This Week in Mentalists (37)

I think I’m now past my post-holiday blues. How I miss my week away in Scarborough. The twinkling lights of the uranium factory. The pretty colours of the pollution against the night sky. The screams of political dissidents being “re-educated” with clubs.

Anyway, on with This Week in Mentalists.

The Shrink has a love/hate relationship with drug companies.

Recently, although not directly contravening guidelines, I was irked by a rep giving quotes and referenced citations as “evidence” that a drug works when on unpicking this evidence it was from a poster, not a peer reviewed journal publication. Anyone could write a poster, it’s not something to influence massive change of practice, yet a drug rep was trying to persuade me otherwise.

Grrr.

The Cockroach Catcher disusses physical illness masquerading as mental illness.

“The patient was sure someone was trying to harm her.”

Oh! Acute paranoid psychosis. That makes sense. Anything else? I suppose she had to be on the most up-to-date anti-psychotic and anti-obsessional drugs.

No, before they could pump these drugs into her, her friend bailed her out, against medical advice, and got my friend to see her.

Great friend!

But what could have caused the hair loss?

Polonium?

No way, she was not a spy!

Yes, it was poisoning, not by Polonium, but by Thallium. That was what my friend’s investigation showed.

Mental Patient About Town defends the medical model.

An article in the British Journal of Psychiatry has questioned whether the broad-based team approach is putting patients at risk. In response some people vigorously defend the multi-disciplinary team.

One service user and psychologist, Liz Miller, suggests the article represents a “biological bite-back”, and is a response to the successes of the service-user movement, which has challenged the authority of psychiatrists. “The biological model [of care] is based around treatment,” she says. “I am not saying it doesn’t have a place, but the idea that psychiatrists somehow have a deeper understanding of mental illness is bollocks.”

Bollocks? I do think psychiatrists have a deeper understanding of mental illness by virtue of the fact that it is an illness and doctors diagnose and treat illnesses. But then I’m resolutely a patient, not a service user.

Bipolar Mo looks at some research.

I don’t understand all the science but this is far removed from my GP’s interpretation of “bipolar and schizophrenia are basically the same disorder”. I have met lots of people with both of these illnesses and in my experience they usually fall into two distinct flavours. I’m a great believer in the old adage “if it waddles like a duck and quacks like a duck then it’s probably a duck”. In my experience bipolar people will waddle and quack because they find it hilarious unlike schizophrenic people who will waddle and quack because the devil tells them to.

Not Another Nursing Student dislikes student nurse uniforms.

On my first placement I felt confident, knowledgeable and well presented. I was spoken to as an equal and felt I fit in with the team. Clearly, I wasn’t wearing my uniform. My current placement, the evil outfit is mandatory and I feel really crap, to be honest. It fits badly, so I feel untidy. I feel less confident in it, and so less likely to seek out opportunities and talk to new people. It clearly marks me out as a student; a necessary evil, perhaps, but it definately changes how people react to you. The assumption that you are thick seems to feature heavily. I clearly look younger in it, and people act as if you are just out of school. This even extends to uni; we got a communal bollocking over something an individual had done and I sat there feeling like a naughty school child. Both myself and many of the others have held full time jobs, often with a fair level of responsibility, and it does kinda jar to be spoken to like that.

Seaneen has a request for the drug companies.

Jesus christ, but Lamictal’s a horrible tasting pill.

Can’t they coat medication in tasty chicken or something? Tasty Lamictal chicken for mains, chocolate covered Seroquel for dessert. All I need is melon flavoured Seroxat for starters and I’d be set.

I hate the taste of them. Lamictal tastes like paracetamol and I feel sick to my stomach for hours after taking it. Seroquel is disgusting, and about a half hour after I take it, when the swaying, slurring drowsiness kicks in, I get cravings for food, any food.

Serotonin is having epiphanies.

ASW reckoned the other day that I have got myself into a bit of a rut.At the time I wasn’t entirely sure whether he was right or not, now I think he actually was right.Maybe that’s why he pisses me off at times - the truth is hard to bare.I went for a short walk this morning & I am going to try this most days after dropping Lisha off at school.I know I get myself into a dreadful two & eight over lack of money blah, blah ,but at least Hubby & myself pay our bills ,have a roof over our heads, both work (though struggle occasionally when ill ) & have two great kids.I bumped into a couple I know from the school & they told me of their problems with Council Tax payments, bills & county court judgements.I know of somebody else who is in the same boat, neither of them suffer severe mental health problems either.So I guess that me & hubby really are doing ok with daily living things.Funny thing is ASW actually said similar stuff to me, but it really meant nothing when he said it.So I think you could say that I had a bit of an epiphany on my walk today.

The Wife of a Schizophrenic is keeping Mr Man safe.

Most of the knives in our house aren’t very sharp but I do own a craft knife from years ago when I went through a phase of card making, and I keep this well hidden. I needed to use the knife recently and I had to wrack my brain to try to remember where I had hidden it. Mr Man walked in on me as I retrieved it, and it made me jump like a naughty school girl trying to hide a secret. It was still stained with Mr Man’s dried blood from 2002. It was the only time he had ever cut himself at home, and yet I still fear it could happen again.

Dumped By a Hallucination is disengaging from CAMHS.

I’m out of the system. I don’t feel remorse for screwing with my friends, and as the CBT woman told me last time I was there, don’t try to fix wot ain’t even broke. There’s no point their wasting time on a kid who doesn’t care, so that’s it. I’ll get a phone call in September to make sure I’m not psychotic, which will probably go something like this:

“Hello, Susan!”

“Suzanne.”

“Hello, Suzanne! So how are you?”

“Fine.”

“Yes. Well, that’s good. How’s school?”

“I only bin back a day yet.”

“Oh, OK. Right, yeah. And how’s that day been?”

“Fine.”

“Hmm, yeah. How are… those girls? In your class? The ones you don’t like?”

“They’ve changed school for sexth form, ent they.”

“Hmm. How do you feel about that?”

“Fine.”

“Yeah, OK. Is there anything you’d like to talk ab- ?”

“No.” Cue dial tone.

And thus will conclude my short, sweet (well, about as sweet as lemons) relationship with the Children and Adolescent Mental Health Services.

And that also concludes This Week in Mentalists.