Most people who ask me how I am feeling either do not actually want to know or they are troubled to hear the truth. People are ready to move on with their lives and I think some feel I should ready as well. I am trying to be honest about my thoughts and emotions. I am trying to deal with them and work through them. I am trying to be honest with myself in an effort to survive this nightmare. Everyday I feel torturous pain. It is not getting better. This is probably because I am not as stunned as I was. Rich's 33rd birthday was Tuesday. My 34th birthday was yesterday March 13th. I've purchased clothes, blankets and toys for Ethan. This is particularly painful to do without Rich. We made all decisions together. Our relationship was a true partnership. We were best friends and protected each other.

I am moving forward, but the guilt and sadness is profound. I feel I'm at the depths of my sanity and stability and things couldn't possibly get worse. Cognitively, I know this is ridiculous. Of course things could get worse. I do have a pregnancy and toddler to care for. My children are blessings and I love them greatly. I would never do anything to hurt them. I would never do anything to hurt Rich. Hence, I would never do anything to hurt myself.

I've been reading books such as, "I'm Grieving As Fast As I Can" by Linda Feinberg and "Finding Your Way After Your Spouse Dies" by Marta Felber. These are two of the books sent to me by Kathy Eury. (This is someone I don't really know, but she brings me comfort with her caring email messages and her dedication to making the auction at Rich's tribute show a success.) These books suggest thoughts of suicide are not uncommon for someone recently widowed. (That word - widow - brings me to tears especially when I have to circle it for my marital status on forms.) I admit I entertain these thoughts. I'll even divulge I am passively suicidal. I've moved beyond bereavement directly into depression. But, suicide is not an option. I look into Madison's beautiful face and she gives me strength to get through the most difficult moments. And that's what they are - moments. I'll be okay and then suddenly I think of Rich and his sweetness and love for us and how he was taken from us. The situation is just so sad. I'm so sorry for him, Madi and Ethan. I tremble and weep uncontrollably. I wonder how I'll get through this grief. Then it crosses my mind, "Maybe I don't have to get through this". After a few moments, my mind clears of this. Suicide is not an option!! I am stronger than that. I would never leave Madi and Ethan here without either of us. It is going to be difficult enough without Rich. The love and relationship Rich and I shared was a gift. It is not gone. It thrives in our children. I will always have it and treasure it. I'll share it with our children and they'll feel his love through me. I am the only one who can provide that to them. I am the only one who can be a mother to them. I will not deprive them of this.

I am writing this journal entry shortly after being released from Western Psych. Apparently, my honesty is too much for some to handle. I don't want people to be afraid for me or afraid of me. So, I agreed to go to the emergency room at WPIC. I agreed to this in part because as I understood it, I needed to have an evaluation to be set up with a UPMC psychiatrist. If I didn't, it could take several weeks to participate in any of the depression programs offered by UPMC. I want to feel better and to work through my grief. I need to find a young widows group. Talking about what happened helps me. I need some relief.

Imagine the Western Psych emergency room on a Friday night. There was a plethora of lunatics and crack heads. One woman, over the course of an hour, told us she had a bachelor's degree in pre-med, another one in psychology, was a convicted felon, graduated with a GED, but was valedictorian, she was rich, she was a model, she was a pharmacist and was there to 3-0-2 her mother! If anyone was capable of leaving that night it was me. And this includes the people who brought me there! I was with one of my sisters, one of my brothers and a friend. I'm not going to name the friend just yet. Let's just say she needed to be there more than me. In fact, a few times I thought they might restrain her.
It literally took 9 hours to finally be evaluated for 15 minutes by a therapist. Then I think another hour went by before being seen by a doctor. He also spoke to us for about 15 minutes. He asked everyone what their opinion was as to my safety. Each said they had some concerns because I verbalized my thoughts. Now, let's remember what helps me to feel better: talking about my feelings!! This is a release for me. This is why I keep the journal. I don't have my husband to talk to anymore. I need to rid myself of anger and pain and this is how I choose to do it. It works for me. It comforts me to receive emails from people who tell me they read the journals and care about Rich and our family. I need this to get through each day.

Since Rich's death my daily routine is pretty much get Madi to daycare around 10 or 11; go home and back to bed; get up around 4 and shower; pick Madi up an we usually go out to eat; sometimes we go to the grocery store or a Wal-Mart/Target store; we come home and play or read - she likes to watch movies lately, especially Monster's Inc.; Madi has a bath then a snack and we go to bed together; she falls asleep and I stay up and read and then watch TV for awhile until I fall asleep. I have to sleep with the TV on to drown out thoughts of Rich while he was in the hospital and at his worse. If I don't I'll cry all night. His pain was the most painful experience in my life.
I know this routine needs to change and it will. It has only been two months. My main concern right now is Madi's happiness and well being. I know I have to take care of myself. A few times I've been presented with the analogy - 'when on an airplane if the oxygen mask drops, you are to secure yours first then your child's.'

So, while speaking with the therapist my friend went into this completely inappropriate and exaggerated tirade of how she was terrified she will find me dead. She insinuated I don't take care of my child and the CDC should be notified of the condition of my apartment. That I'm irresponsible regarding my job. (I took an official medical leave that my PCP and psychologist both agree with.) At least I shower everyday which is more than the friend who coerced me to the ER does. She feels I'm not functioning because I'm not cooking or keeping the apartment neat as a pin. I didn't do that even when I was happy.

She then turned the situation on to herself. She said, among many irrelevant things, she can't pay her rent and needs to find a job. She can't care for me or be with me 24/7. She wants someone else to be responsible if I kill myself. Rich would want this and Rich would want that. Finally, I turned to her and told her to calm down and to stop saying Rich's name. I think this really hurt her feelings. She stormed out of the room and left the hospital and I haven't talked to her since. For some reason I couldn't stand that she was speaking for Rich. I am the ONLY person who knew Rich well enough to speak for him - no one else - not even members of his family. Rich was mine and I alone know his thoughts and wishes for me and our children. I was offended that someone dare tell me my husband's feelings or thoughts!

I could see the therapist was disturbed with her behavior and I thought this looked good for me. Clearly, I was the one in control and my family and friends were overreacting. After all, I am experiencing traumatic grief. Under the circumstances who could go to work or clean right now? I wanted the opportunity to express to him what kind of person Rich was, how special our relationship was. Then surely he would understand my despair.

I know my friend loves me and she thought she was doing the right thing for me. I honestly appreciate her concern. She has been very helpful to me. She and her sister even cleaned the apartment. Her fear is genuine and her friendship true. But, I don't need or want her to feel she needs to take care of me. I only need her friendship and understanding. There is no need for her to feel responsible for me. I am not some pathetic cause she needs to take on. She has her own issues to deal with.
Feeling confident I was going home, the psychiatrist recommended I stay in the hospital. Even after he asked me what I thought I needed. Yes, I need counseling. Yes, I need help. I want to be involved with the intensive outpatient treatment program UPMC offers. I was there to get involved with that. I want to find a young widows group. I was not looking for razor blades or obsessed with thought of ending my life. I was flabbergasted! My brother and sister agreed with his recommendation. My brother even got down on his knees and begged me with tears in his eyes to do this.
The doctor pretended I had a choice in the matter. But, what it came down to was - I could either sign in voluntarily or he would sign me in involuntarily. I knew it would be easier to get out of there if I cooperated. So, I signed away the next 72 hours of my life. He assured me there would be intensive therapy that would begin immediately. And it would be easier to get involved with the intensive outpatient therapy program - otherwise it could take 3 to 4 weeks to be enrolled.

Beds were tight, but they finally found an open one on the 7th floor. This was a unit with adolescent anorexic girls. This, however, is slightly ironic. Twenty years ago I was an adolescent anorexic girl who was hospitalized for my eating disorder for a month at Children's Hospital. Nevertheless, I was pissed off! Plus, it was 5:00 in the morning before I actually got up there.

The unit was set up more like a dormitory than a hospital. There was no electric bed I could maneuver to support the comfort of my 7 ½ months pregnant body. It was just a flat cot. There were two girls to a room. The only TV was the one in the common area. The bedroom doors had to remain open. The bathroom door had to remain open. They made me cut the string out of my pajamas. They went through every scrap of paper in my wallet and my purse. There were only certain items I could have with me in the room. I knew Rich would be upset if he knew I was basically being held against my will.
I woke up about 11:00 am. I could hear the girls playing the Catch Phrase game. They were funny and cute and smart. I knew what they were experiencing. Their minds tormented with unrealistic images of their bodies. I had been there. I thought maybe I was on this unit for a reason. I am a teacher of "at-risk" troubled youth. And I was once in their situation. Maybe I could be some sort of temporary role model for them. But, I was too angry to go out and socialize. Which concerned me because I knew they were evaluating everything I did and said.

I wondered how I let this happen. This was not what I needed. This was not going to help me. The only comfort and solace I had was taken from me. I needed to be home with my child in the house we shared with her father.

Around noon an internist came to examine me. She asked me a series of questions about my health and the pregnancy and what brought me to the hospital. I explained my tragic loss to her and assured her I was in the wrong place and I was not actively suicidal. She expressed her sympathy for my loss. She seemed like she cared, but then offered me unsolicited and inappropriate advice. She told me I should not remarry. That statistically I will chose a mate who will either neglect or abuse my children and I should not share my time with another mate. Was she out of her freaking mind? My beloved husband has been gone for 2 months! A new mate is the furthest thing from my mind. Not to mention I am an educated professional woman. I'm not going to bring home just some guy because I'm in need of adult companionship. What the hell?

About an hour later came the psychiatrist who barely spoke English. He told me he had no intention of releasing me until at least Monday. I guess he came in to only say hello because his mind was made up and it was based on the ER doctor's decision. I pleaded with him to explain to me how staring at the walls was beneficial to my mental heath. I told him I was open to therapy, but I was sitting there with nothing to do or no one to talk to. I came in only to get involved with the outpatient services. He said I needed more intense therapy. I was becoming clearly agitated and asked him where it was. Okay, bring it on - I'll take it - help me - please! He told me the hospital could not perform miracles. "Well, then perform something" I argued. "Talking to an ER doc for 15 minutes last night and talking to you for 15 minutes today is not my idea of intensive therapy! This is not what I want. This is not helping me." I explained to him not only is sitting here perpetuating my depression, but now it is compounded with guilt because I'm not with my child. He was very reactive to me. I was clearly agitated and he became agitated right back. Completely unprofessional. Our conversation went in circles. He said no therapy could take place on the weekend and based on what the ER doc said, I needed to be monitored for my own safety. The nurses would be evaluating me throughout the weekend. I sarcastically asked him if I was expected to go out and socialize with the teenage girls and if I didn't would I be looked at as anti-social? He said given the circumstances of where I am being held, they would make exceptions. Finally, he agreed to contact the ER doc and explain my concerns to him. "Okay, fine then when will you come back and tell me what he said?" He said tomorrow. I almost went ballistic. I bit my tongue and allowed him to leave. These doctors were not hearing me. I began to become terrified as to when I would be able to leave. I was nauseous over not being with Madi. How did I lose control of my freedom? I knew I was not going to receive help there.

I went back to sleep until dinner time. The nurse woke me up to see if I wanted to get a tray. I asked her if I could eat in the room. She said she'd rather I eat in the kitchen with the girls. So, I told her to forget it. I thought great - she is writing down I'm sleeping all day and refusing to eat. She came back into the room and said I could eat there if I wanted to. I went to the kitchen for the tray. The girls were all sweet and said hi to me. They showed me where everything was. I ended up eating in the common area with a girl who wasn't feeling well. The two of us sat with the nurse and talked. She had two bites of orange Jell-O and a saltine. She was full.

I remembered when I was in the hospital with anorexia and not allowed to be alone with food. They had to watch everything eaten and make sure food was not hidden or discarded. At first, I wasn't even allowed in the bathroom by myself. I guess they had to make sure I didn't exercise or vomit. I remember the plastic hat sort of things I had to place on the toilet before going to the bathroom. They had to measure the output - probably to see how well the digestive system was working. In this bathroom, each hat was labeled with the girl's name. There were signs all over the bathroom instructing them not to flush the toilet.

I was uneasy that since I slept most of the day, I wouldn't be able to sleep that night. I didn't want to lay there alone, crying and thinking of Rich. I asked the nurse to ask the doctor to order me a sleeping pill. She informed me he was gone for the day. I thought, great, he is in his comfortable home with his family while I sit here miserable and distressed. What are these people doing to me? Are they trying to cause me to become suicidal?

Meanwhile, I had decided to have a birthday party on Saturday night to celebrate Rich's life. I thought this was a healthy thing do. I like friends coming over. They were coming to remember Rich and I looked forward to seeing everybody and sharing happy stories of him. I felt this would be helpful to my healing. Plus, I am not the only one who lost him. My sister had to call everyone to cancel.

Evening visiting hours were at 6:30. My brother arrived first. I vented some anger to him and he completely agreed I shouldn't be there. He told me his instincts were against it from the beginning. "You got down on your knees and begged me to do it! That's what pushed me over the edge!" He apologized profusely. My sister arrived and was immediately appalled at what she saw especially after realizing that no therapy had taken place. She said, "We're leaving." She asked the nurse to gather my things. Now, things got a bit heated. She and the nurse fired demands back at each other. Three security guards were called to the scene. They made their presence known, but remained in the common area. The nurse asked me if I wanted to speak to a doctor about leaving. I told her of course I did. Then Linda and Steve Hansen arrived. Now, we were 5 deep in my effort to be released. We stayed in the room and talked about what went on to get me there and how I felt duped into the situation. My brother and sister agreed there was some trickery by the ER psychiatrist that took place.

About an hour later a young unkempt doctor arrived. He explained I signed in and the law stated they could keep me for 72 hours. I returned with - you can, but you don't have to. I went through my whole story of why I agreed in the first place. We talked in circles. I was agitated and talking with my hands. He couldn't answer how I was being helped by being there. When he finally realized it was the same family members who brought me in that now wanted me released, he agreed to call the ER doc and explain what was going on. He didn't have the authority to sign off on my release. Steve brought it to my attention I should probably calm down and find my inner Zen. The Hansens are pretty good in crisis situations - no matter what anyone says about them.

By this time it was 8:00 and visiting hours were over. The callous and unpleasant nurse, who we called Nurse Ratchet, asked everyone to leave. My sister said she wasn't going anywhere without me. Again, they fired demands back and forth. The nurse threatened my sister with the Pittsburgh police. My sister doesn't scare easily and was not impressed. However, I think Linda was a little anxious. The untidy doctor told Nurse Ratchet it was okay they stayed. She reluctantly left us be. I'm not sure if the girls were removed from the common area in case there was an episode or if they had some kind of program going on in the kitchen area, but they were no where to be seen.

When the doctor came back into the room, he asked me if I wanted to speak in private or was it okay for everyone to stay. I was sure he was going to tell me I had to stay. I wanted everyone to remain in the room. I didn't know how I would respond to what he was about to tell me. He asked me if I presently felt suicidal. He asked if I had anyone to stay with me. I assured him I was not suicidal and both my sister, who lives in Vancouver, BC and my brother were staying with me. He asked them if they were concerned for my safety. They said not immediately, but agreed I needed professional help. The doctor told us he still needed to consult the psychiatrist who talked to me earlier. I was beginning to feel some relief and felt that I indeed would be released. He returned and informed me he was making a recommendation that I begin the intensive outpatient program on Monday. I expressed to him that that was all I wanted from the beginning. At about 10:00 he signed the release papers.
Happy Birthday to me...