Thoughts on going mental (part 2)

Its four in the afternoon, and beginning to get dark, just had lunch with Tom, Lauren and Sarah. One of the good bits about being retired is Sunday lunch isn't tied to Sunday. Chicken, roasts, veg, gravy the works followed by banana pudding and cream. Down side is I am now totally disorientated, is it really Monday? Surely its time for a kip followed by Downton... No? Oh well, back to the story.

Heathrow to Kovalam April 2013

Flying at 33,000 feet over Iraqi desert sands, eating curry and drinking cold beer, as Jeremy Clarkson would no doubt say "It the best way to travel, in the woooorrrrllld!" and on that bomb shell, back to reflection and rumination.

Going mental (Part 2).

I'd had a minor wobble earlier in the year, I'd managed to catch myself from falling by going on my first trip to India but organisational insanity and the emotional stress of dealing with damaged people was catching up, it was becoming obvious the job was too big for one person (or at least for me) to handle. No one disagreed. With some connivance from friends I managed to get my job split in two, one half focusing on the budget and commissioning side of the job, the other on professional performance. I was told to take my pick, the money would be the same for both jobs as before but I'd only have to focus on one bit. A brilliant solution, but there was a catch if I took the commissioning job I'd have to train my replacement in performance for six months or so AND do the commissioning job. If i took the performance job i'd have to give up a massive budget and dodge and weive for cash to do the job but it was a new challenge, the chance to do something few had done, set up a performance remediation unit improve the service patients got and help those struggling in their careers. (I told you i had a few psychotic moments). But, and for the first time in my life, I knew I'd begun to bump up against my own mental capacity limiter. So I chose the performance bit, it made sense to me, half the job, no more mad making politics or Strategic Modernisation and best of all end to having to deal with Matrix Management. Just me, doing what needed to be done. Perfect.

(For Info - if you've never worked in the NHS here's how Matrix Management works. I thought, at the time, it was a reference to an interlocking cross supporting structure but not so, in fact its developed from a film called the Matrix. Here is the plot,

The Matrix (as described by IMDb)

Neo has always questioned his reality, but the truth is far beyond his imagination. Neo finds himself targeted by the police when he is contacted by Morpheus, a legendary computer hacker branded a terrorist by the government. Morpheus awakens Neo to the real world, a ravaged wasteland where most of humanity have been captured by a race of machines that live off of the humans' body heat and electrochemical energy and who imprison their minds within an artificial reality known as the Matrix. As a rebel against the machines, Neo must return to the Matrix and confront the agents: super-powerful computer programs devoted to snuffing out Neo and the entire human rebellion. 

Rated R for sci-fi violence and brief language
Taken from IMDb
Notes for Parents  - When people die in the matrix, their bodies in the real world cough up blood and die as well.

To those of you working in the NHS, ravaged wasteland, artificial reality, imprisoned minds, no one knowing what's going on or who's in charge? Sound familiar?  (I'm trying desperately not to laugh, but failing, Honestly, it isn't really like that its just sometimes it feels that way to us all).

Storm Warning SSW, Storm force 10, Viability - Poor, worsening from the east.

So my "perfect job" was mine. I remember someone saying to me  "Find a job you love and you will never have to work again", looking back now I love the irony in that sentence. More accurately perhaps would have been "Find a job you love and it will take over your life" Now I understand that the boring bit, budget management, silly management games, meetings which were going nowhere were keeping me sane, I had swapped a part time tedious part time high intensity emotionally draining job for a full time emotionally draining job. Have a care what you wish for.... you might just get it.

I managed for six months before the wheels fell off my little wagon. Six months of wonderful, intense, challenging, emotional and worthy cases. To deal with them i sat there, hour after hour, soaking up their confusion, hurt and anger, absorbing and not putting it down, holding it inside me, not in a note book or a file to be placed on a shelf at the end of the day, home it came with me. Unlike therapy, there was no theraputic space between us to hold the feelings safe, no clinical supervision, no talking down,  it was pure raw transference heady and... very toxic. The harder the case the more I cared, sucked into a whirlpool spinning fast and faster deeper and deeper and then...

Then.


The.


Words.

.....

Stopped.

......

I broke. Something just snapped inside. I'd noticed i'd become more and more careful, deliberate, much slower in what I said. I put it down to the need for total clarity, my mind raced exploring every interpretation of my words before i spoke and... My Perfect storm had stuck. I was in the eye of the hurricane, silence. My mind whirled around me but no matter how hard I tried i physically couldn't speak.

Sarah was magnificent, I have no idea what i'd have done without her, I try not to think about it. Lets just say it was a dark time, as I've said some things are mine I hold them close at night and they are not for sharing here.

Going a "bit mental" can be tough, living with a mentalist must at times be hell. I've lost my voice twice now, both times she was there for me, listening as I tried to speak, not forcing the pace of my recovery just being in the room when i needed her, and giving me space and time when i needed to be alone. Making me rest, riding shot gun and protecting me from myself when I first became ill. The first time I became a fully fledged member of the mentalist club (All applications accepted we are an equil opportunities club) like most people I know, I did the "I'm fine now!!! Honest!!! I just needed a couple of weeks and a good holiday!!! No really!!! I'm fine!!!" routine, In the end I was off five months. I convinced everyone I was OK to return, I can be very convincing if I try, I lasted a year and broke again. This time even i had begun to spot the signs. Sarah says everywhere I went I had a dark grey cloud hovering over me. On that day I had a meeting to attend, I knew things were about to become "difficult", Penni my PA was obviously concerned and tried to protect me from any hassle, I had decided I was going to do this one meeting before I went sick, I needed to hand over, i had to. Penni kept me safe just long enough baring the door so I could. I can still see her looking daggers at someone who wanted to see me. Penni, thanks, it helped lots.

When I'd finished the meeting i went home, and cooked the entire contents of the fridge. bagged up multiple meals and froze them. My psychiatrist says I was preparing for illness, I think she was right. For me, when the going gets tough the tough get cooking, its more creative than smashing plates and you get a meal at the end. This time i declared myself fit after two months. Sarah and my psychiatrist were having none of it, and they were right but I was allowed to meet with a good friend from work for lunch, i was fine!!! We talked about my new tandoori oven, curry recipes all things Indian and we were going great guns, until we started to talk about work. I have no recollection what we were talking about but my words started to get slower again. On leaving the restaurant we unexpectedly bumped into two more colleagues, I tried to speak, nothing, I smiled at them and went home.  The rule for return to work was I had to have had fun for two months before I could go back. In the end I was off for 8 months. My return was very, very, gradual. In reality I attended for about 3 days a week for another 2 months. From start to finish it took two years of psychotherapy, a few very good friends (I think most of you know who you are and I have no intention of naming you here)  and most importantly a wonderful wife to get me well again.

So... if I was fit, well, better grounded, had loads of experience and contacts in the NHS how come I was now in business class cruising at 32,000 ft and retired at 51? Ah that's another story for another day.

Kev
p.s. Flying across Iraq on the way to Mumbai was the first time I had the time, capacity and inclination to string these things together in this way, typing them today is the first time I've shared them with anyone else. Why now and why in a blog? Because its a story ready to be told, one I feel I need to tell, and because.... This winter will be very different.