Last post I explained how I ended up in a mental ward after an involuntary admission. The term "mental ward" can be somewhat misleading, so let me clarify. Most hospitals have what can best be described as "mental health facilities". These facilities usually consist of a secured floor (or floors) where folks that are not necessarily in touch with reality can go to get better. The ward that I went to was sub-divided into three areas. There was 3rd floor, which was for the people that may have voluntarily committed themselves or otherwise showed no danger to themselves or others. On the 2nd floor there were two areas, the portion in which I resided and the Dark Side. My area was actually just a really bad hotel. We were the folk that were more or less okay, we had simply been labelled "may harm self or others". I was re-diagnosed within 24 hours of my admission as not likely to pose a threat to anyone, myself included, but still stayed on the floor. Best I can figure out why is because I'm kind of a big guy and the 3rd floor has no "emergency" contingencies for out of control patients. Yep, I was kept in a secured ward because I might be scary to some staff. The Dark Side is exactly what it sounds like. It was the area where folks that said bye bye to reality a loooong time ago lived. These were the folks that were not going to be released after the weekend, they were in for the long haul. We would occasionlly hear a ruckus from the DS since the two wards shared a wall and windows through the nurses' station. I'm reallly glad I wasn't over there.
For me, the worst part my stay in Maison du Cucu was the boredom. There simply was nothing to do but eat and watch TV. Now I like TV as much as the next person if it's a program I want to watch. Unfortunately for me, the popular viewing on the ward was reality TV. FML. I finally convinced the recreational therapist that some crosswords would be really great for my recovery. He proceeded to provide me with loads of crossword puzzles.... that a 2nd grader could solve. FML again. So boredom kicked my ass for 3 days. At the end of my 3 days, I got to talk with my doctor for a grand total of 15 minutes. Do the math. That's 5 minutes per day to get me well. Yep, the system works. Wait, no, it doesn't. If I had been truly dangerous, I could simply have bullshitted my way through 15 minutes of therapy and be released. My wife was afraid that I would do just this, tell them what they wanted to hear so I could leave ASAP. I told her not to worry because I was sure that the staff had well-honed BS detecting skills, and for all I know they did/do. Just during my time there I never saw their implementation. I was basically left to help myself.
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