One year ago today, on January 16, 2024, I went to the ER.
“How can I help you?” the hospital receptionist asked.
“I think I need psychiatric help,” I said.
After almost 4 months of not sleeping, feeling anxious and my stomach a mess (and no answers as to why), I started to lose hope that I would ever feel normal again.
After some blood tests and X-rays in the ER, I met with a psychiatrist. She gave me a choice: I could go home with some additional meds or I could get admitted to the psychiatric ward. The latter did not appeal to me at all (I was scared to do it, to be honest), but as my wife pointed out, I had been trying to solve this health mystery on my own (with some help from my primary doctor), but nothing was working, so maybe it was worth trying something different.
I spent six nights in the psychiatric ward.
I could write a book about my time there, and maybe I will someday, but I’ll just say it was an eye-opening and transformative experience.
Life is stranger than fiction sometimes: I went into the hospital a year ago today for psychiatric help and I came out with a cancer diagnosis.
I can’t believe it’s been a year already. Time moved so slowly back then, I couldn’t see past the next day. And here I am today, 365 days later, in a much better place both physically and mentally.
A year ago today, I asked for help.
It made all the difference.
