‘I chose the inpatient facility’

Editor’s Note: Kayla’s Korner will be a reoccurring column that deals with mental health and teenage issues. This is the second of an eight part story.  

I was a mess the whole way to the hospital. The ride was full of crying and muttering that I was sorry over and over again.

When we arrived at the children’s emergency room, there was a police officer that asked, “Are you admitting someone into the emergency room?”

My mom responded with “my daughter.” We then got out of the car and the police officer took the car to be parked.

We walked into the emergency room and checked in at the desk. They put a white hospital bracelet on my wrist that stated basic information about me, such as my name and birthdate. I could not stop shaking when I was in the waiting room. Eventually, a nurse called my mom and me into a room where she would ask me questions and take my vitals.

The first thing she asked me was “Were you raped?”

My immediate response was “No. I wasn’t.” I guess this was their protocol.

She then made a phone call, cancelling a nurse who was coming down if I was raped.

We then just talked about how I was feeling. After, I was transferred into a room in the emergency room where I changed into hospital clothes.

The thing that was weird about being on suicide watch in a hospital is that you are put into a room where the door is always open and there are rotating shifts of a nurse or a doctor that stays in the room and watches you.

I waited in the room for hours until I could meet with the hospital psychiatrist to see if I would be going home or to an inpatient facility.

There was nothing to do while we waited. The television was on, but there was no sound, so I just sat there, watching the screen and making up dialogue. The alternating nurse or doctor would try to make conversation with my mom and I, but I was not really in the mood to talk about the weather or about school.  

Eventually, at around two in the morning, the hospital psychiatrist was available to talk to me. However, she was not actually there — she was on a large monitor on Skype.

I talked to her for about a half hour about what I was feeling and what I wanted to do.

In the end, she basically gave me a choice. Do you want to go home or go to an inpatient facility?

I chose the inpatient facility. It might seem weird like why would I want to not go home? It is hard for most people to understand, but I was feeling hopeless. I was feeling like if I went home that night that I would end everything right there.

I knew the best thing for me was to get away from my home and my family and to go to the facility to start to heal.

The psychiatrist was grateful of my choice. She knew that that was the best thing for me after only talking to me for a short period of time.

The monitor then left and the nurse or doctor came back into my room as my mom talked to the psychiatrist outside. My mom came back in crying after about 15 minutes.

I had to stay overnight in the hospital. In the middle of the night, I was moved into another room that had two rooms inside of it. One of them was mine and the other one had a girl around my age that was there for the same reason as me. Since there was two of us, there were two people watching us.

The next day was full of eating and taking naps until we figured out which inpatient facility I would be transported to. At one point, they did not even know if I would be able to go to one that day.

Finally, at around dinner time, I was told that I would be leaving shortly. An ambulance was coming to take me.

Coming next: Kayla leaves the hospital and goes to an inpatient facility.