We rode in silence. I didn’t’ want to talk to anyone anymore. We got to the hospital, and I was led in to the ER by the EMT’s. They sat me in a wheelchair and handed me my luggage. A nurse approached me with a chipboard in her hand—I had to sign paperwork to be treated and they needed my ID and insurance cards. So I filled out all the paperwork the best I could with the nurse helping me. Before she took it to the desk, she looked me in the eye and asked if I went to church. I said I did, but that it didn’t seem to be working for me right now. She nodded and moved off to file my papers and admit me to the hospital.
Again, I’m still not sure what was happening on Bob’s end. I think his friend called to let him know I was going into the hospital—I don’t know if that had been included in the police’s plans the last time they had communicated with the Brandon Police. I gave the hospital his number to call to get more information about my condition and my past treatment. I remember the ER doctor sitting down with me and telling me I was going to be committed to a hospital because I had come in as a suicide patient, did I care which one.
I told him my doctor’s name and phone number and the name and phone number of the last hospital I had been to in March. I said I would like to go to that one to by close to my husband and kids. He checked into it and informed me that it would have to be a Louisiana hospital because I was being committed by the state. By this time, I had been up for almost twenty-for hours straight without sleep—a hallmark symptom of mania.
After a day of searching for a hospital that could take me, I wound up spending three days in a Louisiana mental ward, then being discharged to my husband, who had to cross the state to get me as I was in a far west corner of Louisiana. We drove home, stopping off halfway to spend the night, and went to my hospital to be readmitted since Bob could tell I wasn’t yet well. I spent about a week there, seeing my doctor and trying different meds to take me down from the mania.
So began my journey through a diagnosis of bipolar disorder I. I look back amazed at the miracles that happened to keep me safe during this episode. I’m forever grateful to my husband’s co-worker for being willing to help me. I’m glad that the police saw I needed to go to the hospital instead of jail. I’m so very thankful Bob was willing to take me back after scaring him so badly; I cried for a long time over the grief I put him and my family through. Even the fact that I drove so far away and didn’t have an accident or any other incident seems miraculous to me. But I know God was watching over me to bring me through it safely.