If I hadn't have laughed

I would have bawled me eyes out.

Went to visit Dad in the 'improved' local acute unit. The manager, in a conversation earlier in the day, said I would find positive changes in the place. Hmmmm...

I tried....I really did.... to spot the positive changes but they weren't there. I saw lots of signs such as 'The West Wing'. I was neither thrilled or upset by those but the initial approach on arriving there of 15 feet wire fences and barriers started to give me the heebies. I had to remind myself that I wasn't entering a high secure unit.

Dr J and I were informed on arrival that we had to sign in. Fair enough but when I asked to borrow a pen, the receptionist looked at me like I was a piece of shit. I think that goes with the job!!

We were then ushered into a side room and asked to wait for Dad. It was a pretty humid day and it felt like being in a sauna.

Dad was ushered in. For the love of all things sacred, I nearly wept. He was even more debilitated than I imaged. I can't explain it properly and won't attempt to. I grabbed Dr J's hand and rallied best as. We did manage to get through his mail (which he had asked me to bring from home) but he seemed disorientated and distracted. He kept asking for a tonic to pick him up. If only it was that simple. he wouldn't be in that place.

I kept thinking I was going to faint. I was sweating profusely and whereas Dad's blood pressure (which the nurse took 3 times due to him saying he felt so weak) seemed dangeroulsy low to me, I felt mine go through the ceiling.

There were communication issues (understatement)...the staff nurse had a strong African accent and my father is very hard of hearing. I ended up playing intepreter. When the option of PRN came up...I had to explain to Dad what PRN meant and the nurse asked me if Dad had a hearing problem. Er yes and no he wasn't just being rude or evasive. At one point Dad got aggi and started pacing but then got dizzy so I held him and sat him back down.

Due to heat in room and Dad getting aggi, I suggested we go into the garden area to get some fresh air. I asked the nurse and was told that Dad could go but visitors were not allowed. For fekk sake. Since when did units become even more like prisons? My last stay in there is a memory I could do without but even back then visitors were allowed to sit with me in the garden. I guess is another one of those essential Health and Safety measures. Although not sure essential to whom.

I made a joke about Colditz being more accommodating and mimicked a duck walk...I had this image of staff in Natzi uniforms and I laughted (maybe a bit too hysterically) but it was either that or kick off.

All I knew was I had to get the hell out of there. So Dr J and me said our goodbyes. I gave Dad a hug and said I would ring him and be back at the weekend. Am hoping by then I am less spooked by the thought of going there again. Outside I was shaking. Both Dr J and me have too many bad experiences and that visit did nothing to change my mind about mental health services and how inappropriate the so called modernisation programme is for the mentally ill.

It seems to revolve around risk assessing anything therapeutic or human out of these places and demoting people with illness to 'dangerous animals' that must be contained. Now I fully appreciate that Dad is in no fit state to be allowed to roam around freely. If his illness isn't to be trusted (and right now it can't be) then the affects the medication are having on him are equally limiting his capacity to function. Yeah! Maybe the meds will work. MAYBE!!!! Even if they do...it is very early days and very early days on strong meds (his being Dipixol) are ones in which he needs alot of monitoring (for physical reactions) and support due to debilitation.

After a rather fraught couple of days, on my arrival back home....I have been reassured that Dad is not due home leave. I won't go into details but I was led to believe he was being sent out Weds (yesterday). That beggared belief really but after frantic phone calls to the Director... for sure, for now, he is not going anywhere and is better off there. That is saying something because, and I mean this, I would rather be dead than have to go back there again.

I am not sure now that I made the right decision....but what else could I do? Let him die? Perhaps that would have been a merciful release. I can't tell and I only hope that Dad gets through this and to a point where it isn't total torture for him to be alive and constant mind fuck for me.

Last night I spoke to Dr J about moving. Is a pipe dream at the moment but at some point I would like to move away from this place and the area. Way too many bad memories. I am not sure that Dr J would come with me and I am not sure that if he did it would benefit either of us but is a dream I am going to hang on to. Sometimes the dream of a better future is all that there is to hang on to.