Drug abuse/mental illness

Drug abuse/mental illness

Yesterday I saw a woman in the hospital.  Her admission was cellulitis related to IV drug use and Diabetic Keto Acidosis (DKA). As a diabetic educator, I needed to see her.  She had been in ICU for several days so I waited until she was moved into a room - that was yesterday.  

I went to the floor, asked the nurses about her condition.  They complained about her behavior.  Demanding, belligerent, never appreciative.  While I was still at the nurse's station she called out "there are bugs on my ceiling".  This entire time I could only think about Amy.  If she doesn't change, this will be her.  I spoke up to these young nurses told them that we don't know the circumstances behind this woman's problem.  We don't know anything but "IV drug user".  I even told them I had a precious niece that we suspected was a drug user, that had a college degree, that was pretty, but had things happen in life that she could not cope with and had spiraled out of control. This woman yelling "there are bugs on my ceiling" could have been their family member.  And for once in my life, I don't think I sounded bossy or fussy because I was sad. I was sad because not too many years ago I would have been the same way, rolling my eyes and not wanting to "deal" with her and her behavior, thinking "She did it to herself".  But now, things are different. 

I gathered up my courage to go into this woman's room and see her.  She was very disheveled, trying to get out of the bed and when I fully entered, she demanded that I help her to the bathroom. Knowing not to get her up on my own, I got help from one of those young nurses - we got her up and I stayed with her in the bathroom while the other nurse, cleaned off her bed (food crumbs and other unknown specks) and placed a fresh sheet on it.  As I stood in the bathroom with her, I thought, if her hair was combed and she had on makeup and not a hospital gown, that was coming apart, she might not look so different from me.  We walked her back to the bed, put a brief on her, per her demands.  She was talking out of her head this entire time.  All I could think about was how in the hospital we could take care of that cellulitis in her arm and her DKA and other physical health needs, but how ill-equipped we were to manage her mental health needs.  Yes, the nurses could give medication ordered, but no one had the time to do anything else for her. There really is a difference in the nurse that works mental health and the one that does not.  There was nothing I could teach her or help her regarding her DKA.  I could only leave information in her room.  I could only whisper to God for His help with her, with Amy, with others like her.

There had been no visitors - no one to care. I had other patients to see.  I felt useless.  I felt heartbroken.  I questioned.  I had no answers.  Only that I had to keep my trust in my heavenly Father.