There are events, situations and things I witnessed inside the locked hospitals with my daughter that have brought me at times, to the edge---to the place no one wants to ever know exists---seeing human beings treated without dignity, like prisoners and with less than basic needs being met.
Such as the brown paper bag lunches.
As a mother, this memory haunts me the most, so I need to process it and write about it. For those who believe psychiatric hospitals are like hospitals: they are not.
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Part one: Food, and Meals
"Why doesn't she have the hot meal?", I asked after she had been inpatient for several weeks last September 2009.
"She played with her food, or something, actually, I'm not sure."
"How do we find out?"
"Well the hospital nutritionist might know."
"Who ordered it?"
"Doctor's orders."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
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Every single day from September through December
The Monday through Friday meals are delivered by an outside food preparation facility (actually every meal, every day). The Monday through Friday meals for lunch are brown paper bags. Inside is a sandwich, an apple or orange, carrot and celery sticks wrapped in plastic wrap, packets of mustard and mayonnaise, a bag of potato chips and an 8 oz. carton of milk.
On the weekends the meals are hot foods, such as hamburger and tator tots, or spaghetti, things like that.
One distressing weekend, they had told me the doctor removed the cold paper bag meal "special order". The cart was delivered with the hot meals and I happened to be in the elevator with the delivery person. He knew my daughter and kindly asked about her, knowing her from inside the unit. I looked down at the cart and saw the slip of paper with her name on it. My heart sank. The boxes were all checked off for "special diet". The special diet was the same brown bag lunch from the weekday, except the staff placed the items on a plastic tray.
My daughter would hand me the slip and look like she was going to cry. She took the sandwich, stuffed it into the milk carton after she drank the milk (no cups). She threw the celery stick plastic wrapped with carrot sticks at me.
She placed her head onto the table and started to cry.
I placed my arm around her and told her I would be back in 20 minutes with a hot meal for lunch.
This went on for weeks, and weeks and weeks.
Sub-human treatment. As a mother who loves to cook and felt completely hopeless to help get her out of there, I started cooking and bringing her food from home toward the last weeks there, every single day, I made pesto tortellini with lots of fresh garlic, placed it into a container and brought cheerful napkins and plastic fork and cookies and whatever else I could. She started to smile more. She was one who had rare visitors. I sat there one day longing to have a kitchen where I could cook hot food for everyone there, and I would have and I would now.
I always felt it was imperative she had someone eat with her. It's the only way at that point to somehow stay connected. They won't allow family into the art group any more there, and they remodeled and actually removed the visitors room.
Our visits, I ended up deeming in a few posts, "in the cafe with the view". Because we were only allowed to visit where the main area and meals were served, TV's blaring and the cleaning crew was famous for moving us from one side to the other, during the
ONE HOUR in the morning deemed for visits.
The gut pain began then. Dreading how they called upstairs to "find out" if we can be approved for a visit, even after several months. Then sitting down with my daughter and 2 minutes later having to tell her we had to move to a different table with her food for the cleaning crew.
On the day I had visited her in December 2009 and she greeted me wearing the paper bag from lunch on her head as a chef hat---I got the call en route home that she was being transferred to the institution.
Doctor's orders.
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Further reading, as it happened
pause-september 22, 2009. this post was saved to 'draft'. i'm letting it loose now. keep in mind as i wrote back then, (and even now) i have to be guarded.
also this one is especially intense regarding the visiting and food
choppy waters-september 2009.