Where There Is No Still Water

John got back into his car. He was tired and shattered. He did not know if he could go on or how he would. The tears he had held back while visiting Lizzie welled in his eyes. As he started his car, they exploded. Deep, guttural sobs for answers that escaped him.

He switched his car off and sat there in the stillness of the height, letting his frustrations spew out.

How could a system deny anyone, even the most basic of privileges?

How could a system abandon somebody so clearly in pain?

He did not understand.

The nurses should have been caring and understanding. Instead, they just wanted to finish their shift quickly. The doctors, bound by their Hippocratic oath to help others, focused on making her numb. This left her with no energy to voice her complaints.

He had experienced this before. This was not his first encounter with a mental health system that was not just flawed; it was archaic. There was no logic to it. “Fix them up, fill them with drugs, and then throw them back on the street. Next patient, please,” he thought to himself.

There was no long -term support. No help in getting people back on their feet and reintegrating into the big world. That was not their problem. Just a few visits from a nurse focused more on her groceries than on providing real help, and that was it. Except of course for the bag of lollies (drugs) that need to be taken every morning and night.

That was his problem to deal with. His problem alone.

He had reached out for support and guidance on how to deal with this.

What should he say to Lizzie to help her?

How does he keep himself together through all of this? He needed a better way than drinking himself to sleep each night. That was the only way to silence those gremlins and finally get some sleep.

He tried to pull himself together, but her couldn’t. Was it asking too much for someone to listen to a cry for help that always seems to fall on deaf ears?

Did they really think anxious and depressed people could get better there? The place is so old that the water pipes were a feature of the ceiling.

The rooms were a dull, faded yellow, showing the years of neglect. I bet they had some horror stories to tell, he thought to himself.

Every night, they would lull the occupants to sleep with the tune of some sadistic beating. If that wasn’t bad enough, every hour or two, they were woken up by a flashlight shining directly into their eyes. Doctors would become concerned because patients were not sleeping. Their solution? Pump them full of a few more drugs.

It wasn’t just the system per se; it was also the stigma that was created around it. Branded for life. You have been mentally ill and you don't ever forget it. Prisoners got better treatment.

Families and friends could not deal with continual disappointment. “Why isn’t she better? She has been in there for weeks, can’t she just snap out of it?”

The words cut through his heart like a knife. If you ever bothered to visit her you would see why.

He got out of his car for some fresh air and slowly staggered along the street. The dim street light cast his shadow. There was silence. No one else was out. Why would they be? Everyone crossed to the other side of the road, and then they got to the clinic.

Again, he started to cry. What he had seen tonight, he had not been prepared for. His Lizzy sat in a statuesque pose at the end of the bed. Her hand closed in her lap. Here eyes were vacantly looking at the wall. Ther face that once shone and glowed was now sullen and almost gray.

She had just had her third session of ECT. Electroconvulsive therapy, where controlled electric currents induce a brief seizure under general anesthesia.

“It’s perfectly safe,” he had been told. “We usually see great results after 6-10 sessions. There are often no long-term side effects.””

He wanted to believe that. Seeing Lizzie tonight changed everything. Her front teeth were shattered from ECT, and the bite blocks that had been poorly placed. He no longer believed it.

He had been researching it. How could a treatment first used in 1938 still be considered a gold standard?

Has the system failed to progress at all?

It was as bad as relying on lithium, a heavy metal first used in mental health in 1948. With all the pharmaceutical brains in the world, was this the best we could do for mental health?

He let out a loud scream, “Damn you, damn you all. Why won’t you help her? Why won’t you help me?”

As he did, one of the nurses was walking out of the clinic. They made eye contact, and she quickly got into her car and drove off.

That just about sums it up, he thought. The system is broken, and no one cares.

Patch them up and throw them back out onto the street.

Till next time,

Calvin

Submitted for the "A System That Isn't Working" challenge: