Psych Ward

I was all booked in to be admitted to the Psych Ward and was expecting it to be all “Girl Interrupted” (remember that movie?!) But it looked almost like the Maternity ward where I had all 3 boys. With a few very clear differences. But I’ll get to them. It was set at the very back of the hospital so had limited “through traffic” and was very calm and quiet. I had told my mum it was sleep school and got her to drop Edward and me at the hospital’s reception. Unfortunately, I left my phone in mum’s car, so 10 mins later, mum arrived in my room to give it to me! I was mortified because plastered all over the entrance was “Perinatal Mental Health Unit”. I was so embarrassed. I was ashamed that my mum knew, let alone the rest of the world! But now I know it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Mental illness is just as important as physical illness and not something to be embarrassed about. So here I am to break it down for you.

There was a max of 6 women and their babies in the unit at any time. For most of my stay, there was just 5 of us and we are all still in contact. One of the other beautiful ladies had a little girl the same age as Edward, 2 girls had babies a few months younger and one girl had a brand-new little bubba. I also found out that some women are also admitted throughout pregnancy for prenatal depression and anxiety. I never knew this was possible. There were 2 nurses on duty most of the time, except for overnight when there was just one. Then you were assigned a psychiatrist, a psychologist and a GP.

Symbolic rainbow in my room one morning

There were quite a few differences in this unit, compared to a regular ward, that I would come to notice throughout my stay. Some were comforting and encouraging, and some were very confronting! Feel free to skip ahead if this is too much detail for you.

So, there were no bags in any of the bins (suffocation risk), no locks on the doors, no knives or scissors to be found (which was annoying when I couldn’t open a teabag sachet and had to use the serrated edge of the sticky tape dispenser at the nurse's desk (under supervision) and no door on the baby-bath room. The bathroom taps and showerheads were all very unusual and I was later informed, this is to prevent anyone from being able to tie anything around them! Everything in the bathroom had curved edges and no doorknobs on the cabinets or door. There wasn’t even a towel rack, but a magnetic hook on the back of the door, that no doubt would fall off if any real weight was applied. The blinds were only loosely secured to the windows, meaning they would also fall off if any weight was applied. Certain rooms even had little windows with blinds that were controlled from the outside, so the nurses could “check-in" on the higher-risk patients. I found it comforting that I wasn’t in one of those rooms!

This little guy was not happy to be there

I was admitted on a Thursday and had all intention of being back home and working by Monday. I figured I just needed a couple of decent nights of sleep, a good cry and I would be fine. My first visit with the psychologist made me realize I wouldn’t be back home and working by Monday as planned, however, I still felt like an intruder and that they would soon realize I didn’t need to be there and I would be sent home.

This is apparently a very common occurrence. The first couple of days I felt like I “wasn’t bad enough” to be taking up a place in the unit. I was getting frustrated that Fridays were quite relaxed and not many workshops were to be done, weekends were slow, and no real “work” was going to be done until Monday. I was so so frustrated! I just wanted to get in there, do the work as quick as I could, and go back home.

It wasn’t until a late-night chat with one of the other ladies on the ward, who had been admitted with her previous bub too, had suggested that “doing nothing” was perhaps part of my treatment and exactly what I needed. This was extremely sound advice as “keeping busy” proved to be one of my ways of avoiding my feelings. It sounds silly but trying to “relax” and “do nothing” is harder than it seems when you are full of anxiety and on the cusp of being OCD. Keeping busy was my coping mechanism.

The other thing I noticed over the first few days, was the other ladies doing “mindfulness” activities like knitting and colouring. At first, I couldn’t see the point. Wasn’t this just a waste of time? I could be accomplishing tasks or “relaxing” by reading books or watching Tv shows that were on my list, and thus could be ticked off when finished. The idea of just doing something purely for the joy and stillness it would give to me was an alien concept. I’m the type of person that schedules every part of every day. I came to realize that my brain needs to relax, to function at its best. Just like my body needs to rest after physical exertion. So these first few days were all about trying new things and slowing my thoughts and actions down.

On day 3, Craig brought the boys in to visit and I was looking forward to it so much. But it was an absolute disaster. Being that the hospital was far from home we didn’t know the area. A few of the girls had mentioned a playspace at the shopping centre that also had a café so we thought we would go there. When we realized it was going to cost $30 just for the kids to have a short play, we bailed on that idea. We then wanted food but couldn’t find the food court. Then had trouble finding the car. All the people and noise and chaos really threw me for a loop, and we had to leave.

News flash!! Shopping centres are possibly one of the worst places to be when you are suffering from anxiety. Duh! So, we ended up getting Macca’s and going to the local park. We had a picnic of sorts and watched the kids play. But again, after the split chin and broken wrist incidents in the previous few weeks, watching the kids in a playground was also not a fabulous idea. I was a wreck watching them. I could feel my entire body tensing and my stomach was in knots. It was all just too much, and I ended up thinking that I just wanted them all to go home. Then the overwhelming guilt started.

I said goodbye to the boys and went back to the unit to put Edward down for his afternoon nap. But of course, he didn’t want to sleep. This was totally normal for him at that point. I was rocking and patting and all the usual things, but my mind started to spiral. I started imagining throwing him across the room. I was getting tense and frustrated that he wouldn’t stop crying. I put him safely in his cot and lay on the floor next to it. I thought I’d try patting him to sleep. But he still wouldn’t stop crying.

Whoever described depression as “falling down a rabbit hole”, understood this feeling. Your thoughts start to spiral completely out of control, and you seem to go so deep, that you can’t imagine ever getting out again. I started crying on the floor, thinking about what a bad mother I was, he deserved better, all three boys deserved better than me, maybe if I wasn’t around Craig could find someone who would be a better wife and mother, maybe I should leave, I wasn’t cut out to be a mum, how does everyone else manage? What’s so wrong with me? Was I born like this? Have I passed this defective trait onto my boys? I should never have had kids, what was I thinking believing I could raise these boys, and so on.

FaceTime with the boys at home

Eventually, I got up the strength to stand up, walk out of my room, leaving Edward screaming and just fell into the arms of one of the nurses. Luckily none of the other girls were even in the unit, as they were all out with their own families being that it was a Saturday afternoon. So I had no reservations about completely breaking down. One of the nurses went in to take care of Edward (and got him to go to sleep) whilst the other nurse looked after me. I let everything out. I was crying, talking and shaking. But she just hugged me and listened. Once I was able to breathe again, they gave me my first ever Valium and lay me down on the couch under a mass of blankets. I felt as if those blankets were holding me together and were stopping me from exploding into a million pieces. The valium helped to calm my thoughts down so that the rational voice in my head could be heard again, above the emotional and irrational screaming.

After this episode, I realized I wasn’t an imposter and I did really need to be there. I cancelled work for the following week so I could stop focusing on when I would be home but could instead focus on recovering.

As well as the help I received from the nurses that day, of which I wouldn’t have had at home, the other amazing thing about this happening in the unit was the knowledge that I was not alone. Other people have had similar experiences. When the girls all started returning for the day, it turned out we had all had a horrible day. Now obviously I didn’t wish this to happen to all of them, but the fact that it did, meant we all had each other to talk to about it and comfort each other. As well as sharing some Uber eats Macca’s and ice creams together that night (no wine allowed!).

So the following week I was “all in”. I did all the sessions and workshops and was very eager to learn any new skills I could, to help me cope better with life. Another big hurdle I had to overcome was to tell my mum the truth. I had told her I was going to Sleep School because I was so ashamed of myself. I didn’t want her to be disappointed in me. After a session with the Psychiatrist, I realized that I needed to tell my mum everything, along with a few close friends, so that they could help and support me moving forward. Of course, my mum wasn’t at all disappointed in me and just wanted me to feel happier and stronger. So, she stepped up and helped Craig every day so that he could continue working and I didn’t feel the pressure to get home too quickly. I will forever be grateful to have had this time with Edward in the unit and for all the things I was to learn.

Every evening we had a “goodnight group” where we would all take turns saying 3 things, we were grateful for that day. Even if the day was generally horrible, there was always something to be pleased about. Whether it was as simple as a nice coffee or meal, a hot shower taken in peace or a slight improvement with the baby's sleep. To the bigger things like a breakthrough with the psych or a good home visit. This was a practice I have tried to continue at home with a “gratefulness” journal.

So much crying

Twice a week they had a scheduled “mindful movement” session. This was essentially a guided meditation with blankets, hand cream, music and the soothing voice of the instructor. Usually, I would scoff at this type of thing. I’m more of a doer and would always have preferred to go to the gym or for a walk instead. Being alone with my thoughts and no distractions was quite confronting. I spent the entire first session going over my to-do list in my head, thinking of all the ways I was a failure and I spent the entire hour with silent tears running down my cheeks, just waiting for it to end. It reminded me of some dark times as a dancer, when I would be going through the motions of class, with tears running down my cheeks any time I could look away, and the internal monologue telling me how horrible I was. But over the coming days and then weeks, the scepticism changed, and I came to look forward to the sessions. I got better at just focusing on quieting my mind, listening to her voice and relaxing. I started doing some mindful meditations before sleep at night which I also grew to love, and it helped me to “switch off” ready for sleep.

I spent my free time colouring, which was something I had loved to do as a kid. Reading novels, napping, going for walks and grabbing a coffee, as well as doing mindful meditations and learning Sudoku. There was a lot of time spent trying to work on settling Edward for sleep without getting upset or frustrated, as well as lots of chats with the girls after the babies were finally asleep, where the nurses would come in at shift change and jokingly plead with us to go to bed and not stay up too late. As well as a few late-night uber eats orders together, talking to these beautiful ladies was also therapeutic!

I decided to stop working for the remainder of the year, to prioritise my recovery and to spend time with my family. This meant I was also able to concentrate more deeply on my sessions with the psychologist and psychiatrist rather than worrying about what day I would be going home.

Off on a walk together

I ended up staying in there for two and a half weeks. I was far from “cured” when I left, but I felt ready to face the real world again and continue my recovery from home.

No one could have predicted just how crazy the next six months were going to be, with bushfires, Edward's health concerns and then Covid-19 and all the new stresses that would bring. (I’ll delve into those experiences later) But I honestly believe I have managed these uncertain times a lot better, because of the work I did in the unit.

I still have a long way to go to get myself out of this hole, that I started digging for myself way back at 14 years of age. But with the right professionals and some help from medication, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Something else I’ve always struggled with is what everyone else will think and their opinion of me. This is what brought me to decide to face that fear and write this all down. Please know that I am grateful for my life, my kids, my husband, my family and all the luxuries my life has afforded me. I understand a lot of people in the world aren’t as lucky as me. But this is an illness that I had no control over. Telling someone with mental illness that they “should be more grateful” or to “toughen up” never helps. We should all be grateful, yes, but not made to feel guilty for being depressed “undeservedly”.

I hope sharing my experience sheds a bit of light on the facilities available, to help anyone in a similar position, and to draw attention to the realities of post-natal depression and mental illness. It’s not what anyone would choose to be their experience of motherhood but if we can think of it as a “breakthrough” rather than a “breakdown”, we may just come out the other side with a new appreciation for life and a more positive mindset.

Love to you + your tribe

Casey xx