My Very Unproductive Visit to the ER

Yesterday I spent five hours in the ER, where I never saw a doctor or got treatment of any kind for my severe depression but was instead discharged and told on the way out that if I didn't send in the Charity Care applications forms asap I would be receiving a whopping bill in the mail. How can this be you ask?  Read on....

If you read my last post you know that I've been having problems with Prednisone this past week.  Needless to say, I did not get the same miracle-like results from it that I had gotten a year and a half ago.  I spoke to my doctor and he agreed I needed to get off it, but you can't just quit Prednisone cold turkey, you have to taper the doses.  He gave me a three day taper of 30mg - 20mg - 10mg.  The day before I felt pretty bad but yesterday I was so deeply down I really wanted to be dead.  I was so depressed I thought I would throw up.  My limbs were tingling from the psychological pain and my hands were shaking.  My chest hurt and felt heavy - I was truly scared and could do nothing but curl up in a ball.  I couldn't even talk to anyone.  When I called my doctor again, he told me to go to the ER. 

My dad knows someone who works for county mental health services.  He called and explained my situation and she told him to have me go to the ER and that there would be someone there waiting for me.  When I got there, there wasn't really anyone waiting for me, but I didn't have to wait too long before being taken into psych. screening.  

If you've never been in a psych hospital department before, it can be a little scary.  You can't wear your own clothes or have ANY of your own items with you including cell phone, purse, etc.  It all gets locked up by guards who patrol the hallway.  Food is served on Styrofoam trays with Styrofoam plates and plastic spoons - no knives or forks.  The bathroom door doesn't lock but the door to your room locks from the outside if you close it all the way.  The room contains only a bed (complete with tie-down straps), one pillow and two shabby blankets.  The TV is up near the ceiling encased in metal grates and thick plastic. There's one remote to go around and after a certain time the volume is turned so low you can hardly hear it anyway.

I spent the better part of the day there curled up in my gown on the bed.  People came in to talk to me, to make sure I wasn't going to hurt myself and I had blood drawn and gave a urine sample.  I layed there for hours.  No doctor came to talk to me and I wasn't given any medication to ease my suffering.  At about 8pm a woman came in to tell me that they hadn't been able to reach my therapist so they weren't sure what to do and I could go home if I wanted to.  I asked if I would be able to speak to a doctor.  She said there wasn't a psychiatrist on the premises right now but that she could get one on a video conference.  I reluctantly agreed.  About ten minutes later I was lead to a room with a TV screen.  I spoke to the Dr. for about three minutes and she basically told me there was nothing she could do and that I would just have to wait out the symptoms until the Prednisone was out of my system.  I thanked her and they discharged me.  I was out the door twenty minutes later and still depressed as hell.