Surviving Suicide - Comox Valley Hospital

It’s so hard to see systems fail. My father is a doctor and he works incredibly hard for others every single day. He does shifts in emergency and often left when I was a child to deliver babies in the middle of the night. It is hard to blame people for lack of care because the truth is that our health workers mostly do care but are over worked. I have an understanding of health systems because I grew up with parents who's fields were this. I understand more about these workings than people realize and I really genuinely know how hard these people are working for us.

But that DOES NOT make it ok that my voice and feeling as though I could not live any longer wasn’t taken seriously when I went to emergency feeling the most suicidal I have ever felt. Like I was unable to hold on for another day. The doctor that saw me at the Comox Valley Hospital didn’t think it was appropriate to take off his brewery hoodie that advocated drinking beer, something my abuser did chronically; but I shouldn't even have to go there you guys. He is the doctor they have sent to be in care of my life, where was his shirt and that stuff the brain needs to see to feel ok and heard and comforted when you are in a hospital? What the doctor proceeded to do was talk very so-so to me. What I mean by this is that its not like he looked into my eyes and asked genuinely how I was. He just strolled out got some Ativan saying this should do it and that if I wanted I could come back in the morning and talk to the Phsychiatric nurse or Psychologist after they came from the prison shift then I could. I have been to so many therapists and this isn’t what we need to be offered. We need deep care and nourishment and patience. Not to be put at the end of some prison line up. After what felt like some weird horrible clip from a movie I went home and proceeded to cut my legs 365 times over the following week. How was I supposed to justify over 2000 episodes of abuse. I didn’t know how to justify my emotional pain and trauma that seemed so insignificant to others. Even a trained medical professional didn’t think my state was worthy of any more than three minutes of his time. I didn't know how to hold on, how to not die, the Ativan most defiantly wasn't enough. Somehow, physically marking a year on my body made me able to mentally rationalize the full extent of the abuse. This was horrible for my husband but for me it was less horrible than

a) dying or

b) suffering from dreams where my adult brother abuses adult me. The abuse, it doesn’t stop you see. Cutting myself was the safest and easiest and most gentle option for me. It offered release that my body desperately needed to cope.

Do you think if I had already cut myself at the hospital and had to peel back the bloody bandages I was hiding from my husband that the doctor would have taken me more seriously? Or do you think he would have said meh, here have some Ativan, go home and sleep, you will hopefully feel better tomorrow.

Because I didn’t have a “plan” this was a key factor in his analysis and deciding my urgency. The way I see it there are people that have plans for suicide and then there are people that truly try their hardest to go on and on and on and on living with the most horrible truths and pain. We would go until we die because letting go isn’t an option when you have so much at stake. Because I am able to somehow keep standing and rising and able to think intellectually enough to take me to the hospital when I feel like I cannot draw another breath. Just because I have a split of me that knows how to deeply care and nourish the broken part of me. That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be taken seriously. Shouldn’t be worthy of a simple conversation about how I feel.

Thats right I waited for three hours and the doctor didn’t want to know why I was even there. He said that it was someone else’s job to do that and ironically they didn’t exist within the premises at this time. Truly, honestly doctor. I know you are working hard. But look at me, try to listen to me, I am totally broken and I can’t go on. If you asked me I would tell you that I just remembered that my brother abused me every day since I was a baby to eleven and that I care so much about the numbers because I am trying so desperately to understand. Don’t you see I need more than just Ativan? Please doctor! My family doctor is out of town for ten days and I have a family of my own to care for. I cannot wait that long to see a doctor and get more care, please see my truth, my urgency.

But because he failed to do this for me I am going to go on facing this feeling again and again and I can’t come back here because what would it be for? For the same means to an end? that seems to be to get me out of emergency as fast as possible. I am a very smart 31 year old woman and I WOULD NOT BRING MYSELF TO EMERGENCY SAYING I WAS SUICIDAL IF I WASN'T FUCKING SERIOUS. GOT IT? That is bullshit. This is where I call bullshit. Where else was I supposed to go? Where am I supposed to go next time I feel like this because the hospital and emergency system have proven they do not care? You can’t go to your therapist because they have boundaries and their profession means they can’t actually see you outside of appointment hours which usually have to be booked weeks in advance. All they do is ask basic factual questions to ensure their professionalism is maintained.

What is one to do now? I will tell you because I have been there.

You get the fuck back up and you fight, and the next day you do the same fucking thing. The day after that you use all of your might to phone every therapist in town. When you can’t find anyone to take you on this week you fall again but you know what you have to do. So you GET BACK UP! Again and again and AGAIN. You keep going.