When I was first locked inside a mental hospital, I felt the stigma of schizophrenia. Because of the stigma, I was convinced that my diagnosis had to be incorrect. Beginning the new process of involuntary commitment to the hospital made me feel like an insulted professional.

But during all three of my hospitalizations, the physicians saw me as a unique individual with potential to understand my diagnosis, to recover, and to succeed in life.

These are seven things I remember well that made my hospital stays more pleasurable, and helped prepare me to resume the life I was moving back to, outside the hospital.

Dressing up

During my hospitalizations I wore casual street clothes, and was not required to wear hospital gowns. My parents brought me a few changes of my own outfits, and when I changed into my jeans and a pretty flowered top, I felt like myself again. One hospital kept a small wardrobe closet. Through dressing up, patients could feel touchstones of their former life, and a sense of normality.

There were patients who dressed up for evening activities. A young female patient wore beautiful, dark lipstick, just as she did outside of the hospital. When we cared about how we looked every day, the atmosphere felt less like a psychiatric ward, and more like normal life.

Personally, when I am mentally healthy, I care about what I look like, no matter where I am. When I choose to not fix my hair, not wear makeup or jewelry, and of course, not shower, it means that I am either physically sick or depressed. My doctors and staff noticed when I was showering regularly, and trying harder to look nice. For me, it was a sign that I was getting better.

Visitors

Being regularly visited encouraged me during my hospitalizations. My parents visited me often. They believed from the very beginning that I would get better, and I knew they were on my team, just as they are today. They made me feel loved and valuable. In addition to bringing me my jeans, my parents brought me food I liked, including salads, French silk pie, and a Chocolate Frosty from Wendy’s. It proved to be fortunate that my doctors met regularly with my parents to get to know me better, and to create a plan for after I was discharged.

Religion

In one hospital, there were Christian worship services, which included communion. A hospital security officer I befriended attended the services, along with twenty other patients and staff members. This provided us with a sense of community, at a time when I was struggling against hopelessness. The services reminded me that I was still a special person to God, despite my diagnosis, and they made me confident that I would leave the hospital soon and recover.

I also found hope and comfort through reading the Bible while in the hospital.

Going outdoors

One hospital had an enclosed outdoor picnic area with trees and flowers. The hospital’s day room had a huge window, covering most of the wall, facing the picnic area. Seeing the trees and flowers lifted my spirits.

There were outdoor games such as ping pong, and most days, a security officer and I enjoyed a competitive match. I was drawn to the outdoor atmosphere, as so many of us were socializing and creating artwork outside.

At nine o’clock every night, we were encouraged to spend fifteen minutes outside, and I enjoyed seeing the night sky. A staff member taught me how to say “stars” in Spanish, and a few additional words during my hospital stay.

Fun Activities

One of my best memories was a St. Patrick’s Day celebration, complete with a party, games, and ice cream, not unlike parties during my grammar school years. St. Patrick’s Day 2007 was a typical warm and sunny Los Angeles day, with fluffy white clouds in the sky. The atmosphere felt like a friendly gathering in the real world, outside the hospital. Events like this kept me connected to the world outside.

On a Friday afternoon, there was a dance for patients and staff in the hospital’s day room. I reflected on a swing dance my university friends and I attended in downtown Los Angeles years before.

The hospital had a piano in the basement, and I had the opportunity to practice. It was evocative of the thousands of hours I spent practicing both piano and violin.

Knowing the patient

My doctors recognized my individuality. They cared enough to find out about my university scholarship, my student research, and my musical ability. Knowing that the doctors were interested in my history made me confident that they wanted to help me succeed, and that they were on my team.

There was a doctor who decided to treat me as a partner, and we discussed my diagnosis in depth. This physician carefully explained that I had a treatable neurochemical illness, and convinced me to always take medication. That was in 2007. Because of his willingness to go the extra mile in my treatment, I never missed taking my medication again.

Professionalism

I was treated with a great deal of respect, even at the beginning, when I saw my first physician as an adversary. But my view of my doctors changed, as I was told that my illness came from my genetic predisposition, and that it was not my fault. This made having schizophrenia feel less embarrassing, and it became easier to follow treatment plans.

During my first hospital stay, I had no choice but to work with a doctor, but today, I am thankful for my physician’s partnership. I want to live my life to the fullest.

Looking back, I feel I have a lot to be grateful for, to every person who cared and made an impact on my life while I was in the hospital. Even their simple acts of kindness meant so much.

Hospital treatment teams and staff should never underestimate the impact they can have on our lives.  I’ll never forget the kindness I felt on St. Patrick’s Day, 2007. It made me feel like a regular person, not a person who was sick, different, or “abnormal.” It helped me believe I would recover from mental illness.

 

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