bacon & eggs at 11.00am and then progressed to 3.00pm wine-guzzling ‘creative sessions’ where new religions were founded.
Day 318 – The other Elly, part one
Elly Keay is a wonderful woman who I met in my final year of university. She is a charmer, totally beautiful, intelligent, cosmopolitan, cultured and has a really cool name even if ome of her letters went missing.
I am proud to share a name with her and she has been kind enough to write me a blog and warm hearted enough to stick with our friendship even in times when it was tough and when I went awol. I hope you enjoy her posts which I have split into a two parter for your enjoyment.
I met Ellie in my final year of uni and we bonded instantly (no, seriously, in the space of a few hours spent not helping out on the English stall when I should have been we became instant and firm friends). While I was at uni with her it felt like I had a much better idea of what was going on because I was seeing her every day. She’s erratic at the best of times but that’s very much a part of her charm. I remember cooking her a lovely lunch only for her to turn up six hours later, demanding access to my shower and then dragging me out to see some upcoming bands.
She’s always created the impression of a fairly casual attitude to her illness (which at uni we thought was depression) which made it a lot easier to talk to her about it. By this I mean she has always talked about it as common knowledge and has never shied away from the fact that she is ill. I realise this was and is a superficial “front” and that though she talks about certain aspects of her illness openly other aspects, such as the suicide attempts, remained (until recently) undisclosed. Her willingness to talk about it though has made it a lot easier to be her friend because at least I can understand why she cancels on me at a moment’s notice rather than taking it as a personal insult.
We have been living in separate cities for almost 4 years now. I’ve never been good at keeping in contact with people but staying in touch with Ellie has been particularly hard. I think there was a stage when we hadn’t seen each other for over a year and probably only exchanged a few texts. When you can’t just show up at someone’s house when they are screening your calls and messages it is very hard to see a future in the friendship. I remember coming to a point where I actually wondered whether it was worth persevering. Ellie’s blog has been a huge insight for me, reading about the day to day issues of coping has really helped to get a better understanding of what she’s going through and why she doesn’t answer calls or messages (or indeed claims not to be technologically able enough to do so!)
Day 317 – The standard smash a’ mash at Stretton
The reason I suspect that I was somewhat high when I first arrived at the ward was not because of the attempted hospital closure, the fact that I used the c word when telling a nurse where she could put her tablets, and, neither was it because I was dressed like a lady of the night rather than a person in pajamas, the reason I know that I was manic is because for three weeks every hospital meal that passed my mouth was met with great applause.
The food at Stretton is not as bad as the hospital food of yesteryear in that it is technically hot and has vegetables. Most of the food however, any day or meal of the week, is made up of cheese, mushroom or mince, there is little deviation from this formula.
When I first came in I would have second helpings of it all and follow it up with snacks and sandwiches in the evening. When I came in during my depressive phase however I would all too often refuse the food and everything I ate was branded bland or inedible.
I can tell that I am much better now as though I no longer rave about the food neither do I reject it in favour of tea and coffee.
I cannot wait to get home and eat what I want and when, not long now fingers crossed.
Day 316 – Accident and emergency, A&E and me, part three
There have been other stints, nights and days spent in various A&E departments across the country but the final one that really sticks out to me was an evening spent in A&E not so long ago.
It was in July and I had arrived to see my GP in a right state, determined that my life was no longer worth living. She was a super star who immediately rang the crisis team and brought me into a room by myself where I searched the drawers for tablets with which to end it all.
By the time the crisis team said they could not come I had no choice but to take another visit to A&E, this time in Leicester. My baby brother drove me there in the car where I checked in with a friendly porter.
We finally saw a psych at about three hours after arrival and by now it was 9pm and I hadn’t slept for three nights. The psych decided that it would after all be a good idea for me to stay in hospital. My sister and brother had returned to keep me company and my sister’s partner even brought along a pack of cards and various sweet treats to cheer me up.
They got us a bed off the humdrum of A&E but we were next to a man who had been brought in by the police who kept kicking off and threatening to kill himself and or anyone else around. It was not the most peaceful environment but with my siblings at my side it seemed somewhat less intimidating.
In the end it was 2am in the morning before we saw the crisis team and by this time I was tired and angry. we had waited for hours, with me becoming more and more anxious, and when they came their questions about anxiety and sleep deprivation seemed laughable.
In the end my sister took the reins and decided that the best thing to do was not to enter hospital but to stay with her. I am grateful because after a good nights sleep I woke feeling much more positive and a day with her gardening and cooking was equal to any day spent in the Brandon Unit and more.
Day 315 – Accident and Emergency, A&E and me, part two
The second time A&E became more familiar to me was after a particularly manic episode where I ended up there wearing a golden glitter dress with slits up the side and my passport in my pocket.
It was in Manchester Royal Infirmary and I was totally convinced that what I needed to do was get the hell away from all my friends and family and set sail to gay Paris.
The doctors there were excellent, putting me in a private room while I waited to be seen because I was terrified of other people. We waited for hours and after being there for half a day they finally decided to check me in at one of the mental hospitals on their grounds.
I had not slept for days and was completely high, this was years before the diagnosis of bipolar and the high was blamed completely on the antidepressant tablets that I had been taken. The boy, bless his heart was exhausted after nearly a month of trying to keep me sane and staying awake all through the nights through which I refused to settle down.
They took me to the hospital in a taxi and there I was placed in a private room which the boy was very impressed with. At the time I had just been fired from McClelland Publishing where I had worked as an events manager. Ironically the magazine that I worked with was called Sustain and I remember the doctors saying that the situation with my mental health was unsustainable. It seemed hilarious that they were asking me whether I could work and what I did being that only a few months before I had put on an awards ceremony for more than 400 people for their title publication OSC which specialised in off site construction.
The boy was impressed because the room they gave me at 9pm at night was bigger than both of ours put together. When we arrived there I was totally terrified, without clothing and with only the boy to hold my hand. He had not wanted to tell anyone else how bad I was as the poor poppet felt that it was all his fault that he could not fix me.
I was terrified in there, totally terrified and though I did not sleep all through the night I woke with a start to find myself in an unfamiliar place, with nobody around me that I felt I could trust. In all fairness to the boy he really came through, bringing me in a teddy and some pajamas but I still felt extremely alone.
The next day I saw a psych consultant and explained to him my situation. they were all set to let me go until another psych became involved, who excusing my French was a total bastard. He saw the size of me and seemed to decide that I was anorexic and when I cried and the boy came to hold me he told him not to.
They asked all kinds of questions and seemed to think it was unimaginable that I had got a degree and ever had a normal relationship. I could have been kept there, and in some ways I wonder whether that would have been for the best but thankfully the Polish Princess and the boy’s dad came through and got me out.
They drove for miles to break me out and got me to partake in a mass exodus from the place insisting that I would be better off at home with them. I will be eternally grateful to them both for breaking me free as though A&E had done all they could I trusted nobody apart from them and needed help to break free from what I perceived as a prison.
Tune in tomorrow for more A&E adventures.
Day 314 – Accident and emergency, A&E and me, part one
There was a time a long time ago when I had never been to A&E other than to bring in a boyfriend who had broken his leg in a motorbike accident. That was more than six years ago now. These years, A&E is a familiar place for me. Since the time of the accident I have probably been there more times than I care to count, and every one of those times but one, of which I am not yet able to talk of, were crazy girl related.
Over the years, the emergency room has become a familiar place to me. Though there is always a wait the staff there generally are phenomenally good at the role that they do. The first time I had to go to A&E for head poorly was a few years ago after a spell of depression and anxiety that had lasted for a month. There was a Polish doctor on that day, which delighted the Polish Princess who had taken me there.
We arrived with a bag of bits just in case after I admitted that I was completely suicidal and that all I could think about was ending it all or getting on a plane and flying far away. The Polish psych was amazing, the poor thing sat there and listened while I ranted on about all of my troubles and cried like a child who is lacking sleep and milk.
The talking was the thing that helped the most, I hadn’t really spoke about how I was feeling to anyone and sleep had alluded me for what felt like months but was probably only weeks. The Polish psych gave me some Valium, child size, as I had lost so much weight to give me a bit of a help to get some sleep.
The boy will no doubt remember this time as he was sitting up with me all through the night and trying to soothe me, bath me, massage me and just generally talk me to sleep. None of it worked until the diazepam was prescribed. I stayed awake again for hours, until 3am when I wondered downstairs and curled myself into his arms.
“I’m still not tired,” I said, crying like a babe in arms. Five minutes later I was asleep and the boy had to lead me by the hand upstairs to lie down. The next morning I felt better thanks to the sleep and the aid of the psych. That was my first experience of a psych and it was a decidedly pleasant one.
