The Straw That Broke The Camel’s Back

Dear medical health idiots (who pretend to have the interests of patients at heart),

I resign, give up, quit, and will fight no more. I am done with the little games you play because you want to play games with your power instead of stopping to think.

I, like many others, have become a victim because I have faced issues with mental health. I have not killed anyone. I have not harmed anyone, including myself. So why do I carry this big tattoo on my forehead that brands me for the rest of my life?

Rhetorical question. It is because you enjoy wielding your power and believe you are helping patients.

Explain to me how, on God’s earth, tagging someone for the rest of their life is fair and in their best interest.

My last encounter was the final straw that broke the camel's back. Your records won’t accurately reflect the actual order of events. My file is likely a red one marked “Danger, danger, mental health patient."

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder several years ago. Yes, at that time, I was sick, and I spent four years in and out of your facility. You pumped me full of drug cocktails, trying to find one that, more by chance than by design, helped.

I eventually did get the support I needed and have been doing really well. I have held a professional job, and I am taking care of myself again. I exercise and generally keep to myself.

Three weeks ago, I pulled over my car because of severe chest pains and difficulty breathing. I spent the night in the cardio ward. Before being released, I had to undergo a psychiatric assessment.

Why? I was admitted for a heart condition, not a mental condition. But oh no, we cannot let you forget that you are mental and always will be!

Three days later, I am taken by ambulance to a different hospital with similar symptoms. This time, after the initial assessment, I am shipped off to the mental health ward, not the cardiac ward. The ward is full, so I have to sleep in a chair with a blanket for two nights while I’m waiting for a bed. I have been sectioned, so I can't be discharged without the approval of a psychiatrist.

I can shower under supervision in a shower that has human waste on the floor. Then, I can only dress back into adult diapers and a hospital gown.

In the end, after a lot of complaining (and who wouldn’t?), I was sent to a mental facility.

Within eight hours, I was rushed back to the hospital with severe breathing problems. This time, though, I went back into the cardiac coronary recovery ward. I am on forced oxygen. They removed almost 2 liters of fluid from my lungs. I'm also being treated with antibiotics for pneumonia.

It was there in black and white. "Patient has a congenital heart disorder -HOCM (Hereditary Obstructive Cardiomyopathy)."

Did no one think about how bad it is for a patient like this to wait in a cold room, or that it can’t be good for her heart?

This treatment would make even the calmest person feel nervous, uneasy, or agitated.

Did no one realize that?

Prisoners get better treatment. People who have been injured after being shot six times get better treatment. But, no, you are mental, so we don’t really care about anything else. "Let’s slap you in a mental facility for a few more months. That will quieten you down!"

Even with all this abusive treatment, my heart condition improved, but only after two weeks in the cardiac ward. Still, I can’t go home yet. I have to go to a dedicated psychiatric facility for another psychological assessment because I have been sectioned under the Mental Health Act.

I mean, really, you tell me there is no discrimination, no victimization?

You hide behind the Act, which has now been over ten years since it was last reformed. Is there a law that lets you take over my decisions and override my medical power of attorney?

I don' think so, but you isolate me from everyone, so it just little me against you and your army

You can keep me here until a psychiatrist, who has only known me for a week, stops playing golf to decide if I can go home?

Now, I'm at your mercy. This happened because you messed up. You treated me like an animal just because I went to the hospital for a heart issue.

Don't say you care about me if you won't listen to my husband, who has known me for over thirty years. Don’t try to tell me you have my best interests at heart because I am tattooed as 'bipolar' for the rest of my life. People do recover from it and go on to live normal lives, you know.

So I formally quit playing your little games. I am done being your target with no reasoning.

Next time I get sick, I won’t come to your hospital. What will you do if you need to update my file after I pass away?

Label it as 'a death from bipolar disorder issues' to boost your self-affirming fame game?

Screw you, not this duck.

I am out!

Till next time,

Calvin