If you hate your job so much, just quit.
Psychiatric Emergency Services at Victoria’s Royal Jubilee Hospital is a department that is run like no other medical department in the world. The treatments used in first-line mental health crisis were not designed to address the neurological functions associated with mental distress outside of psychosis. Additionally, the hostile environment created by staff serves no purpose in the treatment of mental distress.
I’ve been there countless times. I have witnessed the procedures and noticed alarming patterns in procedures were applied not to chemically subdue patients experiencing a wide range of psychiatric ailments.
When you first walk in, you are asked to hand over your bag and cell phone by a nurse. You are then directed to sit down in one of the chairs in the waiting room. Assessment usually begins with a nurse who asks you a service of questions in order to relay that information to the psychiatrist. You are then asked to go back and wait to see the next doctor, usually a medical doctor. Following that, you will be given the opportunity to speak to a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist will recommend medication or hospitalization based on what they observe.
Patients who suffer from psychiatric problems like psychosis are often unmanageable, hostile and may be physically violent. Anti-psychotics are the first line medications used to treat drug-induced or schizophrenic episodes of psychosis by correcting the irregular dopamine functions associated with the ailment.
These seem like standard, reasonable procedures, but what makes PES unique is the unexplainable logic used to validate the administration of psychiatric drugs and execute deplorable personal treatment of patients by support staff. Unlike people suffering from physical pain, people who suffer from mental illness are vilified for questioning procedures that include detaining people isolation if they were forced to go to the hospital by family members, friends or law enforcement after showing signs that their mental health was a threat to their welfare, or the welfare of those around them.
Distressed people who do not want to go to the hospital usually become aggressive and demand to let out. In my case, a friend overreacted to something I said online and provoked a team of law enforcement and an ambulance to raid my home, handcuff me and deliver me to psychiatric emergency services. After hours of trying to get out, worrying about the welfare of my pets after the dramatic scene the RCMP and ambulance had created, I became hostile. I used the phone in the waiting area to call 911 and try and get out. Having previous experience with psychiatry, I knew I would likely be forced to take the magic bullet of psychiatric medicine: Seroquel.
I’ve taken Seroquel before, naively after my psychiatrist recommended it for insomnia. After taking it, I passed out cold and woke up with a terrible feeling of depression, dread, anxiety and depression. I immediately made the connection between the drug and these symptoms but did not realize that all anti-psychotics by their very mode of action are directly responsible for chemically inducing these kinds of mental disturbances.
Anyways, I asked for a piece of paper and wrote down a lengthy satire targeting the over prescription of Seroquel. I was then guided to a private observation room where several doctors and a psychiatrists who did not ask questions about my well-being but addressed the very behaviour I was displaying as a result of being detailed against my will, and the audacity I had in ridiculing the well-known practice of prescribing Seroquel for psychiatric disorders where no evidence existed to support the administration of the drug. She called me a psychopath and then used the opportunity to impress the room by listing the qualifications she had acquired various certificates and degrees. No explanation of why anti-psychotics were being administered for psychiatric ailments outside of psychosis was provided and the illogical argument that a variety of vague academic achievements somehow qualified the psychiatrist’s relentless devotion to this magical drug.
The very logic behind administering these drugs for a rainbow unrelated mental conditions is an unexplainable practice that is incomparable to any other medical practice in the world. The assumption that one drug can treat the extraordinarily complex functions associated with multiple mental illnesses seems so obviously faulty. In no other medical practice can a drug be used without any scientific proof to treat illnesses by chemically inducing the blockade of the very neurostransmitter responsible for creating positive emotional responses. The very neurotransmitter that upon release is scientifically proven to be the reason why people feel happy is chemically supressed by anti-psychotics and by removing the ability to experience the ‘happy’ emotion, these drugs treat depression. Depression is unhappiness. So by eliminating the ability to be happy, people who experience chronic unhappiness will benefit from a drug that by its very mode of action chemically castrates the brains ability to make happiness. What in the actual fuck is going on? Imagine a doctor prescribing smoking to cure lung cancer. That’s the same thing as treating depressive mood disorders by administering medication that restrains the ability to make happiness. Happiness is the opposite of depression, no? Am I missing something?
After that productive discussion, the psychiatrist used her power ‘punish’ me by committing me to the isolation room where I violently banged on the door for hours until guards came in to restrain and inject me with anti-psychotics.
I woke up on the cement floor to see that one of the nurses had thrown a plate of food into the isolation room. Most of the food had fallen off the plate and were on the cement, but by all accounts the nurse fulfilled the requirement of providing a psychiatric detainee with food. I did not eat the food. Additionally, the anti-psychotic administered created an overwhelming sense of depression, anxiety and dread. Extreme mental distressed, faced with the realization that my freedoms and psychiatric well being were at the mercy of psychiatric decisioning was incredibly traumatic. I was then escorted to another unit in the hospital and put in another isolation room. I passed out again and woke up startled, not knowing where I was.
I got up and knocked on the window and was met by a nurse who let me out. The ward was a small, windowless set of rooms and a common area for eating. The medication I took both suppressed my cognitive functions, and chemically induced a state of dysphoria and dread.
Several days past, and I was not considered well enough to join the adjacent ward where more freedoms were awarded to patients. The continued administration of anti-psychotics caused insomnia and ruminating thoughts throughout several nights and after about seven sleepless nights, my cognitive abilities were so limited that I failed to recognize where I was when the doctor asked me. By some miracle, I was able to string together the words required to ask the doctor to review the records the nurse had kept about my sleep. She had lied on her report and indicated that my sleep was excellent.
I still have vague memories of countless nights where I pled for help at the window that surrounded the nurse’s station. If she even ever paid attention to me, she would do so by opening the window and yelling the word, “no.”
There are no words I can use to try and describe the dysphoria that anti-psychotics produce. There is nothing that I can compare to the anguish of chemically induced states of mental distress that they cause by their very mode of neurological action in blockading dopamine, the chemical responsible for mental well-being. There is no way out and no relief.
Patients in the psychiatric ward at RJH are treated with palpable disrespect. The chemical restraints forced upon patients do not treat symptoms of mental illness outside psychosis. They subdue patients in order to make them manageable and ensure the safety of medical staff if they display warranted frustration with being locked away against their will. Nothing more.
After weeks of forced medication, the psychiatrist started to put me back on the medications I was used to taking before being admitted to the hospital. My mental health quickly improved after anti-psychotics were removed from the schedule. Eventually I was released, only to relapse into psychosis again after months of isolating and self-medicating the trauma induced anxiety brought on by my incarceration in the psych ward.
I’ll never forget how I helplessly pled for relief of the anxiety produced by anti-psychotics. The prolonged insomnia had profound impacts on my cognitive functioning were so frightening. After seven days of sleeplessness, the doctor finally administered a drug to put me to sleep. There are no words I have to express the utter lack of confidence in psychiatry that I have after being submitted to the abuses of medical professionals responsible for psychiatric patient care. This was only the first, and not even the worst.
I can’t help but continuously think about the unrelenting desire support staff at the psych ward have to execute punitive actions on patients there, may they be the denial of medications they need to alleviate the unbearable stresses of forced incarceration or the overwhelmingly disdainful way in which they treat patients. I can only compare it to the way overworked parents abruptly address the frivolous demands of a fussy toddler. Only replace toddlers with adults and frivolous demands with helpless pleas for their lives.
The logic in which drugs that produce unhappiness are used to create happiness in psychiatry is also prevalent in the way in which patients are subjected to treatment that would cause emotional distress in facilities believed to treat them.
These kinds of absurd realities in healthcare are far too unreal for people to believe.
I can’t help but wonder why nurses who work there do work there. If you hate your job so much, do the world a favour and quit.
