The Poles walked continually up
and down the ward...
screaming, talking to themselves
manically laughing:
the lino was worn bare by
their pacing.
The man sat opposite me, with elbows resting on the desk, his hands making a steeple. Not a word did he utter.
'She can't stay here, my mother is suffering from depression; if she does she will surely go mad!'
I talked on, explaining how I felt, all the while feeling he was assessing me. After what seemed like an age, repeating myself, I just felt I was wasting my time.
I walked away from his office feeling I'd failed my lovely mum.
'I tried Mum!'
Tears coursed down her face.
The next day she was transferred to a general hospital from the Darenth Park Mental hopital.
How had she come to this? Broken in mind as well as body.
I seem to have spent half my life speaking up for friends and family who have fallen ill, physically and mentally - it sounds like you know what this is all about too.
ReplyDeleteSadly, you often need to make a big fuss to get appropriate treatment - and it's getting more and more difficult in this post-Crash era.