Hopefully, August will be a good month. July sucked the breath out of me. The past week has been a bit difficult. I feel like I am living in the movie “A Beautiful Mind”. My Russell Crowe has had a meltdown. I have never experienced something like this in my life. My family may have screaming fits, smoke a couple packs of cigarettes, drink a few bottles of booze (or a couple 6 packs of beer), swear like a sailor/trucker/biker, but there is no history of breakdowns. We release the tension and the pent-up emotions daily. We have pressure release valves attached to our throats and when we bitch, that is the pressure releasing. My Hubby’s family arrived on planet Earth without that much needed piece of equipment, the pressure release valve. You do the math.
Tuesday, Hubby was sent home from work at 1pm. He was a shaking mess. Things went down hill from there. His lack of sleep, nightmares, and day to day challenges finally caused a melt down. He took the blunt end of his insanity and clubbed my head with it. He accused me of cheating on him with a mutual friend, (which did NOT happen), he screamed at me, curled up fetal position on the bed crying. I do not know who this man is that replaced my husband. I had to talk him into allowing me to bring my mother over to help me deal with this. Between the two of us, we talked him into going to the emergency room. He would go the next morning. So, Wednesday, he laid in bed crying, head plagued with paranoid thoughts, agreed to leave for the hospital. After spending the entire day there, emergency room doctor checking his vitals, he was told that it was a nervous breakdown. His brain has created fictional conclusions to his basic fears, me leaving him. He was prescribed 6 sleeping pills and sent home because 1) no physical threat to himself, 2) no physical threat to me, 3) no physical threat to society. We went home. He snapped out of his catatonic condition and was a bit relaxed. The evening went well.
The next morning had a few minor earthquakes with him, nothing that can’t be seen as bad until the evening hit. He had a panic attack because I did a load of laundry. After that it went further down hill. He threw a child like tantrum when my mother called in the evening. He was caught by me, eavesdropping on my conversation with my mother. I was bitching about my fears, the fact that things were bad, I felt like a prisoner in my own home. She was extremely supportive and comforting the entire time. I walked out of my office to witness Hubby running to hang up the phone. I didn’t care at that point whether he was or wasn’t, he had to know that he needed to seek more help, that he needs medication. Then he runs into the bedroom with arms flailing, yelling again, Why can’t I trust you? I hung up the phone and told him to get on medication. He needs to get more help. I can’t help him if he isn’t going to help himself. (Hubby has a serious issue with unnatural foods, medication and doctors.)
The next morning (Friday), we left for his appointment at the mental health clinic (provided with the prescription of 6 sleeping pills from the hospital). The receptionist was a bitch. After proving that we have insurance, filling out a stack of photocopied forms, we were sent to the councilor for in-processing. A nice lady who asked Hubby a bunch of questions. She seemed to focus on the notion that he couldn’t separate fact from fiction. I was too exhausted to really comprehend what was going on. I agreed that he was accusing me of cheating due to an irrational dream, but totally clueless of what she was really doing. With her associate degree on the wall, she started the ball bouncing toward classifying him as Schizophrenic. I asked for some type of medication to help him relax and calm his mind. She agreed with me that he needed medication. She ran out of the room to find someone to write him out a prescription. Upon her arrival, she informed us that all the doctors were gone for the day (11:30 am). We would have to go to the hospital, health centre near our home, or our primary physician. I was in shock. She wrote out an appointment and I asked her to write on the back of the card what was recommended so I could present it to the doctor. By the time I arrived up to the receptionist, who wanted more insurance information, I snapped. I said in a raised voice (not screaming) that they seemed more worried about money than making sure a person wasn’t walking out of that place without treatment. That I would have him home with me until next Wednesday without any kind of medication. I informed her that they are refusing medical treatment to someone in need and that I will be writing my congressman/woman about this situation and their failures. I told them that IF I bashed him in the head with a club, only then would he receive the help that he needed. I proclaimed that there is a man who desperately needs medical treatment and both the mental health centre and the hospital have refused to treat him. I told her that it was against the law to refuse treatment. I walked out in total frustration and glassy eyed. (I still haven’t had a good cry over this.) I took him home.
When we arrived home, I set forth calling our primary care provider. When I was placed through to the answering service, I left a message and knew to take him to the Health Centre otherwise we would be going through all weekend without any medication and his condition worsening. He was refusing to go until I told him to get the hell out of the bed NOW. At the health centre, a doctor there called the Mental Health Centre and was summarized on her assessment. That Associate Degree wielding woman’s conclusion of Schizophrenia must have made her day. She slayed the elephant with a boomerang. The doctor prescribed Risperidone, an anti-psychotic drug. We had to run to the hospital afterward for blood to be taken, then the pharmacy for the medication. While running around to all the places, it dawned on me that no one gave us a diagnosis. The receptionist at the hospital requested a diagnosis and I said nervous breakdown. She had a puzzled look on her face.
When we arrived back home, now being 5pm, Hubby went straight to bed after taking new medication. I played noisy Nanny on the computer. Typed in the drug through Google, up popped “for treatment for Schizophrenia”. They slayed the mouse with a nuclear bomb. Cheerio! for them, now they are heroes. I am not really sure if he does or does not have schizophrenia. I am NOT a doctor. I am not a psychologist, but nor or they. Today is Sunday and I have summarized all that has been going on since Tuesday. The medication has quieted the paranoia thoughts. He did have a small breakdown yesterday (Saturday)when I went with my brother to the dump to dispose of the trash. (A much needed to be done chore.) The rest of the day and evening we had a wonderful time. My real Husband and best friend came back once again. We worked on a puzzle all through the afternoon into evening proving to him that we work wonderfully together as a team. Hopefully I can go to work tomorrow without any incidents. I may have to have him tag along and sit by the lake reading a book while I tend to Chicken Little’s little earthquakes. Thankfully, my boss is an exceptional man with a tremendous amount of compassion. He will be most accommodating in this request. With Hubby starting to relax I will call Chicken Little and update him on what is going on. No one has heard from me since Wednesday, I phoned a few primary friends and family to inform them of what the situation was and my boss was included on that list. With Hubby wanting secrecy, I wasn’t able to use the phone without being followed or eavesdropped. (The paranoia created monsters everywhere.)
I will update often with our developments. Seems like 2004 has been a real roller coaster ride. To all of you who are under the same highs and lows, I send love and light. If we all stick together for support, maybe this year will end on a high note.
The eternal optimist…..and seeking a good psychologist……Bogo