Psychiatric Crisis Unit

April 5, 2016 – Journal Entry 5
“Journaling again, and yes, in pencil. I am looking forward to getting pens back. This night has been pretty rough. I am awake at 3:00 am and I can’t go back to sleep. The Ambien finally knocked me out. I was sitting up in bed crying, thinking of killing myself. So, they gave me 10 mg of Ambien and I slept about five hours. We are hoping and praying to get a bed today. Crisis may be the first floor besides perinatal to have an opening. Judah went back home because he can’t be in this ward with me. He is my little ray of sunshine. Sometimes I feel like the rules are for safety. A nice sharpie would be great. I need to pump. I have to travel to another unit for that. Praying that goes well. I feel like I am living my worst nightmare.
Jeremiah 30:24 – ‘The Lord shall not turn his back until He has executed and accomplished the thoughts and intents of his mind.’
1 Corinthians 1:7-8 – ‘So that you are not lacking in any spiritual gift as you wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ who WILL sustain you to the end, guiltless in the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. God us faithful by whom you were called into the fellowship of his son, Jesus Christ our Lord.’
Psalm 105: 18-19 ‘His feet were hurt with fetter; his neck was out in a collar of iron, UNTIL what he said came to pass, the word of the Lord tested him.’
April 6, 2016 – Journal Entry 6
“Pens! Yay! I could not be more excited about that. I spent my first night on the crisis unit and I am waiting for a bed to open up in perinatal. I met with the psychiatrist and about 10 resident student. They give no feedback, so, who knows what they are thinking. Brian visited at 7:30 am this morning. Dad called at 7:30 am, before the phones even turned on. I am glad to have a good support system. I pray that have healing. I pray they get my meds right and I repent of the ungratefulness of my grief. I got a knock on my door from OT. They have an opening in peripartum and are transferring me! Praise be to God!”
From the psychiatric ER, they moved me to the crisis unit. Here, it is cooed. There are men and women everywhere. Some have done this many times before, like my roommate. She was kind and helpful. She helped me understand how the unit worked and to get acclimated. She said she could see my pain, and that she was a healer. She planned to take some oils she had with her and try to heal me that evening. I was scared but afraid to tell her no. What if I upset her? She slept in a bed beside me.

Others are new here, like this sweet college student. She has been really encouraging. It is an eclectic group. There are all sorts of disorders present, including withdrawing drug addicts. They make me really nervous. I am fearful to sleep and fearful to be alone. I worry when I shower and when I use the restroom. What if one of these men come after me? What could I do? The nurses assure me that they round every fifteen minutes. I wonder what could happen in fifteen minutes. It is anxiety provoking, and sadly, they hold that against me.
After breakfast, it was time for doctor rounds. I was called and sent to a room with one MD and approximately ten residents and medical students. They asked me to share why I was there and what had happened. I began sharing my story. Midway through, they cut me off and told me to go. There was no discussion about my medications or treatment plan. Awhile later, I began to feel anxious. I went to the nursing desk and asked for my anxiety medications. I was told that all of my medications had been suspended until further notice. I began to have a panic attack. I went back to my room, and a few minutes later a staff member from the perinatal unit arrived. She told me that it was therapy time and that I was allowed to join them, since my goal was to transfer there eventually.
It was a breath of fresh air to be on that unit. It was all women, the staff was supportive and caring. I could tell they were there to help me rather than babysit me until my medications kicked in. I had hope. When the group therapies were over, I was sent back to the crisis unit. I was devastated. I began to cry to the nurse transporting me, about how my medications were taken away and how anxious I was. She made sure staff knew I was upset and came the check on me. I sat in my bed, coloring. Coloring brought me such peace. It was a welcome escape. I started praying, at that moment, the perinatal nurse returned. Someone had had a miraculous recovery in the last twenty four hours, she was going home. There was a bed for me. I had finally made it to the Perinatal Unit!


Author: livingwater

I am a 32 year old stay-at-home mom. I began as a Pediatric Nurse Practitioner that lost my job after battling Post Part Depression, in the wake of loosing my brother. I am on a journey to healing and wholeness despite my illness and want to inspire others. Mine is a journey of love, faith, illness, and redemption. Join me.

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