Driving around, talking and taking photographs - that's one way that a friend of mine and I connect... a way that she has supported me throughout the last year or so. Another friend walked with me around our local hockey arena for exercise and routine while another friend became a gym buddy. My cousin is available almost any time to chat and we have spent a lot of time building up our friendship again over the last couple of years. My husband and my children are of course crucial in my support network, and I have slowly developed a web of people in my life that I can count on when things aren't going so well, that are there through both good times and bad.
But throughout my life, I've come to recognise that support goes far beyond friends and family - to people you might see everyday and people you might meet once and never speak to again. It comes in many different ways - a friend, an ear, a straight-talker, a bill-payer, a grocery-doer, a babysitter, a supportive employer, or a shoulder to cry on. There are so many ways that I have been helped throughout the years, despite sometimes not wanting to accept that help in the moment.
But what about the others? The ones that I don't know... the ones whose names I have never spoken, and the people who have put their lives on the line to help me? It goes beyond a job or a call of duty, it is a compassion that is rare, and I have been so lucky to be on the receiving end during some of the most difficult times of my life.
Police officers. It's too common to see the news on television or throughout social media - calling out police brutally and corruption run rampant. My personal experience though is what I hope and believe to be the norm. The way that I have been spoken to with respect and courtesy (during several occasions linked to mental health crisis' for which I am not proud of), including the day my life was pulled off the edge of a cliff a year and a half ago, my body thrown to the ground in a rush of adrenaline from all around. It was hard, my shoulder ached. But it was not broken, I was not treated with disrespect and my life was saved. The officer who pulled me to safety was doing her job... but as we rode by ambulance to the hospital and she asked me questions, there was no judgement from her. On another occasion I remember riding to the hospital in a police cruiser, the officer asking me questions, conversing as if I was a normal human being. Not a criminal, not a crazy person... just normal, just a person having a rough time and needing a hand to get to the help she needed. During yet a different occurrence I had over-dosed on sleeping pills and while I don't remember all of the details I will always remember the officer who pulled over to help me, his patience unending as he got me help and tried to figure out what had happened to me, despite my inability to answer his questions or form a coherent sentence.
Thankfully it hasn't only been police officers who have treated me with this respect... this courtesy... this showing of support, and knowledge and understanding of the mental health world. The paramedics, the crisis teams at the hospital, peer support workers, social workers, pastors from church, and counsellors I have dealt with have almost entirely been supportive. They assess the situation with open minds and no bias, determining the proper course of action for me to take without judgement, without criticising the decisions that might have put me in their office seeking help in the first place. These are the front line workers and they have been vital to my recovery and treatment. There are few people who you can speak with who know and can understand the walk of life you are experiencing and the influx of emotions - the pain and anger and sadness and mania, and who can talk you level again, offer more suggestions that you simply can not see on your own.
Thankfully the treatment plans become much more clear once you gain a diagnosis - doctors do their jobs; they medicate you and get you stable... they put plans in place for your recovery to move forward. Unfortunately for me, this has often occurred in a hospital setting, and while I can honestly say that some doctors are simply more supportive than others, they are there for a reason. They are there to get you home again. And while you wait, while you level out in a safe place there is one more group of vital support people.
The nurses in the psych ward are invaluable in my opinion... especially when you are in lock-down, relying on them for everything that you do, every part of your recovery documented and assessed - twenty four hours a day. During my stays in the hospital, both in the lock-down units and the open wards, I have had some amazing nurses. Considering that they deal with people from all walks of life, experiencing any type of crisis imaginable, they have been truly supportive and definitely under-appreciated. I have had nurses sit and talk with me on my bed, genuine concern about this or that in my recovery, reminding me of things I want to speak with the doctor about. I have seen nurses running to a code white to come back and have patience with us as we ask to charge an electronic device, or to get a glass of water. I have seen trays of food (or other things) thrown at them, only for them to have further patience as they calm a patient down, while keeping an eye on the rest of their case load, and monitoring the person weeping in their room and answering to a doctor's question on another patient down the hall.
I'm thankful that I have experienced such great support (a few blips, but mostly positive) during my recovery journey. I know that sometimes it isn't always the case but I hope that it is becoming more and more normal as stigma is erased and the old style of thinking about mental illness vanishes as modern diagnoses and treatments become more mainstream. But for now, to all those who have supported me in many different way and who still continue to do so, thank you. You are vital and important and appreciated, even if I can't say it at the time. Thanks for ending the stigma, for treating me (us) with respect and courtesy and empathy. And most of all, thanks for doing what you do. There is hope, especially with such amazing people supporting me, both professionally and personally.
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But throughout my life, I've come to recognise that support goes far beyond friends and family - to people you might see everyday and people you might meet once and never speak to again. It comes in many different ways - a friend, an ear, a straight-talker, a bill-payer, a grocery-doer, a babysitter, a supportive employer, or a shoulder to cry on. There are so many ways that I have been helped throughout the years, despite sometimes not wanting to accept that help in the moment.
But what about the others? The ones that I don't know... the ones whose names I have never spoken, and the people who have put their lives on the line to help me? It goes beyond a job or a call of duty, it is a compassion that is rare, and I have been so lucky to be on the receiving end during some of the most difficult times of my life.
Police officers. It's too common to see the news on television or throughout social media - calling out police brutally and corruption run rampant. My personal experience though is what I hope and believe to be the norm. The way that I have been spoken to with respect and courtesy (during several occasions linked to mental health crisis' for which I am not proud of), including the day my life was pulled off the edge of a cliff a year and a half ago, my body thrown to the ground in a rush of adrenaline from all around. It was hard, my shoulder ached. But it was not broken, I was not treated with disrespect and my life was saved. The officer who pulled me to safety was doing her job... but as we rode by ambulance to the hospital and she asked me questions, there was no judgement from her. On another occasion I remember riding to the hospital in a police cruiser, the officer asking me questions, conversing as if I was a normal human being. Not a criminal, not a crazy person... just normal, just a person having a rough time and needing a hand to get to the help she needed. During yet a different occurrence I had over-dosed on sleeping pills and while I don't remember all of the details I will always remember the officer who pulled over to help me, his patience unending as he got me help and tried to figure out what had happened to me, despite my inability to answer his questions or form a coherent sentence.Thankfully it hasn't only been police officers who have treated me with this respect... this courtesy... this showing of support, and knowledge and understanding of the mental health world. The paramedics, the crisis teams at the hospital, peer support workers, social workers, pastors from church, and counsellors I have dealt with have almost entirely been supportive. They assess the situation with open minds and no bias, determining the proper course of action for me to take without judgement, without criticising the decisions that might have put me in their office seeking help in the first place. These are the front line workers and they have been vital to my recovery and treatment. There are few people who you can speak with who know and can understand the walk of life you are experiencing and the influx of emotions - the pain and anger and sadness and mania, and who can talk you level again, offer more suggestions that you simply can not see on your own.
Thankfully the treatment plans become much more clear once you gain a diagnosis - doctors do their jobs; they medicate you and get you stable... they put plans in place for your recovery to move forward. Unfortunately for me, this has often occurred in a hospital setting, and while I can honestly say that some doctors are simply more supportive than others, they are there for a reason. They are there to get you home again. And while you wait, while you level out in a safe place there is one more group of vital support people.
The nurses in the psych ward are invaluable in my opinion... especially when you are in lock-down, relying on them for everything that you do, every part of your recovery documented and assessed - twenty four hours a day. During my stays in the hospital, both in the lock-down units and the open wards, I have had some amazing nurses. Considering that they deal with people from all walks of life, experiencing any type of crisis imaginable, they have been truly supportive and definitely under-appreciated. I have had nurses sit and talk with me on my bed, genuine concern about this or that in my recovery, reminding me of things I want to speak with the doctor about. I have seen nurses running to a code white to come back and have patience with us as we ask to charge an electronic device, or to get a glass of water. I have seen trays of food (or other things) thrown at them, only for them to have further patience as they calm a patient down, while keeping an eye on the rest of their case load, and monitoring the person weeping in their room and answering to a doctor's question on another patient down the hall.
I'm thankful that I have experienced such great support (a few blips, but mostly positive) during my recovery journey. I know that sometimes it isn't always the case but I hope that it is becoming more and more normal as stigma is erased and the old style of thinking about mental illness vanishes as modern diagnoses and treatments become more mainstream. But for now, to all those who have supported me in many different way and who still continue to do so, thank you. You are vital and important and appreciated, even if I can't say it at the time. Thanks for ending the stigma, for treating me (us) with respect and courtesy and empathy. And most of all, thanks for doing what you do. There is hope, especially with such amazing people supporting me, both professionally and personally.
