FROM HEIGHTS TO DEPTHS AND SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN

By Linda Stoneman
One million people commit suicide every year

The World Health Organization

All rights reserved, no part of this publication may be reproduced by any means, electronic, mechanical photocopying, documentary, film or in any other format without prior written permission of the publisher. Published by Chipmunkapublishing PO Box 6872 Brentwood Essex CM13 1ZT United Kingdom http://www.chipmunkapublishing.com Copyright Linda Stoneman 2008 ISBN 978-1-84747-238-0

Chipmunkapublishing gratefully acknowledges the support of Arts Council England.

Just when you think you can walk down the street, Bi-polar strikes suddenly and knocks you off your feet. Sometimes its lows and others its highs To a level you think you will fly or die. The roller coaster ride is scary but fun, With laughter and tears all rolled into one. Whats coming up next is a mystery unknown, In a world full of people, where you feel so alone.

(A poem I wrote during one of my bipolar episode - 1997)

INDEX

Introduction

Chapter 1 Childhood and family Chaper 2 Miscarriages Chapter 3 The Birth of our baby Chapter 4 Post Natal Depression & Post Traumatic Stress Chapter 5 Red Nose Day 1997 My First Manic Episode - The psychiatric ward Chapter 6 Somewhere in between(1) Chapter 7 In hospital again Chapter 8 Somewhere in between(2) Chapter 9 Final episode (to date) - and the CAT Team

Introduction Mental health problems including postnatal depression, clinical depression, post traumatic stress syndrome, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, alcoholism and drug addiction to name a few, are very much under-estimated in general as being serious and common illnesses. In fact by 2020, the World Health Organisation estimates mental health illnesses will be the second largest international health burden, the first being heart disease. According to the Office for National Statistics Psychiatric Morbidity report (2001), one in four British adults experience at least one diagnosable mental health problem in any one-year. There is still great stigma attached to some one who suffers with mental health problems. People lack understanding of mental health problems. There are also people who suffer with a dual diagnosis, for example a mental health problem as well as a learning difficulty, which can be extremely difficult to treat. Sometimes sufferers may be cruelly referred to as nutters or psychos to name but a few labels, and are sent to the funny farm. Many people think they are immune from being affected by mental illness, but its hard to avoid becoming another victim when our lives are surrounded by stress and life events, often unexpected and out of our control and which have an effect on our mental health. I believe that stress and its management or poor management has a lot to do with why our health suffers. I know that some stress is good for us, and without it we would not survive; it keeps us alert, on our toes, out of danger and motivates us to do things.

When faced with a stressful situation our bodies react in a flight or fight response, sometimes known as the anger and fear response. This automatic response stems back to when humans first evolved - so when as cavemen we were faced with a danger, like a wild animal threatening us, we had two choices - to physically fight the animal or to run away from it as fast as we could in order to survive.

In modern times our body reacts in the same way when faced with a stressful situation, but it is socially unacceptable to physically fight, and running away is not usually a practical solution. When we cannot respond in either way, the body cannot get rid of the build up of all that energy needed in the fight or flight response. The build up of this unused energy results in STRESS or DISTRESS. If we can identify what triggers our stress, we can take steps to destress ourselves. Bad stress (physical or psychological) has a negative effect on our bodies and minds. All too often we may turn to excessive drinking of alcohol, binge eating, smoking or taking illegal drugs to alleviate stress, but this just puts more stress on our bodies and lulls our minds into a false sense of security. We are all too familiar with someone who is stressed and combined with other factors, may suffer a heart attack a physical event. If you survive the attack, with the advances of medical science and treatment you could be back to normal within a few weeks. There will of course be the psychological affects of suffering a heart attack to deal with. Any trauma or event we go through has a psychological effect on us, in fact anything we expose ourselves to in life, whether it is a good or bad experience has an effect in one way or another, which is then ingrained in our minds. Its important to get support not only during difficult times, but also afterwards. Health professionals are now more aware of the psychological effects of any trauma or experience for example you now may be offered counselling after suffering a heart attack or surgery to help you cope with your feelings about the event. Furthermore, consideration should also be made to the people around the sufferer, as they will have psychological needs as well. I believe the physical trauma during the birth of my daughter, the stress it caused and not dealing with that stress properly, eventually resulted in episodes of depression and then bipolar, which lasted for many months at a time. Bipolar disorder is well known for its recurrent nature, and having stopped my medication after recovering from the first episode, it came back to get me a second time. The highs or manic phases in my bipolar probably only lasted a week or so, although its hard to judge yourself, because you are not always aware when you

are in a manic phase, and people around you may not notice or be aware of the warning signals. Bipolar disorder hides inside your brain, like a fire waiting to be lit, just one spark can set it off. During recovery, coming up from the depths, I found it very difficult to face the world Going outside my front door, meant I was jumping back into a scary place. I did not want people to feel sorry for me or make a fuss, but then I wanted them to know that I was unwell, as I felt very embarrassed and conscious about my inability to do things as normal. That feeling is hard to describe, I suppose its a numb feeling and you think everyone is looking at you, but no one from the outside is really taking any notice, but you are so conscious that you just want to hide. Its as if you have to learn how to live again. If I had a broken leg in plaster, people would see the problem as it is, and accept that they could not do things as normal. Maybe having a disability visible from the outside makes it easier? Because of my supportive family, and accepting treatment from the professionals, taking regular medication then eventually accepting myself and my illness - I think that I am lucky, and I have recovered and living with bipolar which enables me to write this book! The doctors say that clinical depression, bipolar and other psychiatric disorders can be caused by chemical changes in the brain. I believe for these chemical changes to occur something has to trigger that change. Sometimes, the trigger cannot be identified, but for me personally, I now believe as mentioned before that the first event or trigger happened during the traumatic events at the birth of my first child, and that is where I think my problems stemmed from. There were also buried feelings from when I suffered two miscarriages, in 1985 and 1986 respectively. I will take you through events and periods of my life that have been affected by depression and bipolar disorder. The psychiatrists who have treated me could or would not give me definite reasons why I got bipolar, and perhaps some people are more prone than others a genetic thing, maybe. But all I know is that it just happened to me one day, seemingly out of the blue. I am writing this book to help me possibly understand why I was affected, reflecting on my experiences so far. Some of my accounts of how I felt and perceived may not be truly accurate, but they are how I remember and experienced at the time. I also wrote this book to share with anyone who is at all interested in mental health issues, in particular depression and bipolar disorder, in the hope that snippets may be of use to some readers.

Chapter 1 Childhood and family I had a very happy childhood, being the youngest of three children, with an older sister and brother. My mum, at the age of 16, an Irish girl came over from Southern Ireland in the 1940s to live with an Aunt in Stanmore to work as a housemaid. She met my Dad who was born in Edgware, North London. My dad had suffered some form of mental health illness in his teens and it prevented him attending school for a while. He was treated by his doctor who prescribed him phenobarbitone. (A long-acting barbiturate used as a sedative, also used in treating epilepsy). Mum and dad were married in 1951. Soon after they were married Dad suffered another bout of depression. He was unable to work or drive, and once again was prescribed phenobarbitone from the doctor. Mum would take him to her houses where she did her domestic work, and get him to do small tasks. Eventually with time and mums support he made a full recovery. Since then he never suffered from depression again. I wouldnt call myself a very religious person, certainly not a regular churchgoer, although I do believe in God, and I wear a silver cross around my neck most of the time. I was Christened Catholic but went to a Church of England School I put that down to having parents from different denominations but I coped with that, as I suppose I like to think I am quite an adaptable person, being left handed apparently makes you more so! The Church upset me once with something which I wont go into at length, but basically the local vicar seemed to have one rule for some of his parishioners and one rule for others at that point I lost faith in ever wanting to attend his church again. I wrote a letter telling him how I felt, in no uncertain terms. I had a letter back from him inviting me to have tea at the Rectory to talk about it, but I was adamant not to be talked around, and I just threw his letter away, and never replied.

Mum and dad worked hard; dad built up a successful engineering company in Uxbridge, and mum dedicated her life to bringing up us three children. Mum and dad lived for a while in Highgate, London, in a small flat, until they could afford to buy a larger home, a bungalow, in Bricket Wood, near St Albans. This is where I was born at home in 1962. We moved from Bricket Wood a couple of years after I was born, up the road to Chiswell Green, just on the outskirts of St Albans.

After several house moves most of my childhood was spent living in Harpenden, Hertfordshire. Mums hobby in between looking after her family was moving house and getting a better house each time, which she was very successful in doing. She loved refurbishing the houses with dads help. Dads dedication to his engineering work bought him success and financial rewards. Things could not have been better really. From a young age I always wanted to be a nurse. When I was about six or seven years of age, I would spend hours bandaging up my dolls, lining them all up in their little wooden beds and cots, pretending they were in a hospital ward. I would also love dressing up in my nurse uniform. One day when I was playing nurses, I was a bit short of bandages and went rummaging around in mums bedroom cupboard when I came across a packet of Dr Whites sanitary towels. I had not been told about the birds, bees and periods at the time, so to me these were a fantastic find, and ideal to wrap around my dolls as dressings! (Improvisation or what!?) When my mum saw my dollies swathed in sanitary towels, wrapped round their heads and body parts, it did make her laugh! My passion for nursing continued and at around the age of ten my best friend Jane and I joined the local St Johns Ambulance Brigade as a junior cadet. I got a proper uniform to, a grey dress with a buckle belt, and a white nurses hat and a black beret for when we were on outside duties. Every Monday evening Jane and I would go to the local trust hall, and spend a couple of hours learning how to use a triangular bandage in so many different ways. It was amazing! It was a bit like origami paper folding, and I learned how to make a doughnut shaped padding dressing to a headscarf dressing. Not to mention using loads of specially folded triangular bandages to splint peoples legs together that had broken a bone! Talking of bones, in one corner of the room was a tall cupboard, which housed the resident and real

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skeleton. His name was Percy, and he had left his skeleton in his will to St Johns, so we could learn some anatomy from him. I loved looking at him, pointing to, and naming all those bones! To me then, nursing was a purely physical thing, meaning nursing someone with a broken leg or having an operation. I had no experience or consideration of mental health problems at that time. My other childhood love was horses. I enjoyed caring for them as well as riding them. In fact, I was lucky enough to own several horses as a teenager. My first pony was called Shannon. He was a bay gelding (gelding means he has had his private bits seen to!). He was a stubborn old mule. He was a retired riding school pony, and was as crafty as a pack of monkeys. All he wanted was his feed. Once on a ride, we got onto the common for a canter, and he did a 180degree turn, shot me off to the ground and galloped off back to the stable where he knew his feed was waiting for him!!! We thought that Shannon was not the best of ponies so decided to sell him, and find a new one. On one occasion we had seen an advert in the Horse and Hound. It was over in Surrey somewhere, so we (thats me, mum and dad), had the day out one Saturday to see the horse. When we got there it was a very nice stable, and the horse for sale was part thoroughbred (like a race horse). The owner suggested I go out with her, and she would ride another horse, and I could get a feel for it. We went out off up the road, and soon came to a gate, which lead into the woods near to the stable. I could feel that the horse was raring to go, and that I had to hold it back with the reins and my thighs. The owner said did I want to canter, and I said yes. Off we went along the woodland path, with me in the lead. After a couple of minutes I could feel the canter turning into a gallop, and I felt nervous, up ahead was a tree where the path split. I was not sure which way to go, and before I knew it, the horse had taken a sudden jerk to the left and I left the saddle, I remember seeing the tree coming towards me. The next thing I remember was being aware of sitting up on the dusty wood floor with a bad pain in my head, and feeling dizzy. The horses owner said was I ok, and I got back up on the horse, still feeling shaken, we made our way back to the stable. I was covered head to toe with black dust, and had a large lump the size of an egg on my head. Mum and Dad were very worried, so they decided to take me to hospital on the way home stopping off at St Albans Hospital. I went to casualty, and they said as I had been unconscious they would have to keep me in to observe for concussion.

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That was the first experience of St Albans Hospital I ever had. Anyway, all seemed ok, no signs of permanent damage or concussion, so I was discharged the next day. Eventually I found a new horse called George. (Sometimes I called him Chicken George after a character from Roots a television series that was being televised at that time.) In my mid-teens I lost interest in horses and became more interested in boys.

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Chapter 2 Miscarriages I met Dave when I was fifteen years of age, he was nearly twenty, and training as an electrician. It was at a Valentines Disco in the local village hall of Park Street, near St Albans where he lived. One of my school friends, Julia, had asked me if I would go with her to the disco. I always remember sitting with my friend at the disco, when this tall bloke came over to me and asked me for a dance. I can remember it was a song called Wishing on a Star, by Rose Royce. Dave was my first real love, apart from having a crush on a boy at senior school, and a very brief holiday romance.

Dave and I went out with each other for around three years before we became engaged. Again, I was so happy and in love. He could not drive and we lived in different towns, so we only saw each other normally once a week. Usually meeting in St Albans going to the pubs or the cinema. Eventually Dave learned to drive, and would see each other more often during the weekday evenings. We had a craze with using CB radios then, and on his way back home I would talk to him problem was, I used to lose contact on the radio with him when he reached the King Harry pub in St Albans. One day, I was upstairs in my mum and dads house in Harpenden. It was a lovely house, which backed onto the park in Harpenden. Dave was downstairs, and I happened to over hear Dave asking my mum and dad if he could get engaged to me. It was one of the best days in my life. The plan was to get married a year later, so I suggested the day before my birthday, 7 August 1982. I would be 20 the next day so I was a teenage bride technically - well by one day! There were lots of preparations to be done for the wedding, and my mum was the main organizer for that. She thrived on projects like this, and luckily had the money to spend on the event. Despite my dispute with the church, we thought that a church wedding would be good. Arrangements were made at our local Parish church.. I had been to the junior school attached to the church, so I felt it appropriate that this is where we were to be married. I asked mum if I could have a horse and carriage, as I loved horses, and it made it more of a fairytale wedding. So mum found someone who did this, and that was booked. The reception was going to be in

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a marquee in the park, where our house backed onto. I think mum had to get permission from the local Council. This was granted, and that was sorted. There were lots of other things to organise, my dress, the bridesmaids dresses, invitations, order of service, flowers, catering, etc etc. The entertainment was discussed. I asked if we could have a steel band, as I loved the sound of them. We managed to find a band from Luton, so they were booked. Mum also booked some Irish dancers and we also had one of Daves mates who played in a band so they were booked also. It was a real mix of musical talent. The whole event went off so well from the wedding ceremony to the evening entertainment. All our family and friends said they had never experienced such a good wedding. I wish we could live it again!!! Dave and I were married in August 1982 in the same year as my sisters second child was born, Kate. Kate was born three weeks before our wedding. It was the only time I had been smaller in size than my sister. She was always slimmer than me, as I tended be quite podgy, and still am! Anyway, after Kate was born everything appeared to be ok, and Cath, my sister was discharged home with her new Baby. It was only when she went to the first postnatal check up that a bombshell was dropped about Kate. Cath was told that Kate had severe mental handicap. Cath could not believe this at first. She was alone with Kate at the clinic. She came out of the clinic with Kate in her pram, called her husband to come home and got to mums house in total shock. When she got to the door, she just burst into tears, and told mum, who also did not believe this. It was a huge bombshell. Kate had a severe learning disability similar to Downs syndrome. The psychological effects of this on my sister and her family was enormous, particularly as they were not given any support from the professionals. (Thats another story, and maybe a book for my sister to write!?) Dave was an electrician and I was a secretary working for Barclays Bank. Our first small home was in Caddington, near Luton. We could not afford to buy a house in Harpenden. Caddington was not that far away, but a bit off the beaten track. We were quite cosy in our little home in Caddington, but wanted to move back to Harpenden when we could afford to. Our ambitions were to live in Harpenden and to start a family as soon as we could. We moved from Caddington about 18 months after moving there. We had the opportunity of buying my sisters house in Harpenden. They were buying a bigger house on East Common.

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They had two children and a large dog, so needed more space. That worked out well, and we settled in quickly to our new home in Harpenden. We felt that now was the time to start thinking about a family. So, we did the obvious and started the process of producing a baby! It was an exciting time and an enjoyable one too!! After several months nothing had happened, and we were wondering why I was not getting pregnant. Anyway, eventually I got pregnant and we were over the moon. I always remember getting the pregnancy test, and seeing the positive blue line on the display. I felt so well. I carried on as normal, going to work etc. Then from out of the blue during week 10 of the pregnancy, I started to get some pains in my stomach, like the start of a period. These pains escalated. I rested in bed, and Dave called the doctor. He said carryon with the bed rest until the pains had subsided. Unfortunately, later that day I started to bleed. Within a few hours the pains were stronger. I had been in and out of the toilet several times, and the last time I felt a jolt in my stomach as if it was all coming away from inside me. I knew that I had lost my baby it was down the toilet. Dave rang the doctor again, and she said go the A and E at St Albans hospital. Once at the hospital, I was seen very quickly by a doctor, and then sent to the gynaecological ward. I was put in a bed, with a big pad under my bottom and one of those awful Doctor Whites pads! (They keep cropping up!) The doctor came around, and I had a scan, which confirmed I had lost the baby. I was gutted literally. I felt so empty and lost, and I just wanted to go home. The doctor said I needed small operation called a D & C, what my mum called a Scrape. Its where you are cleaned out inside your womb to make sure there was nothing left which may cause a problem. One other thing that upset me on that ward was a girl in the bed opposite. I had wondered what she was in for, and thought to myself it was probably the same as me. I said hello to her from across the ward. She said hello, and asked me what I was in for. I told her. What came next was a shock to me, when she told me she was having an abortion. I could not believe it, and it was like a stab in the back! I felt so angry and sad inside that she was choosing to get rid of a baby and I had just lost a baby without any choice that was hard to deal with. I guess thats they way of the world, her situation was different to mine, and she would have had her reasons for having an abortion. Inside I blamed the nurses for putting her near me, but I guess it wasnt their job to think like that? Later that day I was sent home. I had a couple of weeks off work, then back to normal. The year went by quite quickly. Dave and I had full time jobs to go to. When we were not at work we spent time with the other members of the family, also supporting my sister and family

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with Kate. We moved house again, this time to a three-bed semi detached house, again in Harpenden. There was a lot of work to be done, as an elderly couple had previously owned the house and they had found it difficult to maintain things. To me the house was quite depressing, but Dave could see through the work that needed to be done and how it could be a nice house. I became pregnant again soon after moving in and tried to take things easy, especially in the early weeks. I had a scan at around ten weeks, and all appeared to be ok with the baby. It was a scary time getting to ten weeks, but I managed to, and thought that this time was different; unfortunately I was lulled into a false sense of security, because at 12 weeks, I miscarried again. This time it was far more painful than the last. I went to the QEII hospital in Welwyn and was admitted to a ward. I remember laying on the bed, again with big pads underneath me, to mop up the blood. The pain was bad, and I asked the nurse for some painkillers. It was a weekday, and Dave had been at work. He had been called, but before coming to the hospital he was dropping his work mate home, when they were involved in a car crash. Apparently, some reckless woman, had overtaken on a blind bend in the road, and came crashing into Dave and his workmate. It resulted in both Dave and Andy, being cut out of the van by the fire brigade. Dave luckily sustaining only minor injuries, whereas poor Andy broke his leg very high on his thighbone. Dave had damage to his wrist and hand. Unknown to me, they were both ambulanced to the QEII hospital where I already was! He was checked over, wrist bandaged and numerous lacerations cleaned and dressed. When Dave eventually came onto my ward he looked as though he had been in a war, with nasty cuts and bruises to the face and body. I was in a bad way, and it was a shock to see Dave, and learn what had happened. The saying It never rains it pours came to my mind. I felt very uncomfortable down below although the pain like bad cramp in the lower region had subsided. The nurse came to look, and said that they would clean me up. This was horrid, as instead of losing all the blood and bits down the loo; everything was still either inside me, or in the pad underneath me. I felt dirty and very undignified. The nurse had to scoop all the debris into a container, and then washed me down. Again I would have to have a D & C operation before I could be discharged home. At this stage I felt that I would never have a baby and this made me feel very upset and emotional. Nevertheless, I went back home, and within a week or so, hopped back into life and returned to work. I remember being quite tearful for some weeks after. I would be out, for example in the shops, and I might see someone with a baby in a pram, and this would make me feel tearful, and I would have to go

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home. Or, when people talked about what had happened to me I would get upset. I just buried these feelings and eventually they subsided. We had a dog called Bruno, he was a boarder collie, and was a great dog. We named him Bruno, as Frank Bruno the boxer was fighting in one of his first big fights (I dont suppose he thought he would suffer with mental health problems it just shows how it can happen to anyone, famous or not so famous). We got Bruno from the Blue Cross dogs home, soon after the second miscarriage. He was a sort of replacement for a baby. Unfortunately, after about two weeks we had a phone call from the Blue Cross, and they asked had Bruno settled, and I said yes. I asked why, and they said that the previous owners had been hounding them to give him back to them. Apparently there had been marriage problems, and Bruno had been ill treated, things like tying him up in the garden shed for hours on end. The previous owners knew that once they sign an animal over to the dogs home, legally they couldnt have them back. This was a terrible thing for us, as Bruno had settled so well and I could not bear to loose something else. Therefore we told them that we could not give him back. What a horrid day that was!

Dave and I carried on trying for a baby, although I was quite anxious that the same thing would happen again, although I kept saying to myself Third Time Lucky. After a year, I still had not conceived which was very frustrating. We tried all the tricks of the trade, which included taking my temperature each morning; charting this and then watching for a slight raise then dip in temperature, which indicated ovulation. It was a real chore each morning, waking up, and the first thing you had to do before even speaking was to shove a thermometer in my gob! Anyway during the second year of trying we struck lucky again, and I was pregnant for a third time. I went to the doctors as soon as I knew, and they said they would monitor me very carefully. I would have another early scan; to re-assure me things were ok. I got to ten weeks, then twelve weeks, and beyond. In fact, I had a very healthy pregnancy, apart from the usual morning sickness in the early weeks. I remember my sense of smell being heightened. I would come down in the morning and open the fridge and the smells from the various foods in the fridge would make my stomach turn. Other than this it was all looking rosy in the garden.

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I must admit, I did not realise how large I would be in the latter stages of pregnancy. One evening I had a warm bath, and when it came to getting out, I found to my horror I was stuck now I know where the phrase like a beached whale comes from! I had to call for Dave, and he helped me back to dry land!! Everything was organised for the time when I had to go into hospital to have the baby. My consultant, Mr Wilkins at the QEII had advised if I got to full term, that I have an induced labour. We followed his advice, and on 12 September 1988 Dave took me over to the hospital to have our baby. I said to Dave it felt strange, I had my suitcase, and it felt as if I was going off on some sort of holiday little did I know what was to come next!

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Chapter 4 The Birth of our baby 13 September 1988

It was Monday 12 September 1988, and my consultant had suggested I have an induced labour, to be on the safe side I had gone two weeks over the due date, and the doctor had done some sort of test something to do with the placenta, and that my baby had stopped feeding and my weight had remained the same over those two weeks. I was happy to go along with his advice as he was the consultant. My bag had been packed a couple of weeks ago, so that was already. Dave drove me to the hospital, and it felt strange If only someone could have warned me. At the pre-natal classes I went to they did not touch on many negative aspects of pregnancy and childbirth, apart from suffering from morning sickness and the dangers of high blood pressure. I arrived on the ward at the QEII, a typical NHS ward really. I was shown to my bed, and the admission details were taken, followed by a preliminary set of observations were done on me, including blood pressure and a tracing of the babys heart beat. All was fine. Dave then left as he needed to get to work, and was happy that nothing more was to happen that day, as the Consultant had made a decision to induce labour the following morning, Tuesday 13th September 1988. I settled into the ward spending some time in the TV lounge, watching daytime TV, or reading some of the magazines in there. During the afternoon I attended a parent craft session, where we learned how to relax and do deep breathing something I was sure I would be doing plenty of. There was a lovely view from the window s of the ward it was a large wood, full of deep green trees, it was very relaxing to look at and I wished that I could be out there in the woods. Later that afternoon I had a visit from my mum and my aunt (mums sister) Eileen. I was pleased to see them, especially Auntie Eileen, as she was moving back to Ireland later in the week. I really wanted her to see the baby before they went. Before I knew it, it was bedtime, and I was given a sleeping pill. Anyway this did the trick as the next thing I knew it was 6am in the morning, and I could hear activity on the ward. I lay in my bed as I felt comfortable and secure, until the nurse came round. She asked me to go and have a shower, then after this

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she would insert a pessary, called Prostin. This was to start the contractions off, so I assume it was some sort of hormone. At first I could not feel anything. After a couple of hours I started to get a tummy ache, like when you start a period. I also became quite uncomfortable, so started to pace up and down the ward, holding my back, as it felt more and more uncomfortable. After another couple of hours I felt the need to go to the toilet, so went into the ward toilets. I remember squatting down to sit on the toilet, when I felt a sudden jolt inside me, and then the sensation of warm water trickling out of my vagina and down my legs. I came out of the toilets and called for a nurse. She said get onto my bed, and would examine me. The nurse did several checks on me and also strapped my stomach up to monitor the baby. She confirmed that the baby was fine, and that I had started the first stage of labour. I was to be transferred to the labour suite, which was one floor above. The labour suite consisted of single rooms with a hospital bed in each. They were all individually decorated in different colour schemes all very chintzy. My room was painted yellow and named Daffodil Room. The nurse told me that Dave had been called again, and I was anxious that he came quickly as possible, as I did not want to be alone. The nurse was very re-assuring, and explained everything to me, and that it could well be several hours before anything would happen. She said she would monitor the baby on a regular basis, and also my observations, blood pressure etc. I felt safe in her care. The pains were far and few between, and I thought to myself, well if they stayed like this I will be fine. Dave arrived, and I hugged him a lot, and told him I was so glad to see him. I filled Dave in with what the nurse had said and done, and he seemed happy with the situation. We sat and chatted for some time. He then said he would go and buy a newspaper and a couple of drinks from the hospital shop. It was near midday, and the contractions were getting slightly stronger and with less time in between. The nurse was still happy that things were going well. She asked about pain relief, and suggested I have some gas and air if I felt the pain was getting too much. I remember using the gas and air for the first time, and it was the most unusual sensation I had ever had. It was a real high feeling in the head, and I could not control my laughter it was in fact,

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looking back a bit like the feelings of the high part of my bipolar a great feeling, but exhausting if it lasted for too long. The nurse whom I had got on with so well, was finishing her shift at 2pm, she came in to do her final checks and wished us good luck with the baby. I wished that she could have stayed, but knew that was not possible. The new staff came on the maternity ward at around 2.15pm after their handover. I had been allocated a midwife, whose name I cant remember a tall black girl. She came in the room, said hello and carried out her observations without any further communication between us. I felt slightly uneasy by the silence, so I just held Daves hand and felt safe that he was with me. My contractions became more frequent and quite painful. I told the midwife this and she said would I like an epidural. I had not really liked the sound of an epidural, but now I had felt the strength of the contractions, I decided to change my mind, and asked if she could arrange for one to be administered. The midwife said she would page the on-call anaesthetist and he would sort that out. I felt some relief that the now very painful contractions will soon be numbed. The anaesthetist arrived about half an hour later. He asked me to lie on my side on the bed, so he could see my back. I was dressed in one of those lovely hospital gowns, where your arse sticks out the back. The anaesthetist was able to untie the gown to get a good view of my spine. (Where the epidural was administered). I was feeling very uncomfortable by this time, and found it hard to stay in one position for any length of time. The anaesthetist asked me to try and keep still as he had to get the v long needle in between the vertebrae. He asked me to curve my backbone, by lying up in a curled up position. This was very uncomfortable for me, as I had the big lump of my tummy squashing against the top of my legs. Anyway, after around twenty minutes the anaesthetist was ready to administer the anaesthetic into my spine to numb the lower part of my body. This was again like the injection you have when going to the dentist and you can slowly feel the areas going cold and numb all at the same time. Once the procedure was over the anaesthetist sprayed some cold water on my lower limbs, and I confirmed to him that I could not feel anything. He also pinched various areas of my lower body, and this also confirmed that I could not feel anything. He said that it was 100% effective, and would be for a few hours now. He also explained that it could be topped up if appropriate later on. I felt happy about this, and so did Dave, he did not like to see me in pain.

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As I was numb from the waist down, I was not able to walk about anymore, so was confined to the hospital bed. The nurse also strapped the baby monitor to me now, and this was now being continuously monitored, and I could see that all was well on the monitor. It was a lovely day outside, one of those glorious Indian summer September days. The midwife was sitting in the corner of the room, occasionally looking at the monitor or leaving the room for a few minutes at a time. I began to feel a little warm, but put it down to the baby and me being in labour, although I could not feel a thing. A little while later I continued to feel even more hot and told Dave. He started to fan me with his newspaper, which he had been reading, which helped a little. The midwife was aware of me saying this to Dave, but did not respond in any way, and she continued to write her notes she was doing. After some time I was feeling more distressed and hotter, I called to the midwife to check up on me. She came over, felt my forehead, and said its such a hot day today; I expect it is just that, I will open a few windows. She commenced to fling open some of the large hospital windows, which didnt seem to make any difference; in fact I think it let in more warm air! The midwife did not make any attempt to make me more comfortable, and in fact continued sitting in the corner of the room shuffling her papers. This made me quite cross and a little afraid, as I knew I felt too hot and I should not have done. Then I thought well the nurses know what they are doing, and maybe my temperature was quite normal in the circumstances. Dave continued to fan me, whilst I lay flat out on the hospital bed. This situation remained the same for some time then suddenly out of the blue, an alarm started sounding from the baby monitoring equipment. This prompted the midwife to come and look at the monitor. She did not say a word, and she had a very expressionless face, so I could not tell if the alarm was a good or bad signal. Dave and I were waiting for her to reassure us that everything was ok this didnt happen. She looked at us both and said I think I need to call a doctor to look at this. She went over to the phone in the corner of the room, to page the doctor. I was feeling quite anxious now, and asked the midwife what was happening. She said that the baby was showing signs of distress as the babys heart rate was elevated. It seemed to take an age before the doctor arrived, and by this time the heart rate of the baby was showing near 100 beats per minute. The doctor told the midwife to take my temperature. This was 102.0F, which was quite a high temperature, indicating something not right. I was feeling very anxious, uncomfortable and frightened. After several minutes of being examined and looking at my notes, the doctor told us he was going to speak to my consultant. He was

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not on the ward, in fact I am not sure where he was that made me feel more anxious and I felt he should have been there, but I know that cannot always be possible. The doctor went over to the phone in the corner of the room, and I could hear him talking to Mr Wilkins, my consultant. After his conversation, he came over to Dave and I, and said we have decided that an emergency caesarean operation is necessary as your baby is showing high levels of stress, and if we do not deliver quickly it could cause complications. Dave and I both looked at each other, and said at the same time, yes, well do what is necessary, as we dont want to loose this baby. At that point several other members of staff seemed to appear on the scene, and trollied me to the operating theatres, which were down the corridor. As I was wheeled in there were several more staff, one staff checked the bracelet on my wrist, and asked me who I was and my date of birth. Other staff were undressing me, and taking off various bits of jewellery. I always wore a silver Christening bracelet, and this proved very difficult to remove. Because I was hot, and a bit swollen it would not come over my hand. I tried several times, and the nurse said it would have to be cut off, which she did. I felt sad about that. The anaesthetist then asked me some questions and explained what was going to happen. I asked about having it done whilst awake under the epidural, but he said it had not been topped up lately, and it would be quicker to give me a general anaesthetic in the circumstances. Next thing I knew, a needle was being put in my arm, and Dave had to say goodbye, as he could not be present whilst the emergency Caesarean was taking place. At this point I started to cry, as I did not want him to go. Then I heard the anaesthetist say to me, Linda, I want you to count from ten backwards, and you will be asleep before you get to one. I did as he said, and like a light bulb went out to sleep. Being under a general anaesthetic is like being in a time warp, as you dont know how long you have been under or what has really happened to you. Its also like being in a dream, but in this case mine was a nightmare, one that was going to be in my mind forever. Some of the following text has been taken from my original diary, which I kept just after the time of this traumatic event. I dont often keep a diary, but when this happened to me I felt I had to write it down, to try and make sense of what happened.

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Mine and babys life were on a knife edge. Attempts were made to intubate me unsuccessfully (this is where a tube is put down your wind pipe to help your breathe whilst asleep). Apparently two anaesthetists and a consultant all tried unsuccessfully to insert the tubes. At this stage there was great worry in the operating theatre, and the consultant ordered one of the nurses to call the crash team. There was real threat that my heart would fail under the stress and lack of oxygen. Not only was I being starved of oxygen, but so was my baby. Meanwhile, Dave was waiting outside the operating theatre with a nurse. The nurse tried to calm Dave down, when he saw the crash team running into the theatre, the only thoughts he had was that he had lost us both. The consultant had to make a decision to reverse the anaesthetic, as he needed to get that baby out and save my life! As I was coming out of the anaesthetic I was very aware of the tubes still in my mouth, and a suction tube, trying to clear my airway. I was also very aware of a choking and gurgling sound I could not open my eyes, but it was dark, and I felt that I was drowning. I could hear bubbles popping inside my head. This feeling seemed to last forever, and I thought that I was dying. I just could not breath!! I eventually caught my breath and began to vomit. I then thought to myself, and shouted where is my baby? I was told that I was going to have the baby using the epidural now. I would have to wait a while as this would have to be topped up (this was an additional delay) which my baby could do without. It seemed like an age. My baby was eventually born at 5.47pm. I heard one cry and was told it was a little girl. I dont recall much after that. I do remember a lady member of staff commenting that she had never seen a baby covered in so much meconium. (A dark green fecal material that accumulates in the fetal intestines and is discharged at or near the time of birth). Our baby had inhaled a large amount of this, which had blocked her lungs, and made it very difficult for her to breath. The nurse also said that I had some sort of infection that had set in, explaining my high temeperature. We were both immediately put on antibiotics. My Baby still unnamed was send to the special care unit immediately, and I was cleaned up, and wheeled to a very quiet side room. I can remember just lying there, feeling totally stunned and sore, I could not take in what had gone on, was this a nightmare or something in my imagination? I was aware of a very sore throat, neck and mouth, my bottom half of body was still totally numb from the epidural. My throat was sore from all the tubes trying to be inserted; it felt like the lining of my throat was

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bleeding. My front teeth were sore and numb all in one again I think the tubes trying to be forced down my neck had bashed my teeth. I remember Dave coming to see me, and he said just rest and he would make sure our baby was ok. He told me she was in the special care baby unit. Little did I know, that our baby had deteriorated within a couple of hours being born, and Welwyn did not have intensive care for babies, so the hospital had rang around, and a special team was coming from University College Hospital with a mobile intensive care cot to take her up to London. At around 11pm that same day, she was transferred to UCH to be looked after there. I was monitored very carefully after the birth, and felt numb to the whole situation, not really aware at the time what was happening infact I was in shock. Early the next morning the anaesthetist visited me and he was very concerned, and he asked me how I was. I told him I felt numb. He told me that Mr Wilkins was aware what had happened and Mr Wilkins had said, I was glad I was not there. I felt angry at this comment and felt more angry that he had not made an appearance to explain to me what had happened. I was unwell to travel to London to be with our baby, and Dave was frantically going between me at Welwyn and our baby girl in London. I felt very poorly; my throat was very sore and extremely swollen and I could not move my neck. My front teeth were numb where the tubes and instruments had been bashed around in my mouth in the effort to intubate me. I could hardly talk and was not really aware of any pain from the caesarean, as these were much worse. Our baby was in intensive care, still on a ventilator, and gravely ill. After a few days the staff at QEII decided that I could be transferred to UCH, and was admitted onto a ward there, to be nearer our baby. I can remember feeling very lonely and upset, as there was no one with me on the journey in the ambulance. Then I did not know anyone on the ward. I just cried. Soon Dave arrived on the ward, and said did I want to go and see our baby. I said yes, but had a slight feeling of hesitation. The nurse warned there were lots of monitors attached to our baby and she had a tube breathing for her at the moment. As we entered the ICU, there was a very clinical feel about the place, and lots of bleeping. I looked into the incubator, and there I saw Sarah! The moment I saw her that name came into my mind and I said to Dave I want to call her Sarah he agreed, so Sarah it was.

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The nurse explained that Sarahs main problem was her breathing and that her lungs were full of meconium. (babys first bowel movement). She had been put on a high does of antibiotics, and also was given phenobarbitone, as they thought she had had a fit soon after birth. I felt very sad hearing all this, and just cried. The nurse said it might be better if I just rest on the ward upstairs, instead of spending too much time with Sarah. Over the next couple of days, things remained much the same with Sarah. On day three the consultants had decided they would try to take her off the ventilator. This was done and she was able to breathe fairly well by herself, although she needed 100% oxygen around her in the incubator. The doctors were now hopeful this would be ok. One test, which they had not done, was that on her brain. Sarah would have several sensors glued onto her head, and this would monitor her brain to see if there had been any damage. I think this was called an EEG. Luckily no brain damage had appeared on the test, and we were all very relieved. I can remember after the test trying to pick off all the glue they had used to stick on the sensors. After a week, I was well enough to be discharged from the ward I was on. There was a small parents room attached to the ICU, where I could stay, and be near to Sarah. It was a tiny room and not enough for Dave to stay, but I was ok with that. I can remember laying there at night listening to all the bleeps from the ICU and thinking about Sarah. It was still all a big haze to me. The staff on the ICU suggested I express some of my milk so Sarah could have that fed to her. She had a tube inserted in through her nose, and this went into her tummy, where she was being fed formula milk. There was a special little expressing room, where you were attached to something not so dissimilar to a cow milking machine. It was jolly uncomfortable, and I was not being very generous with the yield of milk I was giving. I dont think my milk had come through very well because of all the trauma. Anyway, I manage after about an hour to fill a small bottle, for Sarah to have. I felt pleased that she would be having some of my good milk. How frustrating though going through all of that for one small bottle of milk. Things were looking up, and over the next few days things slowly improved with Sarah needing less percentage of oxygen around her. I was able to hold her in my arms for the first time, and this was so exciting; I was worried that she was not getting enough oxygen, but the

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nurse held a small oxygen mask close to her face, so all was ok. I could not believe that this was our little Sarah. The doctors explained to me that they have done some tests and they found that I had carried bacteria in my vagina called Streptococcus B. Apparently one third of men and women carry Strep B in their intestines and one quarter of childbearing age women carry it in their vagina. This is what had caused the problems whilst having Sarah. The bacteria lays dormant in the body causing no problems and can affect anyone at anytime. The antibiotics after helped clear this up. But the doctors were surprised that the staff at QEII had not picked this up earlier, and prevented this problem. (Incidentally, pregnant women are now screened routinely in many European countries for Strep B, although in the UK it is only available privately on request). Anyway, the doctors at UCH were happy to prepare us for returning to the QEII hospital, ready for discharging home. I was quite nervous about returning back to the QEII, as that is where it all went terrible wrong. Anyway, when we got back to the hospital, the staff had put up balloons, and a little poster saying welcome back Baby Stoneman and Mum and Dad. This cheered me up, and we had our own little private room with a cot in for Sarah. The staff said we should spend a couple of days rooming in before going home. We thought this was a good idea, and would help build up our confidence. All went well and we felt quite happy and comfortable. We were ready to go home as a normal family.

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Chapter 4 Post Natal Depression & Post Traumatic Stress It was 25 September 1997, and this was the day we were being discharged from the QEII hospital. It was also Catherines birthday (my sister). I felt excited, but also a bit scared as once I was at home, it would mean we would be on our own. All those events in the last few weeks were still very much in the forefront. Nevertheless, we had to step forward and make the plunge and go home. Everything had been prepared for at home. The nursery with the cot, toys, clothes etc were all ready. We had also put a special bottle of champagne in the fridge but somehow this did not seem so appropriate to drink now. However, I am sure we will drink it once we were feeling better. We packed all the things in the car, and last of all said good-bye to the staff on the ward. It was just Dave, Sarah and I. On the drive home we did not say much to each other. Sarah was asleep in her little carrycot. When we got to our house we saw someone had decorated the front with a banner saying welcome home Sarah and more balloons. Later we found out that Margaret (Daves mum had come up earlier on in the day to do this), which really cheered me up. We unpacked the entire luggage from the car, and lifted Sarah carefully into the front room where she continued to sleep. Soon my mum, Cath, Kerry and Kate arrived, and we all hugged each other and cried with joy. I wished Cath a happy birthday, and she said what a day to remember! Later there was a knock on the door and it was Irish Rose from up the road. She was one of mums best friends and she lived at number 26. She was a cheeky and jolly person, sometimes coming across a bit rude if you didnt know here better, but her heart was always in the right place. She gave me a big hug, and we all cried again. (Catholic girls are great ones for crying!) It was all quite overwhelming really; so many people all around us. Sarah started to wake up, and I knew it was nearly her feed time. I was breast-feeding her, and she was having a feed nearly every 2 hours, so that was quite demanding. When she was fully awake I picked her up for the first time and held her in my arms for a little while. Everyone was admiring her; she was so beautiful with that dark long hair, and piercing blue eyes. I was quite conscious about

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breast-feeding so I went upstairs in the little nursery we had prepared, and sat quietly feeding her. I felt happy and contented, as I knew little Sarah was also feeling the same, and enjoying her milk. Everyone left early that evening, leaving just our new little family. I was beginning to feel tired, so went upstairs to bath Sarah and then get some rest. Dave had a week off work he was always busy at work, and had been working away from home a lot recently. Daves firm had a contract with a car tyre company, and they were spread out all over the country, and the electrics needed to be done on each one, so it was quite a large contract. Sarah slept in the Moses basket at the end of our bed, so when she was hungry we could hear her, and I could feed her. I found it more comfortable to take her into the nursery where I had a nice chair, and it would not disturb Dave, although he always woke when Sarah did. I would sit in the dimly lit room, looking out at the night sky, thinking how beautiful it was. Later on that night (going into morning) Sarah and I again sat in the nursery, and heard the dawn chorus thinking what a lovely thing it was. Dave went back to work after a week, and things were getting back to normal but with one big exception, and that of course was that we now had our beautiful baby Sarah. I tried to get out of the house most days, but physically I was still feeling quite sore from the caesarean operation and also my throat and mouth was feeling just as sore from the failed intubation during the anaesthetic. The whole event had left me with a big scar. I tried to forget what had happened, but it was very much in the forefront of my memory. I tried to put these bad memories to the back of my mind, and to concentrate on Sarah. It was difficult but I tried. I had felt a little tearful the last few mornings, and put that down to the baby blues. I would ask the health visitor when she came what she thought. The health visitor did not seem too worried about what I had told her, and she said, stop worrying to me, it just a bit of baby blues and was normal. I told her I was worried about all the housework that I should be doing, and that I hated the house looking untidy. I felt I was not coping. She said that was silly and housework could wait she did not understand at all how I was feeling. I got up to put a sweet wrapper in the bin and she told me off for doing that and that I should have just thrown the wrapper on the floor. At that point my patience exploded, I told her to shut up and get out of my house. I had enough of her stupid textbook advice how did she know how I was feeling anyway I never saw that health visitor again.

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I would visit the local clinic each week, so Sarah could be weighed etc, and all was well there, thank goodness. One day an Indian doctor asked to see me, and I went in her room with Sarah. I thought she was going to do more checks on Sarah, and indeed she did start off by asking a lot of questions about her. Then the conversation turned to me. I immediately felt tearful when I started to talk, and little did I know that I was in fact feeling quite down even depressed. She suggested that I make an appointment to see my own GP, as she was concerned about me, and that I probably had post natal depression. I agreed that I would make an appointment. When walking out with Sarah I felt like everyone was looking at me. I did not realise that perhaps I was feeling a bit paranoid. Also, I would cry for no reason now and again when I was on my own. I did not want anyone to know how I felt. The next morning I felt really low, and I decided to call my sister. Cath made an appointment for me to see Dr Stranders for the following day. I was in the waiting room feeling very tearful and apprehensive of telling Dr Stranders, although I liked Dr Stranders, and felt at ease seeing him. I explained how I felt to him, and he said it could be a bit of delayed postal natal depression. He prescribed me some anti-depressants called Gamanil. He asked me to make another appointment to see him in two weeks time, to see how I was getting along. Things went on much the same, maybe slightly better, but I still had a lot of flash-backs from the birth, and these played on my mind, and pre-occupied me for many hours during the day. My sleep was also disturbed, as I had to get up several times during the night, so this was beginning to be quite exhausting. Dave went back to work after a week, and he worked long hours, so by the time he came through the door around 6.30pm, I had really had enough of the day, and would literally throw Sarah into his arms, and ask him to bath her. I would then give her another feed before putting her down in her Moses basket. Looking back I thought that maybe I should have had more counselling at that time, perhaps Dave should have as well, as we were just thrown back into being mummy, daddy and baby all in a perfect little world. Also some of my symptoms that I was showing could well have been post-traumatic stress. I would have flashbacks to when I could not be intubated, and that awful feeling of drowning in my head. That is something I will never ever forget in my life. Anyway, over the next few weeks I became my normal self again, and carried on as Linda and bringing up little Sarah she was lovely. I often had her sitting in her pram in the dining room,

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where I had my record player and we would listen to music together, and I would sing along to the records, which I played Im sure she enjoyed the music too.

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Chapter 5 Red Nose Day 1997 My First Manic Episode The psychiatric ward As time went by, around 4 years, everything was going fine. I was getting involved with outside activities again as well as looking after Sarah. Going to toddler then nursery classes were regular events, along with the day-to-day things like shopping etc. Dave was still very busy at work, and started to work away from home during the week. It was hard during the week when he was away, but carried on with the day to day routine as best as I could. I remember one weekend we decided to go into St Albans shopping, to have a look at the market, and the shops. Dave liked to look in Comets at all the electrical things. I went in the shop with him and we went in different directions, I wandered around the televisions, whilst he looked at the computers. I remember feeling a bit peculiar. My head started to buzz and I felt a bit dizzy, Dave came over to me and noticed that I was not right. I said I didnt feel well, and we came out of the shop, and decided to go home. That was maybe the sign that something was not quite right. Dave continued to be working away quite a bit during this time, and came home at weekends. I missed him so much. One morning I felt really tired, but managed to continue with the day and got Sarah ready to take to school. During that day, I did some work on the computer to do with the voluntary work that I did for Mencap. I was typing up a report at that time to do with opening up a new club for local mentally handicapped children. I remember thinking I must get it finished by tomorrow, so would work on it tonight when Sarah goes to bed. I got Sarah to bed, and carried on typing on the computer for many hours. I did not realise that time was going by so quickly; before I knew it was 7am in the morning when I had finished the report. I thought I would phone Thelma the chairman of the Junior Mencap Group, to tell her I had finished the report. She was a bit surprised when I rang her, and she said it was only 7am in the morning. I told her I had been up all night typing it. Not surprisingly I was very tired the rest of that day. I had a further look on the computer, and read my emails. I remember looking at the screen, and seeing all the pictures on the screen. I could see a picture of a wicked witch, and I recognised her face, I thought it looked like Mrs White, who was a dinner lady who I used to work with. I kept in contact with her now and again. The picture scared me as I thought it was talking to me and I quickly turned off the

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computer. I then decided I would go down the town to get some shopping. I also needed to go to the bank. I managed to park the car in the high street; the spot by Pizza Express was free where I often parked. I walked along by the George pub, and became aware of a car pulling along side me. It was a lady, who had a mobile phone earpiece in her ear. I took a look at her and I thought that she was some sort of bodyguard following me and that I must have been a famous person, in fact, I thought I was Princess Diana. Little did I know at the time, but this was a phase of my mania delusions and delusions of grandeur where I thought I was a famous person. The lady driver asked me where I could find a good card shop, and I pointed across the road to a card shop I also thought that this was a cue for me to go there after the bank. I went into the bank, and paid in a cheque, I was aware that someone else was following me like a shadow. (This was just another person really, but I was convinced it was another bodyguard). I then headed over to the card shop, where I saw the first bodyguard again. I was not aware that strange thoughts were running through my head, so carried on. When I saw the bodyguard in the card shop I thought to myself I was safe as she was there. I was looking at the bereavement cards; I wanted to send one to a friend whose dog had just died. Not sure if I would have done that normally! There were some nice cards, but one struck me especially, as it had a poem on it about being in the garden, and I know my friend and her dog enjoyed the garden. I liked the card so much that I bought two. One to send to Andrea my friend, and one to someone else. I paid for the cards and decided to go to the Post Office. When I was at the Post Office, I went to the counter where the pens were on a chain to write the cards. I wrote the first card to my friend. Then I wondered whom I could send the second one to, then I thought I would send it to the Queen. Inside the card I wrote Dear Lizzie Long may you reign From Linda Stoneman, Harpenden. I then queued up to get a couple of first class stamps. Whilst queuing I heard a man complaining about something to do with the council. I thought he was complaining about the Mencap home where local people stayed, and where Kate my niece went also for respite. I could not help butting in on the conversation, but then realised that they were not talking about that at all. This was a bit embarrassing, and I withdrew from the conversation, and apologised. I was becoming paranoid. Whilst out and about I decided to drive up to mums house which was on East Common, in Harpenden. I arrived and mum asked if I wanted a cup of tea. I said yes please. Dad was in

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his garage, fiddling around with his machines. He had lots of old machines and tools from when he used to have his engineering business. I chatted a while whilst drinking my tea, and told mum I was feeling a bit tired. I started becoming aware of an aura of zigzag lines in my eyes, and noticed a head ache coming on. The zigzags got worse, and I told mum that I thought I was getting a migraine, and would go home and have a rest before meeting Sarah. (Incidentally, there is now a link between people having bipolar disorder and also suffering from migraine attacks). I drove home quickly, took a couple of paracetamols and lay down on the bed. I think I nodded off to sleep for a little while. When I woke it was 3pm, time to walk to meet Sarah from school. I walked slowly across the green to where Sarah was at school. I always stood outside the playground, as they did not allow dogs in the school grounds. The children started to come out, and I saw one or two whom I knew. Then I saw Sarah, and was so pleased to see her, and gave her a big cuddle when she got to me. Just as we turned to come home, I was aware of Matthew, one of Sarahs class friends running out to greet his mum. His voice was all speeded up and so were his mums. At the time I did not think this was odd, but on the other hand I did think it was a bit strange. It was like everything was speeded up outside me, and I was still going at the same speed a very strange feeling indeed another sign of my mania. We always had a nice cup of tea when we got in from school. Then Sarah would go upstairs and get changed, and I would start preparing something for dinner. I am not sure what happened next, but I found myself upstairs, packing a small case with my clothes and Sarahs. I said to Sarah that I was not feeling well, so we were going to stay with Nanny for the night. Sarah was ok with that. I bundled the bags into the car, along with Sarah and Bruno and off we went to East Common. I rang on the doorbell, and mum answered it, looking quite surprised. I said did she mind if we stay the night, and she thats fine, and asked if anything was wrong. I said I felt tired and had this migraine still. I did not tell her about the other funny experiences. Mum suggested I have an early night tonight, so she made up the two single beds in the front bedroom. I remember getting into bed with Sarah around 7pm. We were lying there, and I was wide-awake with many thoughts going through my head, in fact I was not aware at this time, but I was as high as a kite! We were talking cant remember what about, but I was

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really laughing a lot, and this made Sarah laugh. This went on for some time, and mum came in and told us to get to sleep. The talking and laughing continued, until mum came in quite crossly and told me to get into her bed in the other room. I remember saying good night to Sarah and getting into mums bed. I lay there in the silence. I could not get to sleep, my mind was still racing. I must have dropped off to sleep at some point, and then remember waking up it was still dark. I could hear the sound of airplanes in the sky, they were very noisy, and in my mind I thought they were transporting all the people from England to America. I thought that England was immanently going to be blow up by terrorist. I knew I had to get out of bed and tell everyone, so we could get to the planes to take us to a safe place. I could not move my body to tell anyone, and there was this terrible buzzing in my head, which grew louder and louder. The buzz would start from the bottom of my toes to the top of my head, my brain felt as though it was vibrating in my skull. It would make my whole body cringe with pain. This went on for some time. I managed to shout out to my mum. She came into the room, and rubbed my forehead, and felt that I was very hot. She went a got me a drink, and a couple of paracetamols. I told her that the England was going to blow up, and we had to go to the airport to escape the country. She just said Yes, ok, take it easy. Morning came and I was aware of mum on the phone to my sister. She was telling her how I had been over night. I heard mum says See you soon then Cath. I lay quietly in the bed. The noise of the planes had stopped. I became aware of footsteps approaching the front door. I immediately thought it was the terrorists coming to get me, and that we should have gone to the airport last night to escape. I then heard the letterbox, and realised it was the postman bringing the letters. I lay back again with some relief. After awhile, I remember mum bringing in a cup of tea and a slice of toast. I drank the tea, but could not manage the toast. I then had that strange sensation again in my head, and my thoughts were running away with me. I knew I had to go out into the garden and get the dogs bone, as this was the key to something secret, but I did not know what yet. I did not bother putting shoes or a dressing gown on, and went straight out of the back door into the garden, searching frantically for the magic bone. Mum and Dad did not realise for a while that I had gone out into the garden, and then mum stood in the backdoor way, and shouted at me to come in. I looked up and told her I was searching for the magic bone. She rushed out, and I started to run away from her. I spotted the bone, and picked it up, and went with her into the

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kitchen. Mum could not understand what I was doing. I handed her the bone and told her to keep it in a safe place, as we would need it later. Cath arrived soon after this event, and I said hello to her and asked her what she was doing here. She said Mum had rang me as she was a bit concerned about me. I did not respond to this, and wandered into the lounge. Dad had put the daily paper on the dining room table. They always had the Times delivered. Mum always bought The Times newspaper and on the front page that morning was a picture of the Queen. It was red nose day today, so I thought it quite appropriate to draw a red nose on the Queens face. I found a red pen in the drawer, and did the Queen proud. I laughed quite hysterically. At this point my worried sister and mum entered the room, and asked why I had done that to the Queen I answered, Because its Red Nose Day ! Cath and Mum continued to talk together, and then I heard Cath say to mum that we should call the doctor. At this stage I decided to lie down again on the bed. I lay there for some time feeling quite numb, and not really aware of anything going on around me. I heard a bicycle come to the front door, and the doorbell ring. I looked up as the bedroom door opened, and to my horror saw the doctor, but not my own GP, this was our old doctor. We changed from him after we lost faith in him over something I wont go into. The doctor asked me a few questions but I was reluctant to talk to him and kept my guard up. I thought that he was going to kill me. I then told him in no uncertain terms that I did not mean to offend him, but I would prefer to see my own GP, Dr Stranders. He then spoke to Mum, and said he would call Dr Stranders. The doctor left some tablets with mum, but I refused to take them as I thought they were going to kill me. A little while later Dr Stranders arrived to see me. I felt quite relieved. I was up at this stage, sitting in the lounge. He asked me quite a few questions, and then asked to me take a tablet. I asked him was it ok to take, and he reassured me that it was safe. Dr Stranders asked if it was ok to make a phone call. He was trying to speak to a psychiatrist who could come out to see me. I could hear his voice getting more irate, he was stating that I was a very poorly patient who needed their attention. Unfortunately, Dr Stranders had no luck in persuading anyone from the psychiatric department to come out urgently. (If I had been a heart attack case, then a quick 999 call and I would have been whisked off to hospital and treated immediately!) Dr Stranders then told mum and Cath that he thought the next best thing was to

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go to A & E department over at Hemel Hempstead Hospital. They would then treat me further. I was not sure why I needed to go to hospital, but I trusted what Dr Stranders had to say. (Things have moved on a bit since then, thank goodness. Specialist mental health teams have now been set up in many areas to help avoid admission to a mental health ward, and to receive quick treatment. Dave had arrived a few minutes before, as he had been working away in Birmingham, and apparently mum had phoned him earlier in the morning for him to come home. Also mum had phoned Cath, she had collected Sarah, ready to take off to school, and would then join us back at mums house ready to go to Hemel. It was Friday, Red Nose day and Sarah was dressing up for it; she wanted to be Bjork, the pop singer. Sarah had tied her hair in lots of little pony tails like Bjork has She looked just like her, with her small round oriental face, dark hair and dimples. Cath arrived, and we all got into our car with Dave driving. I remember not really saying much, and feeling a bit bemused about what was happening. We got to Hemel and managed to park the car in the car park. I remember walking towards the tall building where casualty was. I could hear some bagpipes in the distance, and I said to Cath and Dave that I wanted to go to them, as it was a sign in which direction we were to go. I was convinced we were on some special mission and this was the journey. Cath and Dave said no, we have to go to hospital. We entered via the double doors. There were lots of people waiting in casualty. We went up to the desk, and I remember Catherine telling the nurse on the desk my name and details. At some point during this I remember letting out a big scream and trying to run out of the building. Dave held me and I was in his arms and started to cry. The nurse could see I was distressed and showed us to a side room where I could wait. There was a hospital trolley in there and she said I could lie on it if I wanted to. I felt tired so I got up onto it. There was then a sudden silence. Dave and Cath were also silent, and I am sure they were bewildered with what was going on. I lay on the bed looking around the room, wondering what all the things in the room were for. I also read all the signs on the wall. I felt I was in some sort of holding room ready to be transported out into space. I said nothing to Cath and Dave, and I looked at them and they looked worried. Then suddenly I let out a very very loud scream and it made Dave and Cath jump a lot. Dave got cross and said not to scream out like that as it scared them. I said sorry. Soon a doctor came in the waiting room. He was a tall black man, with a clipboard. He asked lots of questions, some of which I answered and some which Dave and Cath answered. He

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gave me a tablet, and I took this without question. Then he said that he thinks it would be best if I would go to a ward called St Julians over in St Albans City Hospital. This was a mental health ward, and advised it would be the best thing to go there on a voluntary basis. It was better to go on a voluntary basis, (as opposed to being sectioned under the Mental Health Act), as it gave you more freedom when you were in hospital. I did not know this until after my experiences of mental hospitals. There was another mental health unit called Albany Lodge, but there were no beds available there. Anyway, I agreed to go to St Julians, and Cath and Dave would take me in the car there. The journey to St Julians felt a long and silent one. We parked near the entrance to St Julians Ward. There were some steps up to the door, and then we were in an entrance porch. Standing in the entrance porch were one or two inmates and a member of staff with a name badge hanging from her neck. Cath told her we had been sent over from Hemel casualty; the member of staff showed us to a small waiting room. It was an extremely small room, with just four chairs in. I sat down, and Cath and Dave remained standing, looking out of the window, which looked out over St Albans City. Again, there was a deathly silence. We were all wondering why we were here and what was going to happen next. We seemed to wait a very long time. The door opened and in entered an attractive blonde nurse or doctor, not sure what she was as they dont wear uniforms in mental health wards. She held a folder in her hands. She asked us all to sit down. Again, a lot of questions were asked during the interview. I was very quiet, but appeared quite normal. I guess the tablets that the doctor had given me had calmed me down. I was still not sure why I was here, and I wanted to get home for Sarah. I had no idea what time of day it was. I was totally disorientated. The nurse then said I think it best you stay here for a few days to get over this episode. She explained that it was probably depression, but the doctors over the next few days would be able to give a more accurate diagnosis. She also said once a bed became available I would be transferred to Albany Lodge. She stood up and led us into the main part of the ward, saying she would get another member of the nursing staff to show me around. At the point, I threw myself to the floor and started whaling and crying very loudly, also banging my fists against the floor and finally being sick. (I sort of remember doing this but Dave and Cath told me about this afterwards). The feeling from inside me when I did this was like no other feeling I had ever felt in my life. I just wanted to let everything out with such force it was a fiercely angry brainstorm with powerful emotions all rolled into one.

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I dont remember saying good-bye to Cath and Dave. But I remember a nurse showing me round the ward. She took me to my room, a single room at the end of the long dark corridor. The ward consisted of mainly dormitories with four beds in and then a few single rooms. I was glad I had a single room. Off the long corridor were a toilet, a bathroom, the small kitchen and the staff office, which was out of bounds for patients. I was lucky as my single room included an en-suite toilet and sink. The ward was a strange shape, as it had a long corridor and this was then mirrored on the other side, and joined by some sliding wooden doors. At the end of the other corridor was a large area with a pool table and keep fit equipment. At the top of my side of the corridor was a TV lounge area with chairs, and another area where activities took place and where the meals were served. There were patients wandering around the ward like walking corpses and some sitting in easy chairs who looked as though they had been there forever. This frightened me, as I never knew what anyone of them would do next. Suddenly a patient would flip and start ranting and raving obscenities around the place, this to was scary. The nurse then took me back to my room at the end of the corridor. She pointed out the public call box just outside my room. When we got back into the room, she asked me if I had any questions, and I ask her what I was doing here. She said that the doctor would be round soon and he will be able to tell me more. The nurse gave me something to sign, which I was not sure, was probably a note of my belongings. She then gave me a key, and said keep it in a safe place as its for your dressing table drawer. At that moment, I knew that she must have been one of them, the key was the answer to all of my problems, and I must not lose it. The nurse left. I held the key, and then started to look in the drawers for clues on how to get out to a safe place. I remember opening the top draw, where there was nothing to be found. I hesitated and could smell the strong smell of tobacco. Was that a clue I thought to myself? Eventually I decided to hide the key in my slipper as I thought that no one could find it there! I then put some clothes in the wardrobe, and a picture of Dave and Sarah on the dressing table area. I felt tired again. Waves of feeling tired and then feeling high came over me. I lay on the bed I was looking at the room I was in, and the long curtains hanging down over the concealed radiators. I then saw a fire alarm point near the door. There was also a fire notice next to the alarm, which I decided to get up and read. I felt very anxious that the curtains were going to catch light as they were against the radiators. I went into the corridor, and saw the two double

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fire doors and another fire alarm point and an extinguisher. I walked down the corridor, and saw the office where the staff was. I asked if someone could come and see my room as I felt there might be a fire. A tall West Indian nurse call Tom, came down to my room, and he looked in, and reassured me that there would be no fire, and the curtains could not catch light. My anxiety was running very high a sign that things were not right with me. Again, I was not aware at the time that anything was wrong with me and no one was telling me what was happening to me. Even now it makes me feel frightened that this has really happened to me, and no one was reassuring me what was happening at the time. When you go mad you never forget it, but in time the memories and feelings fade. Feeling so bad and mad makes you appreciate the times of remission. I continued to worry about the threat of fire in my room, and I was trying to work out an escape route from this place I was in. I did not know where I was, and where was Dave and Catherine they had just left me here! I needed to go to the loo, so I used the one in my room. It had a wooden slatted door. I sat on the toilet, and then I had this sudden feeling that I was being filmed. I thought that I was Jo Brand, that lady comedian (ex-mental health nurse). I shut the door to a jar, as I did not want to be filmed cracking jokes on the toilet (I was convinced I was Jo Brand and found it very amusing laughing at myself and the jokes I was cracking!) I cant remember the jokes, so sorry I cant tell you them now. I dont remember much after that, I guess I must have laid on the bed and had a sleep, as the next thing I remember was waking up, and looking up at the long curtains again. That feeling of fear had returned again, and I felt myself in a great panic. I laid on the bed trying to think of a way out of here, when I then thought if I was to break the emergency glass on the fire alarm point the firemen would come, and Roger, my brother-in-law (a fireman) would come and rescue me. So that is what I did. I broke the glass, and then the fire alarms rang out very loudly. There were lots of staff checking all the rooms, and I waited just looking to see when the firemen arrived. About 7 minutes later low and behold the firemen arrived at the glass double doors, which were just outside my room, they unlocked them from the other side. I was looking for Roger, as I knew he would take me home. I went up close to the firemen, but I could not see him, they just walked passed me, and then a member of staff told me to go back into my room. I heard one of the firemen say, Its a false alarm glass was smashed here Gov. I felt angry and upset that Roger had not come to my rescue me. I began to cry, and

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my tears turned into sobs I just lay on my bed and sobbed my heart out I just wanted to go home. Later a nurse entered my room with a small white tray in her hand; on it were some tablets and a small beaker full of water. She asked me if I could take my evening medication. I asked her what it was. She said one was diazepam, a tranquilizer, (C16H13ClN2O), used in the treatment of anxiety and tension and as a sedative, muscle relaxant, and anticonvulsant. The other was a drug called haloperidol, another tranquilizer, (C21H23ClFNO2), used especially in the treatment of psychotic disorders, including mania, schizophrenia and also in the management of Tourette's syndrome. I had not heard of this drug before. I was in one of those lucid moments, and agreed quite willingly to take them; I then continued to lie on my bed. I started to feel a little drowsy and must have fallen back off to sleep again. Again, I was woken by a member of staff telling me that the last drink was being served in the lounge, and I was to go down to get this. I leaned over to put my slippers on when I felt something cold inside I was somewhat startled then remembered that I had hidden the key inside my slipper. I could not remember why it was so important, but knew it was. Nevertheless I hang on to the key in my hand as my only hiding place was in my slipper. I would have to be careful not to tell anyone about it. I wandered into the corridor; it was quite dark, with lots of doors on either side. There were nameplates beside each door. The dormitories had four nameplates on each door. I had forgot to put my glasses on and my sight was not too good, also little did I know but the drugs were having side affects one of which was affecting my eyes. I also noticed I could not walk up straight, in fact I was bent over like an old lady. At the time I was not aware this was a side effect of the drug. The haloperidol did have some quite severe side effects on me. These are known in the business as extrapyramidal side effects (EPSEs) one in particular called Parkinsonism. (Marked by muscular rigidity, tremor, and impaired motor control and often having a specific cause, such as the use of certain drugs or frequent exposure to toxic chemicals. Also called Parkinson's syndrome.) This explained my doubled up posture and muscle spasms I was experiencing. There would be a wave of muscle spasm starting from my feet to the top of my head, and this was accompanied by a loud buzzing in my head. My mouth was also feeling a strange shape, and saliva was dribbling out of it uncontrollably.

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When I got up to the lounge area the nurse called my name and she could see that the side effects were affecting me quite badly, in fact I just felt like going back to my bed and collapsing. She said she would get the doctor to prescribe some Procycladine this was a drug to overcome the side effects of another drug. (Procyclidine - trade name Kemadrin - used to reduce tremors in Parkinsonism - a drug that reduces muscle contractility by blocking the transmission of nerve impulses.)

I was feeling very exhausted, and drunk my drink and returned back to my bedroom. I had lost all sense of time and day it could have been 2am in the morning for all I care. Again, I fell back to sleep. I was then aware of someone standing over me, and I opened my eyes and it was Dave. I was pleased to see him. He smelt nice, I noticed he had put some after-shave on, and changed from his usual dirty work clothes. I held out my hand and he held it, and just said, Hello, how are you? For a few moments I could not say too much. I could feel my mouth being an odd shape, and tried to explain to Dave that the haloperidol had given me bad side effects. I laid on the bed still looking at Dave sitting in the chair next to me. Still holding hands, I felt a warmth and comfort come over me for the first time, a sense of safeness and wellbeing. I had no idea that I was in a mental hospital at this time, (not sure where I thought I was either). I asked Dave to move closer so I could see and feel him. He moved the chair nearer. I asked him to cuddle me, and he did. I felt the warmth of his body close to mine. I had no inhibitions common in someone on a high. A nurse came to the door, and asked to speak to Dave. She explained that I was having bad side effects from the Haloperidol, and that I was having a drug to counter-act these. During the next few days I was going from high to low quite rapidly. I remember one time looking for the bathroom. I found it on the other side of the corridor, and I opened the door, and noticed how pink it all looked. I thought to myself this must be the private bathroom for royal family only, and that I was a Princess Diana so I could use it. I went in the bathroom, and decided to have a shower. I really was convinced I was lady Diana. When I got in the shower it felt lovely and a feeling of deep relaxation came over me. The warm water pounded against my skin as I let it flow all over my head and body. The sense of touch by the droplets of water made me tingle all over my senses were still heightened. The pleasure was soon put to an end by one of the nurses knocking at the bathroom door doing her checks I think I was on

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fifteen-minute observations. I came out of the bathroom and returned to my room to have another rest. There were many hours, I think, where I would be asleep or laying on my bed. I remember one time when I became aware of someone sitting at the end of my bed, and then realised it was my dad who had come into visit me I was not with it at all that time, and remained quiet in my bed. I felt re-assured that he was there with me. Another visitor was my best friend Deb. She also appeared standing over me whilst I lay in the bed. I said hello to her, and could not quite understand why she was there, but I thanked her for coming in to see me. The minutes felt like hours when I was awake. When I woke this time, I decided to walk down the corridor to explore what this place really was. I looked at all the doors along the corridor and looked at the names outside each door. Some of the names seemed familiar to me as they had the same Christian names as some of my friends. It then dawned on me that this was a place where chosen people had come to be cloned and the adjacent wardrooms were all the cloned people. Cloning was very topical as Dolly the Sheep had been headlined in the news. The idea of cloning was just something in a Sci-Fi film, but now it was actually coming to life, as I thought. I was glad that I had been chosen to be cloned, but it would take some time in getting used to having a double. The power of this magnificent feat was exciting but also scary. There was not much happening on the ward during the day. The TV was on constantly and most of the patients spent their time in the smoking room. I remember wandering into the smoking room just to be with other patients, but I could not stand the smoke, so that did not last long. I paced from room to room pausing only for a little while; I was feeling very tired and desperate. After leaving the smoking room I came face to face with a tall black girl (not sure if she was a nurse or not), but guessed she was another patient. I stopped in my footsteps and looked her straight in the eye; an angry feeling welled up inside me, I shouted to her, you nearly killed my baby! This statement came from nowhere. I was thinking she was the midwife at the time of Sarahs birth. The black girl told me to fuck off . Her loudness and size frightened me, and I walked away from her quickly and returned to my room. There were so many things going on in my head, and I still could not work out what was happening to me was the world about to end, and us chosen few had been sent here to be cloned and start a new world. Who knows?

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After a few hours rest again I ventured out into the ward lounge to watch some TV, there was a film on, not sure what it was. Whilst I was sitting there a girl came into the TV lounge, she had earphones on and I noticed she was pregnant. I immediately stood up and went over to her. I felt I had some connection with this person, in fact this was my clone, but she did not look like me. Perhaps that is what they were doing, cloning peoples brains but having different bodies. This girl was me when I was expecting Sarah, and this time round there will not be any complications when she has Sarah! My head was spinning, and I was feeling quite confused. I asked the girl if I could listen to her Walkman. She said yes and handed it over, I sat down and enjoyed listening to her music. It was all pop music, stuff that I liked. I listened to the music for a good while, and it made me feel calmer. Once the tape finished I passed it back to the girl (or whoever she was). My mind was still racing and buzzing, I had an idea that I was to record a record. I liked Michael Jackson, so there on the spot near to the TV I started to dance like Michael Jackson and sang Thriller. I looked down at my feet and I was wearing black shoes and white trainer socks, so I was truly convinced that I was Michael Jackson. It did not occur to me that a few hours before I had been Princess Diana. Its very clever this cloning! I was very tired and remember not eating much of the supper, which was put in front of me in the dining area of the ward. Around 9 pm the drugs would be dished out. I had been resting on my bed, and I woke and thought that I was a cast of a film crew and we were making a film. The next scene was for me to run down the corridor topless, crash through the double doors at the end and fly free from this cruel world to a new place. I took off my sweatshirt, which I was wearing, then my bra, and left them on the seat in my room. I made sure I had my special key, which I had now hidden in my sock. I came out into the long corridor, and paused for a moment before running down the corridor, getting faster and faster, gaining momentum, before crashing through the double doors, just about to put my arms out ready to take off, when I was grabbed from behind by two members of staff. I fell flat on my face, and I lay there several minutes before getting up. I just put my hands on my head and started to cry and whale. The staff walked me back to my room to get dressed into my nightwear, and left me sitting on my bed. (The song I Believe I can Fly by R Kelly was in the charts at that time and was prominent in my mind when all this happened). Its funny how certain songs you associate with various events and things in your life, bring all those memories back.

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Mental health wards are a lot different to normal hospital wards. Firstly, the staff doesnt wear uniforms. So unless you are making sense you may think the staff are also other patients or people in this place. When I was high, it did not occur to me that this place was a hospital ward at all. Instead it was the place I had been taken, to be cloned and made safe from the world that was about to end. I found that most of the staff not very talkative, one or two would approach you and have a chat. Some seemed not very approachable, and when you did try to talk they were often busy with something else. I was admitted informally and had agreed to go to this place on my own accord. Someone told me at the time, one of the nurses I think, that it was better not to be sectioned, as I was free to come and go and do things on my terms, generally. At the time of my first admission this did not really make any difference to me, as I did not have a clue what was going on anyway. As I was so high everyone on the ward were all part of this big picture I had in my head, about being cloned and getting away to a safe place. Little did I know that some of the people were mental health nurses and support workers, all observing us, and reporting back to the team. I dont remember being spoken to by any doctors or nurses for several days, but apparently I was seen on several occasions. Then on Thursdays, I was told that my doctor was holding his conference meetings. I wondered what these were, and maybe it was to send me to the safe place, where I was destined to go. In reality, a conference was a weekly meeting with all the staff and consultant, to talk about the progress of each patient. You took it in turns to go into a big meeting room, where a panel of faces greeted you, some who you sort of recognised, and some you did not. This was always a very scary time for me, and I hated going in the room full of people looking at you. Dave came along with me for support, and that made it a bit easier. I remember the first time just sitting there and I burst out crying and said nothing. Needless to say they did not recommend it time for me to be discharged home yet. This made me feel even worse, as I just wanted to go home, get out or get to the safe place where I thought I was going. What was recommended was I could be transferred to Albany Lodge, the other mental health unit in St Albans. I remember Dave and I filling several hospital plastic bags with all my clothes and belongings, and then Dave driving me over to this new ward.

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The building of Albany Lodge was totally different to St Julians. It was a modern building on the ground floor. Inside the main entrance were the reception desk, and a glass fish bowl office, where the staff gathered and could observe the patients who lingered in the dining area. There were two TV rooms, one for smokers and one for non-smokers. On the opposite side of these rooms was a long corridor where all the bedrooms were in a square shape around the courtyard. We were shown to a small waiting room, where a nurse took all my details, and then showed me to my room. Somehow the building made me feel calmer or different. (Maybe I was just coming down from my psychotic state). After the first week, I seemed to be making good progress, and beginning to feel more normal. The staff was pleased with my progress and the medication seemed to be working. I had stopped the Haloperidol but I was still taking the Procycladine, as I was still suffering badly with the side effects of the Haloperidol. I was also prescribed an antidepressant Paroxitine to help prevent depression setting in. I managed to join in and socialize with the patients at Albany Lodge. My thoughts were fading about being cloned etc, but they were still very fresh in my mind, and I still thought that the thoughts were reality. The staff at Albany Lodge seemed friendlier. There was one support worker called Dave, and he would sit and do the crossword each day with me. He was very kind and I felt at ease sitting with him during the day. There was also a very kind black nurse, and her name was Hyacinth. Again, I felt comfortable sitting with her and chatting. There were also activity sessions everyday, and I joined in these as much as I could. All this seemed to help. I remember the first time going to the activity session it was an art session. I decided to make a headline newspaper. The headlines were Cloned people save the world. I am not sure what the nurse thought who was running the group, but I was still half convinced that I was cloned and all this in my head was real life.

The following week I was seen again at the conference and they agreed some weekend leave. I took the leave and it went well. It felt a bit odd though, as it seemed that everyone else at home was doing things for me, and I was not doing anything. We reported that the leave went

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well to the medical staff, and the following week I was discharged home for good, with outpatients appointment to see the consultant. Chapter 6 Somewhere in between Coming home was a very strange experience. Its a bit like when you have been on holiday, and you get home, and you have to adjust to normal again. Home felt like a strange place and things looked different. It had only just sunk in what had happened to me and I was trying to work out why. Anyway, mum had offered to look after me at her house, so Dave could get back to work, there was also Sarah to look after as well. Poor little Sarah, she was aged 9 when all this happened, and I am not sure how much was really explained to her. We did not really know ourselves, so it was very hard to explain to her what was going on. Within a few days of coming out of hospital I felt my mood plummeting. It is very hard to explain, but it feels like a lead weight pushing down on you. There were many negative thoughts going through my confused head. I did not want to do anything during the day, and it was getting more and more of a chore to get up in the mornings. Deep depression was setting in, and little did I know but this was to last for many months. Being depressed is hard to describe. There are different levels of depression from mildly depressed to being clinically depressed. I was clinically depressed, the deepest type of depression. Its an unbelievable illness where you are totally trapped within yourself, and unable to function in most ways. You have no feelings towards anything; there is no enjoyment in anything and you truly believe that this is how it will be forever. You are in constant agony and you just want it to go away. I spent days and nights in bed, not always asleep, and unable to physically get out of bed. To someone who does not know about the illness or has not been a sufferer, it would appear that I was being totally bone idle; of course this is not the case, and its not something you can just pull yourself out of. I remember lying in bed for days, just getting up to go to the toilet, and not washing, feeling and smelling so bad! Mum and all the family would all encourage to me wash, and I remember Cath, helping me have a wash, and I was so scared, and I did not trust anyone.

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After about six weeks being at my mums house it was time that I got back to home. Mum was a good mum and would go to the end of the earth to help but I knew I needed to go home and try to get back on my own feet now. The depression remained and it was made worse with long spells of anxiousness. I would spend some time up during the day, just watching TV, and not doing much else. Even watching the TV was literally that just staring at the TV but not concentrating or watching what was on. Thats another thing when you are depressed, you cant concentrate on anything. When it came to the evening, I went to bed, but I could not sleep at all. I would get in and out of bed, pacing around the bedroom. I felt like I had some sort of creepy crawly under my skin. I would be sweating and have palpitations, Dave could not console me, and he found it difficult that he could not help. After seeing the doctor at outpatients, he increased the antidepressants and gave me some sleeping pills to help me at nighttime. The sleeping pills were effective. The depression was still very bad. It had been nearly three months since having the breakdown. I was feeling more desperate, as I was still unable to do virtually anything for myself. I was housebound and driving myself mad! During the day I would phone Dave at work several times. I would be in tears on the end of the phone. It was difficult for him, as he could not keep coming home to be with me. I hated being alone at home I felt like a stranger in my own home, which increased my anxiety. Mum and Cath came when I called them, and I could not have done without them. I could not face leaving the house, and every afternoon mum would meet Sarah from school. I wanted to be there for her and it made me feel worse that I wasnt. I spent a lot of time just crying, and I could not see a way out of the situation that I was in it was just one big nightmare! My delusion of being cloned and saved for the rest of my life had turned turtle, surely cloned people are perfect and dont suffer from things like depression or bipolar. (I was still convinced I had been cloned my thoughts had been so real, they were still fresh in my memory). The summer of 1997 passed slowly, and I was slightly better in my mood. I remember seeing an Indian lady psychiatrist, Dr Sara, regularly in outpatients and she would repeatedly say to me, Linda, you have to think positively easier said than done.

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Enough was enough, I was trapped and not going anywhere, and I felt so bad I did not know what to do. It was a Sunday morning in August and I had awoken early, Dave had gone down to make breakfast. I heard him shout up to me to turn on the TV. I turned the TV on, and could not believe what I was seeing and hearing. The news flash was that Princess Diana has been killed in a car crash. I began to cry and could not stand it any longer, I felt even worse hearing this on the TV, I went to my bedside draw and saw the packet of antidepressant pills. I picked up the packet and looked at the label, and then commenced to take some out of the pack and tipped them in my hand. I had some water by my bed, and took some all at once. I began to tremble, and then cry again. Dave came up from down stairs in to the room to find me with the packet in my hand and seeing me in a hysterical state. He asked what had I done, and I said I had taken some tablets. He grabbed the packet and shouted at me angrily what have you done that for. No one but me can know how desperate I felt that morning to take those tablets like that. It was a cry for help, as I just could not go on any longer the way I had been feeling. I felt like I wanted to die, but I also wanted to live. Dave took me downstairs, and made a phone call to Albany Lodge. I could hear him speaking, and telling them that I had taken some tablets. They told him that I should bring me to Albany Lodge immediately. My heart sunk and I just cried again. I was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. I did not want to go back to that hellhole, but I could not stay at home either. I cried all the way over to Albany Lodge in the car. My head was in a big mess; I was so confused and frightened. What was I to do? We arrived at Albany Lodge and were told to wait in a room until the doctor came.

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Chapter 7 In hospital again Albany Lodge wasnt such an inviting place this time. I was clinically depressed, as low as low and I really didnt want to be there. It made me feel sick that I was going back in again. Although I was in hospital with other people, I felt so alone and scared. I knew I couldnt go on as I was being at home, not being able to function at all was no good so something had to be sorted out for all our sakes. The doctor did his usual checks and questions, and then the key worker nurse came and did the admissions bit. Dave had to go at this point; I did not want him to go, and the tears started again I felt so alone. I was shown to my room, which had a foul smell to it to me it was just like a prison cell dismal and depressing with none of my familiar things around me. I sort of knew the general routine of the unit; during the mornings the doctors would do their rounds; some mornings there would be occupational therapy sessions, but not enough places for everyone to attend. Boredom on the ward was a major problem so meal times broke the day up. I knew the times of breakfast and meds, lunch and dinner; then toast, and a drink with the meds around 9.30pm. I seemed to be wandering around a lot during the day. I would just sit for a while, and watch what else was going on. One time a man came into the dining area where I was sitting, and was very angry and aggressive, and shouting out obscene language. It frightened me a lot and I did not know what to do. I remember one day a girl who seemed to be in quite a psychotic state locked herself into the bathroom, and commenced to use all the tissue paper to block all the plugs and toilet. She had then turned on the taps and flushed the toilet and the place flooded The state of her bedroom was also very bad as she also used this as a toilet. I found it hard to understand why she had done this, but had forgotten that you can do anything when you are psychotic and not realise what you are doing. I always made sure I got my nighttime meds as soon as I could, and then I would go to bed to end the day again. I was still on anti-depressants. I would lie in bed and listen to the noise of the other in-patients. Sometimes there would be screams or shouts, which would scare me. I would lie there thinking someone was going to come into my bedroom, as the doors did not have any locks on. In fact, one night someone did come in and I sat bolt upright in my bed and

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shouted at the top of my voice for them to get out. During the night, the staff would walk around the building, checking each bedroom by shining a torch through the small glass window in the doors. This always woke me up and then found it difficult to get back to sleep. The pillow was really lumpy as well, and that didnt help anything either! I would lie and look at the ceiling where a red light flashed, I though this was a secret camera but in fact it was just the smoke detector. The paranoia was still there, as well as the depression. Another night whilst I was dozing off, there was a sudden bang at the window and I heard a blokes voice calling for Alan. Again, it frightened the life out of me and I shouted out to him that he was not in this room any more. You tend to get moved around rooms depending on who needs keeping an eye on, so those who needed constant obs or very regular obs were always nearer the nurses station. I guess I managed to get a few hours sleep, and morning soon came around again. It was like Ground Hog Day waking up each morning with everyday the same. I would become aware of the nurses working their way along the corridor, knocking on each door and saying good morning to each patient. I hated this, as I really did not want to get up, but I knew I had to. If I had been at home, I probably would not have got up, and stayed in bed all day. If you were lucky and got out into the dining area early enough, there would be a tea trolley. More often than not by the time I had got there, all the tea had been drunk and all that was left was a messy tea trolley, with spilt tea, sugar and dirty cups all over the place. It was first come, first served, and this seemed to apply to the meals as well. The food would come over from the main City Hospital, and transported in a hot oven on wheels. You would know when it had arrived as the outside gate would have to be open into the courtyard, and the alarms would go off. A lot of the patients would begin to gather in the dining area, and form a sort of a queue. Again, this felt like being in prison again, or a scene from Oliver Twist. There was one good thing about meal times, and that was the housekeeper who dished up the meals. His name was Phil and was a West Indian man probably in his mid 40s. He was always laughing and joking with everyone, and you could see that he loved his job. He had a kind face and talked to you in a genuine way. Once you had got your food, it was then a squeeze to find a place to sit, and no choice of whom you sat next to. Men seemed to out number women, so more often than not I had to sit next to a man, which made me feel uncomfortable.

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I was still feeling very low, numb infact. I would spend hours just sitting in the dining area or television lounge not doing anything. People came and went and there may have been a hello from one or two of them. I could have gone out, but I really did not feel up to it, especially on my own. I always looked forward to when Dave, Sarah and my other family came into visit. Theres only so much you can say though, especially when nothing much is happening, nevertheless it was just nice to have the company of the people that were dear to me. Although I knew I loved them, the feeling of love was not there and I found that hard to deal with. In fact all the different feelings we all experience were gone; I felt like an empty shell. This is known as depersonalization a state in which the normal sense of personal identity and reality is lost. I was living in an isolated parallel world to Dave and Sarah, and could not get back to them. The psychiatrist came to see me, and asked a few questions on how I was. At the end of the consultation she suggested I go on a drug called lithium, (Li2CO3,) used in the treatment of depression and bipolar disorder as a mood stabilizer, incidentally used also in the manufacture of glass and ceramics. My diagnosis had now changed to that of bipolar disorder. She explained I would have to have some tests before I started the drug, and this included an ECG on my heart to make sure things were ok there. She also explained that I would need a couple of blood tests once I had started the lithium, to check the lithium in my blood and to get it up to a therapeutic level. Lithium is a prophylactic drug treatment (helps prevent further episodes), and is usually a long-term treatment. I was happy to go along with the doctors recommendation. Later that day my mum came into visit and I told her about the lithium. She was not keen of the idea of me going on lithium, not really sure why, but it put doubts in my head, but at the end of the day you have to trust the doctors! Incidentally, but more importantly - at the time of going on lithium I was not told that I should not take any non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs (NSAIDs), such as ibuprofen and diclofenac there are many more. NSAIDs often used for pain, fever and inflammatory conditions. These drugs interfere in the balance of the lithium levels in the blood and could result the levels becoming too high and causing a toxic state! Twice I have been prescribed these types of drugs. Once in America, when I had already told the doctor I was taking lithium, and also a doctor here. Its best not to assume that doctors know everything. So become an expert of your own meds if you can! The internet provides a good source of information.

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Over the next few days I was started on the lithium, and bloods were taken to check the levels. (Another thing you should note if you are on lithium, is that when you have your bloods tested you should make sure the blood is taken on or around 12 hours after your last medication) This makes the ready as accurate as can be. I remember being taken into the treatment room and sitting on the long couch. There was equipment around the room, including that used for ECT - electroconvulsive therapy this is where an electric current is sent to the brain through electrodes placed on the head in order to induce seizure activity in the brain, and is used to treat severe depression. I had been offered this treatment, but had flatly refused this. I know it works for some, but I did not want to find out! The nurse had trouble getting any blood out of me; I am not generous with giving it away, but she managed in the end. The doctors had decided that the Paroxetine anti-depressant was not having much effect, so it was decided I should be weaned off this. Its not always easy coming off meds, as there can be many side effects, including suicidal tendencies. Paroxetine has a short half-life, which means that it does not stay in the system very long. So a gradual decrease over a number of weeks was suggested. A few of weeks went by, and I suppose there was some improvement, but I could never really see it myself. Anyway, I was established on the lithium and was taking 800 mg at night, and would need a blood test in three months time to check the levels. It was Thursday morning, conference day. Lots of patients would be hanging around waiting to be called in to see the psychiatrist and the team. I was becoming more familiar with these weekly meetings, but they were still daunting when you were faced with several professionals looking at you. My medication was discussed and how I had been feeling. Once again it was agreed I could have weekend leave the following week I was discharged home once again.

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Chapter 8 Somewhere in Between - 2 This time when I was discharged I went straight home. I knew that everyone would be around to give me help and support. (Without this I am not sure how I would have managed). There was a long and slow progression in my mood lifting, which took several months again. The road to recovery is a long and winding one. Its like having to re-learn how to live and function. Setting achievable goals helped, like having a wash or getting dressed. Although at the time I could not see the good of doing these and it made me feel no better when I did. Just going through the motions of doing things is a positive thing! The thought of going outside the house was particularly daunting. I could not go on my own, and I would only walk around the block, where I was unlikely to meet anyone I knew. This slowly progressed to walking down the road as far as Somerfields, then into the shop. This was the next stage trying to concentrate on getting some shopping, as well as the prospect of meeting people I knew. Even doing this with Dave or someone was extremely distressing. I would still feel I was on another level to everything and everyone around me. Walking down the aisle let alone looking for something on the shelves was a torturous event. On several occasions I would just breakdown and cry. This progressed to going out on my own. First time was to the post box just down the road, even though I did not have a letter to post! My heart would pound and I would think to myself keep going walking back seemed a bit easier as I knew I would nearly be home. Time passed slowly, but eventually I returned to my old self! As if a heavy weight had been lifted from me and everything around me had become crystal clear. I no longer had to think about doing normal day-to-day activities things just happened. I always had some sort of employment over the years. I would always give 101% in my work. Sarah was well established in secondary school, and she had other outside interests as well. So I felt ready to get back into the world of work. I felt very conscious and embarrassed about my mental health problems, and I did not want to reveal this to any future employer. I decided to go to a temping agency, where hopefully they would not ask too many questions, particularly about my health. I plucked up the courage and went to an agency in St Albans. I told them what I was looking for, and they came up with a part time job in Harpenden as an office administrator. It was ideal. The company did a lot of work for the Water Board, putting in new pipes etc. The office wasnt too big, and there was a nice mix of people, and you could have a

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laugh! This boosted my confidence no end. After about eight months the company decided to re-locate, and my job was no more. I still wanted to work, and started looking around in the local newspapers. One day, I saw an advert for an office clerk in a local insurance brokers, in fact I knew the proprietor. I had worked with his wife in the local Barclays Bank a few years previously, and we also had some of our insurance with him. I applied for the job, and had a very informal quick interview and got it. It was a small office, with all women staff apart from the boss. There was always plenty of work to do, but like most office work, it was pretty mundane. I needed more to stimulate the old brain. I spotted a job in the local paper, which was working at the local hospital in an elderly mental health day hospital. This really appealed to me, as I liked the elderly and the mental health side would be very interesting. I also thought that working for the NHS, particularly the mental health side should be sympathetic to my problems. I applied for the job. I was offered an interview, which went well. I was offered the job but before I could start the job I had to see the occupational health doctor. He asked me a few questions about my mental health problems, and stressed how I should always take my medication, and to report any problems to the GP. I settled into the new job quickly. Over the months I would see my doctor in outpatients clinic. All would be fine. One time I asked if I could come off the lithium. I was feeling so good, and wanted to try without them. It was agreed I could come off lithium, and a programme of reducing the drugs was made. My work at the day hospital was going very well. When I first started I always remember being asked by the head of the entire unit, if I wanted to do a nurse training. It was something that I always wanted to do, but I told her that I had only just started work here, and to ask me again in a couple of years time! There was a small team of qualified and non-qualified staff on the unit, and we all worked really well together. My main tasks were to provide activities during the day for the clients coming in to be assessed. Their assessment involved a number of things - history, current physical and mental health problems, formal cognitive testing, informal observations etc. After a twelve-week period of attending once a week, there would be a conference (like the ones I attended when I was ill), where the outcome of the assessment and recommendations would be made to the patient and the family.

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I was very happy in my work, and put all my energies into it. Nearly three years had passed since first starting, when the nurse-training thing reared its head again! This time I was keen to have a go, only problem was I did not have enough qualifications to join the course you needed a minimum of 5 GCSEs or O levels and I only had 3! My options were to take a years NVQ course or sit the DC Nursing Educational Test. I opted to what I thought was the easiest and quickest route the DC test. I got hold of some examples of what the test would be, and it was not easy! Lots of logic and mathematical problems not my strongest point. Anyway, I booked to sit the test, and this was at Stoke Mandeville Hospital in Buckinghamshire. I drove up there, with plenty of time to spare before the start of the exam. It was a timed test as well, which didnt help. Two weeks later I had a letter in the post saying I had failed by six points. You had to get at least fifty points to pass. You could take the test three times, so I thought I would give it another go, so went back off to Stoke Mandeville and failed again by one point! I rang them about the result, and the paper was re-checked but they could not add another point. This was disheartening. Then just by chance, Sheila, a nurse at work had seen in the local paper an advert for recruiting people for the nurse training at the local University of Herts, and they were offering free DC Tests. I quickly applied and was given a date to sit another test. By now, I knew the routine and was familiar with the test paper. It seemed an age before the letter came through from the Uni, but I could not believe my eyes when the letter said I had passed with a score of 51 just enough to pass! I was very lucky as I was seconded by the NHS to the nursing course, which meant the NHS would still employ me, with my salary remaining the same. They would expect me to return to work as a qualified nurse. I got all the application forms and filled them out. The next thing was attending the University for selection day. There were lots of people all gathered in the main hall of the Uni. Everyone had to be seated ready to write their reasons why they had chosen their particular branch of nursing. I was sitting next to a girl from Essex called Jacqueline; she was a very friendly bubbly person, who wanted to do child branch. To my other side was a girl called Denise who was applying to do adult branch. It was nice to have a little chat, as everyone was feeling nervous.

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Below is the personal statement I wrote for my application. Discuss the reasons for your choice of nursing specialism I have chosen the mental health branch of nursing, as opposed to the other branches of nursing primarily as I work in the mental health field. Furthermore I have personal experience of suffering from mental health problems. I have a genuine interest and care for people suffering from mental health problems, and this reflects in my work as a support worker, within a mental health assessment unit over the past three years. I find my job very interesting and rewarding. I have gained much knowledge and experience whilst working at the day hospital, and I am now ready to develop and use these skills further by gaining a nursing qualification. I feel the challenges in mental health nursing are exciting, which include over coming the stigma, which still surrounds mental health. Furthermore, providing for an every increasing ageing population is something I fell I can contribute towards. I feel I have many of the skills needed to help form good therapeutic relationships, vital in mental health nursing care. These skills that I have include genuine care, empathy, communication skills listening and talking and patience. Looking back when I was younger, my ambition when leaving school was to train as a general nurse, which I did not fulfil. I opted for a secretarial career and family life, which suited me at that time. Through my own life experiences, I have become more aware and interested in mental health issues. I have personal experience of suffering from depression and bipolar disorder, probably caused by losses and a traumatic childbirth. I can therefore empathise with service users who are suffering from these conditions.. Having been through these experiences has strengthened my own personality, and this gives me the confidence to help others with mental health problems. To conclude, I feel that the combination of my work and life experiences forms a good basis on which I can build upon, which is why I have chosen to continue my professional development in the field of mental health nursing.

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After writing the personal statements, several tutors came into the hall and called peoples names, and were put into groups ready for interviews. The interview for the nursing course wasnt as daunting as I thought it would be. There were two people interviewing me, called Sonia and Alan. They somehow made me feel at ease, and I felt able to tell them freely about some of my personal mental health experiences, and how I thought it would make me a better nurse, as I had first hand experience of depression and bipolar. I came out of the interview feeling it had gone well. There was a small group of us all waiting to be interviewed, and I got chatting with two girls, Sheila and Saranna. Little did I know then but this was the start of a new friendship. In the first year of the nursing course the common foundation year, there was a fifty-fifty mix of theory and practical work. I found all the lectures of great interest, but the bio-science was fairly intense and went into a lot of detail, very interesting but mind blowing, (well it was for me!) We had now formed our little friendship groups, and us slightly older students generally sat towards the front of the lecture halls, basically so we could hear and see what the lecturer was discussing! There was also another group whose names I wont mentioned, that always turned up to the lectures very late, and they would just troop in as if they had done nothing wrong! I think the lecturers had marked their cards. There were practical skills to get to grips with, one which was taking a persons blood pressure. There was no cheating using the electronic BP machines, so we had to know what we were listening for and watching the pressure gauge at the same time. A bit tricky, but as the old saying goes practise makes perfect. The practical placements during the first year were short, two weeks, spent in the various branches of nursing, ie. adult, child, learning disability and mental health. You also got a base placement in your own branch of nursing where you would spend more time. This was with the CAT team Crisis and Treatment Team, at St Pauls in Hemel Hempstead. The two weeks spent sampling the other branches of nursing were interesting, and gave a very small insight into how all the branches could work in conjunction with each other when necessary, (thats the theory). I would say that the most challenging one for me was the adult placement, where I was working on an acute medical ward over in Hemel Hempstead Hospital. I felt I had been thrown in the very deep end. An Irish sister ran the ward, and she was very well respected and

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she stood for no nonsense. It was an extremely busy ward, and the patients had very high needs. My main tasks on the ward as a student was to go around taking obs - blood pressure, pulse, temperature and oxygen sats. As well as assisting patients in bathing, toileting, changing catheter bags, recording data etc etc. There were so many tasks to do, and not enough time in the day! The scariest part of all was how vulnerable a lot of these patients were, and their lives hang in the balance. Many times the panic button would be pressed by a nurse, when one of the patients went into a cardiac arrest. The first time this happened I think I went into shock! I could not help directly in any way with the incident, apart from pulling the curtains around the bed once all the staff and equipment were at the bedside. Luckily that time the lady survived. Another patient who stuck in my mind was a poor chap who had a horrendous head injury. He had been working on a building site, and his head had been smashed with a bulldozer bucket. The whole of the front of his scull was missing, and the surgeons who patched him up did a wonderful job, but he was now left in a near vegetative state. He could breath for himself, but that was about all. The family were so caring and loyal, and they would come every day to help wash and care for him, as well as be by his side. There was a photo of him next to the bed, showing him as such a healthy man how things can change so quickly and without any warning. What an effect this would have had on that family.

During my time with the CAT team, I learned and saw a wide variety of cases. In the office there was a large white board full of all the current clients names. It was always full, so it was a very busy team. I would accompany some of the nurses on their visits to the patients homes. It was mainly functional patients who were seen. That meant people who had mental health problems like depression, schizophrenia etc. Very occasionally we would visit a patient with organic problems, meaning they were suffering from something like dementia. The CAT team generally took on people aged 65 and below, the Elderly Mental Health Team would see anyone above this. It was interesting to see how people presented differently with their mental health problems. I could really relate to those people suffering from depression and bipolar disorder. Its funny because when you are well and you see someone else with bipolar you know how they are feeling, but I somehow forgot that I was like that on more than one occasion! When you are well its as if you are wearing glasses that makes everything clear, you see things in

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perspective, can think clearly and feel normal, but when you are ill the glasses are misted and everything is a blur, you feel detached and everything around you is wrong. You think you will never feel normal ever again. The Cat team were great, they prevented many patients going into hospital, by treating them at home with support from the team. Medication would be supervised until the patient or family were able to supervise this. One of the first ladies I visited was psychotic. In her lounge she had ornaments on the sideboard, and she could see them all moving and flying around the room. She had a little china monkey and this was dancing around. This made her very scared. The nurse said to her she should take some tablets to help this. The medication was Olanzapine, an antipsychotic. When the nurse got the packet of tablets out, the lady saw them and thought they were flying saucers. (The tablets were in foil, which did indeed look like mini flying saucers). It was interesting to see on our next visit the following day how she had improved. There were other placements, and periods of going to Uni for lectures. Then there were the dreaded assignments to be written, which I would spend hours doing. In a funny sort of way I enjoyed doing them, but I found it difficult to fit everything in I wanted to without going over the word limit! When on placement us students did not see each other so much. One afternoon I had arranged to meet my best student friend, Sheila. We decided to meet outside New Look in St Albans. We would have a good old natter over a large coffee and cake, followed by a shopping spree. I remember going into New Look and browsing at the clothes, Sheila went to try something on in the changing rooms. I then felt a bit odd, and became aware of people around me in the shop, and I thought they were actors, and that I was being filmed! (This delusion is a favourite of mine perhaps I should have been on the stage!) It was quite frightening really, and I could feel my heart thumping in my chest. I was relieved to see Sheila coming out of the changing rooms. I didnt tell her how I was feeling, and I just said I would meet her in Wilkinsons, opposite, and proceeded to exit the shop quickly. Soon after that I said goodbye to Sheila and got myself home. I did not tell anyone about this, but was not really aware that it was anything wrong.

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I was on placement in Hemel at the Elderly Mental Health Team. This team was similar to what I was used to in my job at the day hospital, except they would visit patients and assess them in their own homes. I was sitting at the desk I had been given for the time I was there, when suddenly I felt quite unwell. I was putting a file together, punching holes in papers to put in it. I realised I could not work out how to use the hole punch, and messed it up totally. I began to panic. I was aware of the other people in the office, and I felt I was being watched, and voices were talking about me. I had to get out of the office, and went outside to get some air. It was nearly time for me to go home, but as I got in my car I was aware of zigzag lines in my eyes, and I could not see. I was having a migraine. I sat for a while in the car eventually my eyes cleared. I managed to get home and went to bed.

The next day I decided to go into the University and see my tutor. I drove there, and made my way to the offices. Once there, I could not contain myself any more and I broke down in tears, and these did not stop. I was seen by two of the tutors and they were concerned about me. I managed to compose myself, and said I would be ok to get home. I decided I needed some time off and to have a break.

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Chapter 9 Final episode (to date) and the CAT Team I had decided to spend a few days away with my daughter, Sarah. We had gone to stay in Bournemouth at my mums flat. We had a lovely time together, doing what mums and daughters do, shopping, talking, eating, drinking and resting. I had taken a book with me to read. I had seen this book advertised on the Internet, and it caught my eye, as it was about bipolar. It was called A Can of Worms by Jason Pegler, and was the story of his experience of living with bipolar. As a rule I dont ever read but something impelled me to do so on this occasion. I found it difficult to stop reading once I had started maybe a sign of me going high or just a good book? My symptoms of going high (or having mania) are quite tricky to spot, in fact my last episode was diagnosed with hypomania. I present with perhaps one symptom to start with, normally being unusually busy with one particular thing- doing a task in great detail and not stopping not always noticeable by family or friends. I also become quite moody and even angry, which is not like me at all. There are many symptoms of mania, which may include increased energy, over-activity, racing thoughts and speech, reduced sleep, and loss of normal social inhibitions. People may go on spending sprees or start unrealistic projects. I have luckily avoided the spending spree (so far!). I have experienced most of these symptoms, and it can be quite frightening for those around me. Following this stage I then become psychotic, (or as my mum refers to it going berserk!) I must admit when I hear people using insensitive words and phrases in respect to mental health problems it does touch on a nerve! Or its like when someone says to me I nearly had a nervous breakdown I think what do they mean? You either have one or you dont! And if you havent had one how do you know you nearly had one! Of course its just a phrase of speech and I know most people dont mean to say offensive things, maybe I am too sensitive? But it would be nice to be able to educate a few more people who have had no experience of MH problems, which would help overcome the stigma, which still exists around mental health. We drove back from Bournemouth, got home, unpacked and settled back. I remember that evening Dave coming in from work, and I was feeling very angry, for no apparent reason. Maybe the pressures of coming home, and thinking about going back the nurse training, or just another symptom of my illness coming on.

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Once again, strange things were beginning to happen in my head. I became paranoid of people passing in the street. Vans and cars, which passed our house, were television crews. There were hidden cameramen in the houses opposite. I spend hours at a time in my dining room listening to cds, and playing them very loudly. Whilst listening to the music I was acting in a film being made by me. Cant remember what I thought the film was about all I can remember was that I had a cotton bobbin, which I took out of my sewing box, and that this was the key to the story of the film. I remember hiding it in the kitchen cupboard! I suppose its like a dream which you cant make sense of. This dream was about to turn into another nightmare. Whilst making the film, I would follow our cat around the house looking at her tail her name was Kinky, because the end of her tail was bent! I thought Kinky was guiding me around the house whilst I was being filmed. Sometimes she would dart from one room to another and I would follow her quickly. I was convinced that I was a film star (grandiose delusion). Dave was really worried, but to me there was nothing wrong. I became delusional and accused him of having an affair (Delusional jealousy). This made me feel very angry and upset. Dave decided to phone the mental health team to get some help. He spoke to the duty worker whose name was Derek. He said they would get a doctor from the CAT (Crisis and Treatment) team out as soon as possible. It must have seemed a long wait for Dave until the CAT team arrived. There was a doctor and a nurse, and they came in and I sat in the front room with them. I could not remember the first visit they made, but Dave told me that I would not speak to the nurse at all. Her name was Dorcuss, and she was a very tall black lady. I can only think that I thought Dorcuss was the midwife from all those years ago when having Sarah, and that I still held very angry feelings towards her . (Poor Dorcuss, as she was such a lovely nurse). The doctor was a fairly short man, and was called Dr Capazoli. He had a gentle accented voice and a friendly face. These people that had come into my home had visited because I was a very famous film star - they were all part of the film production team! They were checking up on my mental well being, making sure I was coping with being a film star! It sounds so weird now, but at the time it was truly real to me. The doctor prescribed me some Olanzapine, as well as lithium. The next visit was by another doctor, Dr Gerber and a nurse called Jane. They were both very easy to talk to and I felt comfortable with that. Again, I thought they were visiting me whilst on set making my film and I thought that Jane was a psychologist.

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Over the next few days things were settling down a little. Dave said one day I refused to take my tablets, which I was not aware of. He had to call Jane, and she came out and I took them for her. Dr Capazoli called again; during his consultation with me, I told him I had reduced my lithium over the last few months. Everyone looked at each other, and thought and said thats why this has happened - trouble is when you are well, you feel so well, and this makes you think you dont need to take the medication. I learned the hard way. Dr Gerber recommended I stay on lithium long term now. Having come off lithium once, I now realise staying on it would be a better option! Dave and I would walk around the block for some exercise and air, but the days were long, and I then knew that eventually I would nose dive into a deep depression once again. (Not everyone who suffers with bipolar will be go high then low this seems to be the pattern for me). The Olanzapine had worked well, but unfortunately had the bad side effect of making me eat like a horse, and I seemed to put on a stone overnight. Dr Gerber switched it over to Risperidone, which was better for me. My mood seemed to plateau for about 6 weeks, and then when my Risperidone was stopped, I dropped like a stone into depression again. The CAT team were a Godsend, they prevented me going into hospital again, which was one of my greatest fears. I had taken a lot of time off from my nursing studies, and I decided that I would give up the nurse training and resign from the NHS. It felt the right thing for me to do. I had no regrets about not finishing the course, and was glad I was able to have a go in the first place. Nursing seems so academic nowadays. I guess either working full time or studying too hard may have put pressures on me that I cannot cope with, that may have helped trigger this episode.

I was now visiting Dr Gerber in his out patients clinic, and he suggested I take some antidepressants, just a short course for a few weeks, as he did not want me to go high again. The first batch did not seem to do anything, so he tried another type. All this takes time, and the spring and summer were going by, but very slowly. Again, I was not able to do most things, and to me life would never be the same again. Autumn arrived, and there was still not much improvement. Other people could see it, but not me! Dr Gerber suggested adding a further mood stabilizer as well as lithium. He suggested Lamotrigine, a drug also used in the treatment of epilepsy. I had a lot of faith in Dr Gerber and I agreed to start the new medication.

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This had to be built up in my system slowly over a number of weeks. I did not seem to suffer any side effects, so was pleased about that. Over the next couple of months there was a gradual improvement, then in late October I saw my doctor again and I told him I could see a glimmer of light at the end of that very long tunnel. I was starting to feel better! It was December and I had an appointment to see Dr Gerber again at his outpatients clinic at Edinburgh House. It felt great to be able go there on my own to the appointment and walk into his office and say to him I felt normal at long last. Christmas had come early for me, I was back to my old self! Nevertheless we shall see what 2008 will bring, in the meantime I will remain Somewhere in between.

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This book is dedicated to Dave, Sarah, Catherine, Roger, Kerry, Kate, Mums and Dads, the rest of my family and friends. You give me strength when I cant find You give me sight when I am blind. You are my saviours in difficult times You are my voice when I have to mime. You lead the way throughout my day You truly care each and every way.

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