A Week in the Looney Bin

Getting Sick

My sister had been visiting me for almost a week when I started getting sick; prior to that I enjoyed her visit and wasn't depressed. On Monday March 28 I started getting depressed, and my sister was at a theatre workshop that day. I took to my bed, and when my sister got home she invited me out for dinner with her and some of her theatre friends, but I declined. She offered to bring me back some food and I said OK. At some point that day I started feeling suicidal, and developed a plan. While my sister was out for dinner, I would swallow 3 bottles (almost 1800 mg) of my anti-psychotic, lie down on a piece of foam in my bedroom (so I wouldn't ruin the mattress by vomiting on it) after donning my pyjamas, lose consciousness, and choke to death on my own vomit, hopefully without regaining consciousness. After I put on my pyjamas, I realized I would be putting myself on a slippery slope if I proceeded with the 2nd step (getting the 2 pieces of foam out of my closet), so in order to distract myself I decided to write a suicide note on the computer to my sister and brother (my brother hardly ever uses email). My sister would probably read the note on her laptop when she returned from dinner.

When my sister got home she brought me dinner (veal parmigiana), I ate it and went back to bed, and eventually she read my note. She asked me where was the Zyprexa I had stockpiled, and I retrieved the sock containing 2 bottles of Zyprexa from my dresser drawer and gave it to her. Then she asked me if I wanted her to tell my psychiatrist, Dr. Soni, about the suicide note, and I told her where she could find his business card. She forwarded him the note, and a few minutes later he replied that she should take me to Emergency. It was around midnight when we arrived at Emergency, and they admitted me and I stayed overnight at the Clarke Site of CAMH. In the morning they transferred me to the Queen St. Site of CAMH (known infamously as "Queen Street").

Daily Routine

Breakfast was at 8 a.m. It was usually eggs and hot or cold cereal, twice it was 2 pancakes with only one little inadequate packet of syrup, and on the weekend one or two days it was just cold cereal and a bagel. There was also coffee and orange juice. Tea and coffee was served between 10 and 11 a.m., I think there was juice around 3 p.m., and snack time was around 8 or 8:30 p.m. (consisting of a sandwich or 2 buns with jam, sometimes fruit yogurt, and milk or juice). Lunch was around 12:15 p.m, and dinner was at 5 p.m. The meals were a lot healthier than what I eat at home, as I usually eat frozen food for dinner with little or no fruits and vegetables. Most of the food in the hospital wasn't very good. After a few days on the unit the doctor changed my meds to be taken all at bedtime. I usually took my meds around 8:45 or 9 p.m., and went to bed around 10 p.m. I usually slept well, but a couple of nights I had trouble sleeping: I woke up at 2:45 a.m. (and the other night it was 6 a.m.) and didn't get back to sleep until after 4 a.m. (the other night I rose early). On weekdays there were lots of activities, usually one activity in the morning and another in the afternoon. I also spent a lot of time writing emails using the pencil and paper my sister brought for me, and when I eventually got off-site privileges I used the public computers to send email.

During my first day on the unit I got depressed, as I feared that my life was ruined. I thought the boredom of being in the hospital would send me into a deep depression, and I would never get out of there. That first evening I developed a strategy that would help me deal with the boredom: I would alternate between lying on my bed and looking out the window for one hour, and sitting in the TV room or the other 2 rooms (one just outside the nursing station and another room where the TV was always off and hardly anybody sat in that room) for one hour. I would avoid trying to sleep on my bed until bedtime at 10 p.m. It turned out that the rec therapists helped me avoid boredom, by having activities that we could participate in. I didn't once undress and go under the covers except at bedtime, the whole time I was there. I wanted to avoid spending too much time in my room, which would have led to depression and would lessen the probability that I would be speedily discharged.

The Staff

The doctor on the unit (Unit 2-4 at the Queen St. Site of CAMH) was Dr. Ginsberg. I liked Dr. Ginsberg. He had a short talk with me every weekday. He was a middle-aged man with graying hair, and he might have been gay (but not flamboyantly gay like Joey, who was the most outgoing patient in the unit). There's nothing wrong with being gay, and Dr. Ginsberg's sexual orientation is certainly none of my business, I'm just making an observation.

The 2 recreation therapists were Pat and Nicole. Pat was a middle-aged woman with short hair, and Nicole was younger and attractive. Pat was my favourite staff member in Unit 2-4. We went on 3 walks: to the Second Cup on King east of Shaw (5 blocks away); a walk around the grounds (we were treated to coffee/beverages in The Mall, just outside the cafeteria which also had 4 public computers); and a walk around Trinity Bellwoods Park. We also had music group (a patient named Corey gave a workshop on playing drums), a group where everyone answered about 5 or 6 questions about various topics, including who inspires us (Mark Zuckerberg in my case), our dreams for the future, what we're good at (they skipped that question), and other topics. Other groups included playing badminton with Pat and another patient named Phil, and creative art with Nicole (everybody made cards, my card was for my brother, his partner and his son).

Most of the female nurses seemed to be either black and from the Caribbean or Filipinas. I had a white nurse named Cindy one or two evenings. I think they had 2 twelve-hour shifts per day. My favourite nurse was Luna, who was black. I had Luna my first day on the unit and one other time. She tended to be somewhat businesslike and not overly warm and friendly. Other than at admission and upon discharge, there wasn't too much interaction between the nurses and myself. Twice a day they would check in with you (how are you feeling, hearing any voices or thoughts of harming yourself, etc.). I used to have to tell my nurse whenever I left the unit, which was always locked. Other nurse-patient interactions included getting them to unlock my closet (where I kept my coat), once they had to unlock the door to my room, and getting them to give me towels/shampoo and unlocking the shower.

The Patients

I think all of the patients (approximately 22 of us) had schizophrenia. The patient I had the most interaction with was Joey, who was gay and very outgoing. He was middle-aged or older, mostly bald with white hair in a little pony tail, and he always carried around a big red cloth bag. He seemed to spend a lot of time in the men's washroom. Sometimes it was hard to make sense of what he was saying, and he was sometimes paranoid towards the nurses and doctors. When my sister came to visit Joey would often start conversations with her (once he said her dress "becomes you"), and she would have a hard time ending those conversations. Joey was discharged 4 or 5 days after I was admitted, and the place seemed a lot quieter after that.

My favourite patient was Phil, and we had brief conversations several times. He had gray hair and was tall and thin. He went to A.A. meetings, and I think he had depression. He said he was going to have ECT (shock treatments), I told him I had that in 1989 and it didn't do any good. He was often in the rec therapy groups (I attended every rec therapy group, as I wanted to please the nurses in order to get discharged, and I liked Pat). On my last day, when I was finished lunch I sat down opposite Phil and wished him good luck with his ECT (and I gave him my diced pears dessert, as I'm not overly fond of diced fruit desserts).

The female patient I had the most interaction with was Kathy, who seemed to say out loud her stream of consciousness a lot of the time. She was the first patient I talked to on my first day. She was maybe in her 40s, overweight with short blond hair. She would often forget my name (are you Michael?). Two patients said once that I was a good man, one was Phil and I think the other one was Kathy. Kathy seemed to be very emotional, and would be crying occasionally.

Another female patient who talked to me a lot was Nina, an older woman who was obese. She would often say to me that she knew me from before, and would ask me if I knew her, or she would say "What did they DO to you?". Once before breakfast (I neglected to brush my teeth the night before, and hadn't yet brushed them that morning) she sat down next to me and asked me a whole bunch of personal questions. Then she said to me "You have bad breath," and moved to a different chair. Then at breakfast she sat down opposite me and asked me a whole bunch of personal questions again. I told her I have crazy thoughts, such as that Christ was tortured to death. Later that day as I was walking by her she said to someone that that guy thinks he's Jesus Christ, which annoyed me. I badly need a haircut and my long hair and beard makes me look like Jesus Christ, and I don't like people criticizing my appearance. Another time that day she pointed at me and said to Joey something to the effect that I had had one too many shock treatments, which also annoyed me. Later I was in my room and fantasizing about confronting her the next time she said to me "What did they DO to you?", and yelling at her I don't need to take shit from you, you're a fucking nut case. That same day or maybe it was the next day I was sitting in the pet therapy group and Nina sat down in that group and said to me "What did they DO to you?", and I yelled at her "Shut up!" (the first time in my life that I ever raised my voice in anger). Later in that same group she said it again, and I yelled "Stop saying that!", and the rec therapist told her to leave me alone. I think after that she stopped dissing me. She did say "What did they DO to you?" one more time (not in the pet therapy group) and I replied calmly to her "What do you mean, what did they do to me? No one did anything to me." The dog in the pet therapy group (a little white poodle named Casey) sat in my lap for a long time, and I theorized that he thought I was the alpha male, since dogs perceive shouting as an act of dominance.

There were 3 other female patients that I didn't talk to: Melissa, Nicole, and a little East Asian girl with a pony tail who never talked to anyone except Phil, who once befriended her. Melissa looked and acted normal. She was young and pretty, and I meant to start a conversation with her but never got around to it. Once in the TV room she said hi to me. Later I saw her talking to John, who had normal social skills, and that made me feel jealous and a little bit depressed. Nicole always hid herself in a white hood and wore dark glasses, and I only heard her talk twice. Once she said something to me in the TV room (she spent a lot of time in there). I couldn't hear what she said, as I had wax in my ears and couldn't even hear the TV very well, and I just stared at her and she turned away. She seemed to have an Eastern European accent. Another time I heard her say something to an older man who may have had the same kind of accent.

The alpha male of the unit was Tony (he shared that role with Joey, once he yelled at Joey to "stay on your side," as Tony's room was next to mine and Joey's room was in a separate wing, and there were 3 wings). Tony was younger than me, with brown hair, a beard, and a long moustache. Once we were watching TV, and there was a big plane on the TV, and Tony asked me, "doesn't John Travolta drive one of those?" and I said "I don't know," and Tony gave me a look as if I was a nut case. After Joey was discharged, the "second in command," if you will, was named John I think. John was admitted a couple days after I was, and he also had normal social skills. He was about Tony's age, had black hair and a beard, and often wore a black parka. (I think many patients wore winter coats so they didn't have to ask the nurses to open their closets every time they wanted to go out for a smoke.) Once Tony and John were sitting opposite to me in the TV room; they were facing the TV and I was sitting on the same wall as the TV, where people other than me rarely sat. I was just staring into space and/or looking out the window, as is my wont, and John said to Tony something to the effect that I was well drugged. On my second last day Tony said to me good luck and that it was good to meet me, and that made me feel good. In the art group I showed him the card I made for Dave, but he didn't say anything.

Other male patients I remember include Michael Yip, who seemed to be pretty spaced out. One time he sat down next to me, and I think I said "Are you Michael?" and he said something inaudible. Then a few seconds later I said my name is Mike, and he commented that there were 2 Mikes. Farhad was middle-aged and from Iran, who I didn't talk to (he seemed normal and quiet). There was a young guy with a pot belly (fatter than me), I don't know his name, his mouth seemed to be open all the time. I'm often like that, as I am a mouth-breather. Corey was black and once led a drumming workshop (that was the first rec therapy group I attended, I've never really played drums before as an adult, and we hit the drums with our hands, not with drumsticks). Another black guy who was often in the rec therapy groups was Hugh, who had gray hair and a beard. Alan went on a couple of walks with us; he was Joey's friend and had gray or white hair and was kind of tall, and was some kind of artist, a painter I think. A black patient who had a small goatee-like beard and I think also a moustache also had a woman's voice. I thought that patient was male but later I learned he was a she, I think her name was Elisha. Those are all the most memorable patients I encountered during that hospital admission.

Staying Well

I noticed that I did well in hospital (little or no depression) because there was lots of structure. So I developed a plan to impose more structure on my daily life once I was discharged:

Saturday - read the newspaper, take it easy
Sunday - 30-minute walk, work on Clixmaker/APROM (at home)
Monday - go to APROM (in Mississauga)
Tuesday - go to Fred Victor
Wednesday - 30-minute walk, work on Clixmaker/APROM (at home)
Thursday - go to Progress Place
Friday - 30-minute walk, work on Clixmaker/APROM (at home)

I have been working part-time at APROM for over 14 years (in the early years it was full-time). I do computer programming. Clixmaker is a project I work on in my spare time, which is developing a software tool that lets you create your own web-based multi-player games. Fred Victor is where I'm a volunteer computer tutor (also a math tutor) for 3 hours in the afternoon. I start at Progress Place tomorrow; I will be a volunteer computer tutor for I think 2 hours in the afternoon. If I go to work (APROM) at rush hour, I only have to take one subway and one bus, otherwise it's a subway and 2 buses. I will try to leave to go to APROM at 8 a.m. every Monday.

In the past 2.5 weeks I've only been depressed 3 times: just prior to my sister's visit; on Monday, April 28 into the afternoon of the 29th upon my admission to CAMH; and yesterday evening when I went to bed early. Usually I get depressed once or twice a week. Hopefully the extra structure in my life now will prevent any further admissions to the hospital.