Community Mental Health

My previous field of work was community mental health care and when we were downtown I spotted this prescription sticker stuck onto a bench in the park near the ‘before I die’ chalkboard. I instantly recognized the drug which is an anti-psychotic medication commonly used to treat illnesses like schizophrenia. When I was working it was a new wonder drug and very expensive. I expect it is generic now but still a useful medication.

Then I noticed the David’s surname which was Spanish and that the prescription was printed in Spanish. Mental illness affects people irrespective of income, ethnicity and circumstances but I suspect from his mother’s address they were first or second generation immigrants on a low wage. The script was issued from a hospital near the downtown area so it suggested that perhaps they could only afford to go to ER or it was an emergency situation.

David is not even 20 and my experience tells me that it is more likely the onset of schizophrenia rather than bipolar. It commonly presents in young men between the ages of 17 and 25. It can be sooner or later and slightly different for women. So why did he put the sticker on the bench? In retrospect I should have ripped it off because all his personal details were on it and made him a potential victim.

Was it a cry for help or a passive aggressive statement? More importantly, did he take the drugs? I wondered if his mother was sobbing, wondering what happened to her beautiful son and what to do next. The homeless people in Houston are often mentally ill and many self medicate with alcohol and drugs. I get angry and frustrated that there is so little community mental health care for parents or their adult children. When I volunteered at a local psychiatric hospital I was shocked by how many patients were brought in by policemen, sometimes at gunpoint. There has to be a middle ground.

Osyth commented in my last post that she was touched by the comment, ‘be happy’ (on the before I die chalkboard). Maybe David wrote that, in the hope that his illness would stabilize and he would be happy. I hope that he was still able to stay in his family home and not have to sleep in the parks, no matter how pretty they are.

Eye, Eye, Captain

Would you sleep with this woman?

You know that question was rhetorical. Who doesn’t want to sleep with a cyborg in bright pink PJs? For those of you who are new to my blog, I had three bad things happen recently. My husband was laid off from the oil industry, my beloved mother in law died and I unexpectedly needed eye surgery to treat a subcapsular cataract that had formed in my left eye. Everything had to happen quickly to take advantage of our existing health insurance and last week I had eye surgery on Wednesday.

We turned up at the clinic and things proceeded quite quickly…until they couldn’t find a vein. After two attempts, the charming southern anesthetist was called and inserted the IV. This meant that my pre medication, commonly known as a medical margarita, was late in being delivered. The schedule was a bit off and suddenly I was being raced into the operating theater. Before that, I had been asked on numerous occasions which eye it was, confirmed my identity and was reassured that no-one was going to take out a kidney. From previous procedures I knew I wasn’t as Margarita ‘happy’ as I usually am and was a little concerned.

I was taken first to the laser which was going to chop up the cataract and the remains are vacuumed out. Despite the numbing drops and the pre-med I was completely aware of what was happening and could even feel a slight burning at the end of the laser procedure. Utterly terrified I kept completely still and followed all instructions. Then I went across the room to another bed where the new lens was implanted into my eye (until death, I hope). I kept hoping the happy juice would kick in but no….I was utterly aware of everything. It was like torture but with no pain. I felt the various procedures, one by one and although it was fast it felt like an eternity.

At the end, the operating staff said I was a perfect patient. I can only hope I react the same way at my next torture session when China finally invades the US or whatever other scenario the crazy people envisage. The next day I saw my eye surgeon for a follow up and even he looked horrified that I had been quite so awake. They need you to be in a twilight zone so that you can follow instructions precisely but feel relaxed. This was not like Lasik – then I was so happy I thought I could fly.

The very nice silver lining is that my sight has been restored and I am writing this WITH NO READERS! My baby blues still look adorable and I am recovering very quickly. Drove to the surgeon the following day; been out for my long walk with sunglasses and a hat. I have myriad eye drops to take for weeks to come to prevent infection, inflammation and general mayhem. This is America – it cost a fortune but it was done almost immediately and by an excellent surgeon who I could choose. We paid extra to have the laser seal the wound with no stitches which usually means a quicker recovery with less complications and discomfort.

They had to dilate my eye hugely for the surgery and I looked like a Betazoid on Star Trek with one enormous black eye. This photograph was taken the next day and even the surgeon was surprised that it was so dilated. When I was young and frisky, guys used to ask me if my eyes were black but I was just so excited that my pupils dilated hugely. Perhaps they still do…. 🙂

Can you see the mark of Kwok above my eye? It was so weird having one black eye.

Finally – many thanks to all my followers who have been so solicitous about my surgery and other health problems. It has been much needed salve in my current wounds and has helped keep me afloat in a very difficult time in my life. It is hard to imagine the kindness of strangers and those who have become good friends. It is a testament to the goodness of people and I very much appreciate every single comment and ‘like’.

PS My surgeon’s name was Kwok and he marked my eye to make sure they did the left one.

Resolution No. 3 – be nice to Teddy

We were at a marvelous Scottish New Year’s Eve party or Hogmanay and our friends had set up a unique photo booth. After a few refreshments, we looked as relaxed as newts. Perhaps that’s a Scottish expression. The photo was a little grainy so after some ‘discussion’ I agreed to let my husband upload a free photo software program, Photoscape, on my computer. This was difficult – don’t touch my computer!!!! Eventually my myriad programs would not fix the original photograph so I surrendered with trepidation. OMG, it’s fantastic! I was able to make it look fun with a ‘bandicoot’ filter – what the heck does that mean? Then I added a fancy frame and VOILA!

My third resolution, which I doubt will last 12 hours, is to nice to my husband. He would hate it if I was really sweet all the time – he didn’t sign up for that but I could add some laughter to the snarky remarks. Less, “reallys???” More,”you are so gorgeous and clever” without a hint of sarcasm. Tonight I told him he was the best looking guy in the room and I meant it. Nobody else could make me laugh so much and turn me on at the same time. That’s like a superhuman ability, isn’t it? SEXYFUNNYMAN, perhaps?