If you would like to share your experiences in the past year of Carseview (both good and bad) please contact Fiona Walker at the BBC. This will be an ongoing feature for BBC Scotland that won’t be going away, no matter how much NHS Tayside and the Scottish Government stall on the issue.
Today is the eve of the interim report by The Independent Inquiry into Carseview psychiatric hospital in Dundee, Scotland. I’ve already received the report from Fiona Walker at the BBC as I didn’t engage with The Independent Inquiry due to ill feelings from the families who requested it as I contacted NHS Tayside Board to participate in their own independent inquiry when they called for patients to get in touch after the airing of the ‘Breaking Point’ documentary in July 2018.
I was admitted to Carseview in August 2017 after 6 weeks with the Crisis Team at the facility. It all began when I was brought in by police after my GP had phoned them about their concerns for me after cancelling an emergency appointment – I called to cancel as I had made plans to complete suicide and was driving my son to his grandparents so he was safe. I had already left my affairs in order, left out my identification including bank statements, debit card and a note to say what had led to that point with my final wishes. I was a single mum with no support from family when I was calling out for extra help; completing my MSc Psychology at Abertay University where I was having a hellish time with departmental bullying after an amazing final year as a sociology undergrad; had finished my first year teaching and surviving off naps, not eating and losing weight quickly with suspicions of Crohn’s disease. It was a rough two years and I was at my wits end and couldn’t find any enjoyment in life.
On my way home I had planned on getting a case of beer to go with the pills I had saved up but I was refused sale as I didn’t have any ID on me, it was in the house, sitting on the kitchen counter with my note. I was annoyed by this and said fuck it and went home. As I made my way up the stairs I wondered what had happened to my front door – the door was off the hinges. As I walked in there were 3 officers who were going through all my belongings and had my house in a state. I was furious they were there, a feeling that I still get angry about because I haven’t been able to feel so determined to kill myself before or since. If they hadn’t been there, I most certainly wouldn’t be here writing this today. They told me they found my note and were looking for pictures of me so they could put out a missing person’s notice across Scotland – as if my graduation pictures they pulled off the walls weren’t enough. They’d tracked my car from road traffic cameras and believed I had made plans to jump off the Kingston Bridge. Although there’s anti-suicide barriers along there now, most people who jump from there don’t actually land in the water, they land on nearby ground and buildings – a fate I honestly never wanted to have. That thought came to mind there and then and I had a silent chuckle to myself.
They were taking me to the hospital where I was going to get assessed. They told me I’d only be there for the assessment and I’d get to go home after 24 hours they said. I asked them if I had to go in the car, they said I did. The thought mortified me as I knew my neighbours would have known that they were there – this is an area where we don’t talk to police and having them at your door raises suspicions. On the way out they asked me if I harmed my son which horrified me. They’d gotten a set of ladders somewhere and went into the attic space to look for bodies. They also said they were surprised that I was in this predicament because I didn’t seem the type to want to harm myself because I had a whole wall in my living room dedicated to my son’s art work from a baby to present and the house was immaculate. They stated that people with chaotic lives usually have chaotic homes, and me and my home were well turned out. I guess you can’t make assumptions of people’s lives just by how they’re perceived – mental illness isn’t a stereotype.
2 officers escorted me to Carseview and we were placed in a small waiting room at the ambulance entrance. I felt embarrassed and ashamed with undertones of resentment that I was there. I apologised many times to the officers about having to stick with me and asked if it was necessary for them to stay. One of them wasn’t into talking and just gave a one word reply, the other cracked a joke that sitting here with me beats them having to go out and arrest junkies. Someone from the Crisis Team eventually came after about an hour, which was the cue for the police to leave and their final words wishing me all the best. The suicide note had been taken and that was handed to the psychiatrist who was waiting for me. He asked if it was OK to spend some time reading it before speaking to me and I agreed. What would they do if I said no? At the end of the hour long consultation the doctor asked for my note to be placed in with my notes – sure, it’s not like I’m needing it now, is it? The psychiatrist was allowing me to go home after that initial assessment – only if I stated I wasn’t going to go home and kill myself and would agree to meeting the Crisis Team every other day. I was given a script for my severe anxiety – quetiapine, which would help with my racing thoughts, shakes and lack of sleep. It’s a drug that I’m still thankful to be on and wish I had been prescribed it years ago as I’ve been on all forms of classic and go-to drugs for anxiety and depression the GP’s dish out, without much success for half my life.
I was allowed to get home visits from the Crisis Team but I refused and said I’d rather come into the centre for my appointments because I didn’t want them coming into my house. I’d rather have the motivation in my days to get up, showered and dressed. Looking back at it now, I was in denial about needing an intervention and having them in my home felt like an admission and invasion. I liked the women I spoke to at these meetings, they gave me a lot of sound advice and were willing to help prescribe me things there and then that I’d asked for from my GP to help manage life day to day. At the time, management was on an hour by hour basis, not the day to day that most people think of because I was feeling that terrible about myself and my situation. They had a simple request of me: to spend one hour out of my day focusing on myself, to do something I enjoyed that would be relaxing. I couldn’t do it as I did nothing but focus on work. They even tried to make me have 10 minutes and I couldn’t even give myself that. Looking back on it now, I don’t understand why I couldn’t give that to myself and how patient the Crisis Team were with me. Crisis Team interventions only gives you 6 weeks with them and the 6 weeks were now up.
It was a Saturday that I had for my final appointment. I hadn’t made any improvements except passed the point of having the motivations to kill myself since the medication had had time to work. The Crisis Team had at this appointment, focused on me as a mother and if I’d seen or spoken to my son in that time. This has always been an issue with me as I’ve suffered with severe post natal depression. It was a difficult pregnancy and a traumatic birth where we’re both lucky to have survived it. I’ve always felt like I’ve never bonded with my son because I’ve never had that unconditional, instant love that every other woman seems to have, even though I’ve always been told how fantastic a mum I have been with my son. Because I’ve never felt that connection, I always have the guilt that I’m a horrible parent, I shouldn’t be a mum and totally inadequate because I’m not living up to what society says a mum should be. It really effected me any time my son was brought up and the Crisis Team saw this. I thought I was going to be going home and continuing in the same ways as I had been until I was told that there was something different about me today. The Crisis Team weren’t happy sending me home and they wanted me to be an inpatient. I refused to go in and was told if I didn’t come in voluntarily I’d be sectioned. Anyone who’s been in this situation knows that the last thing you want is to be sectioned under the Mental Health Act. I said absolutely not to being sectioned so I’ll come in ‘voluntarily’ which they told me would just be over the weekend for respite. I was happy with that as I had just started back to work after the holidays, thinking at most I’d have the Monday off.
Everyone kept acting like I was only in for a few days – the assessment period in a ward is 72 hours. It wasn’t until the following day when I got notified of my named nurse that I was going to be in longer, only because she was telling me of the things that I could do while I was in which were days off the following week. I had an appointment with the consultant later on in my first day, who just said to me that it’s a wonder why this was my first time ever in a psychiatric hospital given my family history of mental health issues and my life experience, as most people in less traumatic situations had been hospitalised well before my age of 29.
I kept a diary on my laptop while I was in for those 13 days I was in. I luckily had my laptop with me in the car that was still parked in the hospital car park so I could keep a record of my days there. I had to keep a diary while I was in because it helped keep track of the days because very quickly every day is exactly the same. The institutionalisation sets in after day 2 as you get into the routine of the place. There’s barely anything to do in there to keep your mind busy. The only things you’re aware of and look forward to is visiting hours at 3pm and 6.30pm, cuppy times in between meals, and your 3 meals a day. That diary I will probably publish somewhere at some point after I’ve read through it and changed everyone’s names for anonymity. Some things are still painful to revisit with some incidents that can’t be released until a High Court case which is due to be at some point this year.
Just as you get used to the routine of the wards, you also quickly get used to the staff: those who you can trust, and those you need to watch out for. There was a lot of things I saw that I didn’t like that upset me and other patients, and little glimmers of hope as well. The same went for patients as well because there were people who, although were deeply unwell, were still switched on enough to manipulate and take advantage of you. You had to know how to handle yourself because the staff weren’t there to keep you or your belongings safe.
Because you’re contained to 4 walls in a small ward with up to 20 other people, you develop very strong bonds with other patients. With these people I shared some really funny moments that made the days a lot more bearable when mixed with some awful things. There was always a laugh to be had with those you grew close to about our situations and what led to our incarceration. The morbidity of that sense of humour would likely shock and appal most people, but it got us through being at the lowest moment of our lives, sharing it together. There was the running joke about the things that were banned on the ward because they would be used as ligatures to hang yourself. A moment I always laugh about is someone who had just days before I arrived been revived after trying to hang themselves with their laptop cable they were trusted with in their room, asking for a swing ball set for the garden so we could pass the time. He had to be reminded by staff it was on a rope and therefore contraband. He wasn’t even allowed his headphones any more but was somehow trusted enough to have his shoes laces when they were most likely to be more effective than the wires.
I met some pretty amazing people while I was there, one of which gave me some of his stunning art work he created on the ward, that still hand proudly in my living room, at either side of my graduation photos, as a reminder of the dark times that I’ve survived.
Look closely and you should be able to see different forms come out from the paint patterns. From eyes, lips, bodies etc. The pieces can be rotated to see more. Maybe it’s the drugs we were given, or the lack of stimulation but we had a great time looking at these types of paintings on the ward. I was the only lucky one to be allowed to keep these only because the man who painted these knew Angus Menmuir Neil who painted me not long before he died. He was a patient of my mother’s in Sunnyside psychiatric hospital in the 90s.
The serious incident that I’m waiting to give evidence at the High Court about led to my sudden discharge in September 2017. Me and one other, who I continued to stay in contact with upon our release as I took him to his Crisis Team appointments and brought food round for. That person wasn’t as fortunate as me and to be allowed to be readmitted when he needed it which resulted in his suicide in November that same year. It’s something that I’m still angry about and something which I have a lot of guilt over as I’m sure that the night it happened I could have stopped – it was the night of my graduation where a feeling in my body compelled me to go to his house and I sat outside arguing with myself whether I should knock on the door or not. The logical side of me said not to as it was around 10.30pm on a weekday. The guilt shouldn’t be with me, it should be with Carseview for not taking him seriously.
It wasn’t until January 2018 when I was readmitted. I just wasn’t coping after my release because there was no after care or support put in place for me and I was still the same as always. I had had one appointment with the psychiatric community team at Wedderburn which had been scheduled 3 months after my discharge. There, the consultant simply said to me after 30 minutes “Well I can see why you’ve been feeling the way you have been and to be honest, I don’t know what else I can do for you. Come see me in 3 months to see what’s changed.” Very helpful, thanks for that.
My second stay was a little different. I was a veteran to the wards by now so I was treated differently. I was given more privileges than most do in their 72 hour ward based care (WBC) assessment time. I was trusted that I could be taken out with other patients to smoke as the smoking ban had been put in place where everyone had to be taken off the grounds. Before you were allowed out to the enclosed garden. That thankfully was signed off by my named nurse from my first visit who was really the only saving grace of that place as she had a real sense of treating patients like adult human beings, and not children who needed minded. She was thoughtful and seemed like she genuinely cared. This was only granted because she realised that although unhealthy, smoking is a relief and coping mechanism for a lot of people. She recognised it in me because of the state I had been upon my arrival where my dad didn’t take too kindly to the news from my sister that I was back in. As I’ve said, my family haven’t been supportive of me at any time throughout my life, and it culminated in a vicious phone call to the ward and emails from him and his partner calling me a disappointment as I was a month from my 30th birthday, acting like a child and attention seeking. I told my sister not to tell my dad because I knew I was a disappointment without him telling me. As I was on WBC I didn’t have the means to harm myself except from what I had on my person. After that phone call I took my shoelaces out and tried to strangle myself in my room with little success. The staff noticed the marks around my neck and questioned me. This is when they removed any type of ligature I could use, including the eye mask I had for sleeping (you needed one because there was a light in your room that never went off). It took a week to get my laces for my shoes again.
There were some faces the second time around that I recognised from my first stay. Some had never left and some had, like me, a brief stint on the outside and were back in because there was no community help for them as well. I was in for 3 weeks this time and had a better outcome as I wasn’t prematurely discharged. They set me up with a pain specialist as they weren’t happy with how my GP was managing my back pain and also with the sleep clinic with the neurology department, stating in the referral I had insomnia. Before my discharge this time, I was asked to complete a support pack with a wellness and trigger toolkit that I’d have a copy of and give to non existent friends and family to keep a check on my status. It seemed my stay was a much more positive experience this time although there were still a lot of the same troubling behaviours I saw last time. I was able to attend the gym, although some times I’d go in the morning after breakfast and it was locked as the single physio that’s allocated to the centre wasn’t there; and I got to go to a relaxation session which was great. This is where I found out about mindfulness and thought to start embracing meditation and focusing on living in the present, instead of constantly being in the past and future. I still do mindfulness daily and recommend it to anyone. It’s allowed me to come off a lot of my medication and return back to work.
I eventually got my appointment with neurology where straight off the bat they said I didn’t have insomnia, I have complex PTSD from childhood trauma. They told me that childhood trauma makes someone more likely to develop PTSD as an adult, which I did develop in my early 20s after a serious assault, as well as all forms of depression, including PND. I was told that how I’ve been experiencing life is extremely common and they have a dedicated counselling service to help deal with my experiences and they’d put me on the waiting list. I was warned though, that the wait is long and they’d refer me to Murray Royal Hospital as well in the hopes they’d see me sooner. I was advised to get continual counselling (or as much of) with Insight who I had started seeing during my wait to see neurology and found it really helpful. It’s a resource that’s under funded and much needed. I was told the intensive counselling sessions would be required for years and it will be difficult. I will get to the point where I don’t want to see them any more, but that will be the indication that we’ve just scratched the surface. The consultant told me this as if it would be difficult to hear, but honestly I felt relieved and happy because I was ready to deal with what I need to. It was the first time in my life that I’ve had the validation that I’m not over reacting, attention seeking or being dramatic as I’d been raised to think. I have all the common symptoms of childhood abuse: a constant perfectionist lifestyle, unsatisfied with any accomplishments, long term sleep disturbance (had it since childhood) and difficulties remembering anything in my life. It’s just nice to know I’m not the only one who feels like this as you always feel like you’re the only one.
I had been contacted by an ex-patient from Carseview not long after I had come out of my second stint to ask me if I wanted to speak to the BBC about my experiences. Because of the incident that happened the first time and after the death of another patient, I decided that I had to. I was in the position where I felt emotionally empowered to talk about it, where others couldn’t. I was angry at the system because of the horrible things I’d witnessed and been a part of. I wanted there to be justice because no one would listen to any patient, believing that we’re all psychotic and out of touch with reality, so how could you believe any of us? By this point I was no longer talking to my dad, he’d been black listed on my medical records and would never be considered a ‘named person’ after the phone call, and only had my sister down south as ‘support.’ She told me not to talk to the BBC and ‘air my dirty laundry’ because the BBC would take advantage of me, my name would be mud everywhere and I’d have a hard time going back to work because of the stigma. I ended up falling out with her about it and I haven’t spoken to her since my initial hour long phone call with the BBC. I spent 3 hours being filmed by the BBC for the documentary and over the summer I went back to work on a 2 week residential with young people when the documentary was due to be aired. My testimony was to be the biggest part of that documentary as we hadn’t heard from the Courts about the serious incident that happened so we were going ahead with it. The day before the airing, I got a phone call to say the documentary had to be changed into what it is now as the Procurator Fiscal said to pull it – there was now an imminent court case. It felt like the BBC’s legal team going back and forth for weeks was now seeing some justice finally being done.
Anxiety started ramping up in me as the time grew closer to the airing and it took me a few days before I actually watched it. Any time I went out in public I thought everyone recognised me and had judgement, even though I received messages from old students, friends, ex patients and strangers saying thank you and well done for having the bravery to speak out.
30 minutes never did it justice because so much was never shown for anyone to get a full picture or sense of the gravity of the problems in the hospital. I felt pretty disappointed by it to be honest, and to know that my one bit was about the minor things of my experiences with drugs on the wards. It was never explained that drugs are on the wards because taking drugs and getting high for a few hours is escapism for those in there, to kill some time and also to self medicate. I didn’t realise that what other people saw was horrifying for those who believed it, and slander to those who didn’t. My friends went on Twitter and told me of the reactions which made me go on there to stand up for and validate the things that patients who I was in with experienced as they were called lunatics, liars and slanderous things such as junkies and prostitutes only wanting their 15 minutes of fame. I was surprised I was never lumped in with these people, although people (ex nurses) said I was exaggerating/lying.
The following day the NHS Tayside Board released a statement that they wanted to do their own independent inquiry into the allegations and would be open to anyone who contacted them. I agreed to do that, thinking that going directly to the institution would mean that actions would need to be taken as there was now a paper trail. I used the diary that I had kept to give specific dates and names of staff members so allegations of abuse and misconduct could be internally investigated, but also to praise the good that was there as well. I hadn’t heard anything back from the Board for a long time, it wasn’t until I was back to work 8 months later did I get a reply, asking me to come in for a meeting as they saw me as an expert witness. The meeting only lasted an hour where it was mostly just me recapping some experiences and what I think should be done to make improvements. From things like redecorating to avoid the sea of magnolia, introducing counselling and therapies, increasing the amount of good quality activities in the wards (bookcases not filled with Enid Blyton books and jigsaws with missing pieces) to improving the community services in Tayside. Apparently it was all improvements that seemed fair and could be implemented which they were keen to have me on board to help with the implementation after they’ve had a discussion to see what things I could actively work on after the report came out in full. I’m still waiting to hear back from these people more than 6 months later.
Things with the Board had stagnated, to the point where a senior Board member has been so unhappy that they leaked the interim report to the BBC last month. I was sent the confidential report and asked to be filmed again for an update story that went out on all media platforms. The report had already been written before I had met with the Board and the recommendations I had asked for were already stated. It was a pleasantry to meet me and ask for my input, stringing me along to seem like I’d been taken seriously – they already knew what had to be done. All I did was verify it for them. And to think all this time has passed – almost a year now and they haven’t done anything. It’s disheartening to think that anything will be done.
I received a text from Fiona Walker tonight to ask if I’d read The Independent Inquiry’s interim report which has gathered evidence from hospital staff, patients, carers, family, GPs, CAMHS, church groups and other community services about their experiences of Carseview. Fiona sent it over and I had a read of it and was disgusted by how blatant and shocking the report is. It details that staff aren’t trained properly or encouraged to be actively in Continuous Professional Development (CPD), and work in a climate of fear in regards to saying anything negative because the institution treats any negative experience as, not an opportunity for reflection and improvement, but something which won’t be tolerated. Staff don’t know who their line managers are because the turn over is so high which has led to inconsistent communications on day to day management and that best practice is shared ‘as an exception.’ Even things down to risk assessments on patients aren’t carried out, and so anyone can self discharge when it’s known that they want to leave in order to harm other people so public safety is at a risk, not just for the patients and staff on the wards.
Shona Robison who had been the Cabinet Secretary for Health and Sport up until the documentary airing had visited Carseview on a number of occasions after suicides were made public, stated she was doing everything she could to work with NHS Tayside, and didn’t see the issues that we’re seeing brought to light now. She had the full backing and support from our First Minister Nicola Sturgeon on the matter. We can’t say that Shona didn’t have the full knowledge of the extent of Carseview because she was also the MSP for Dundee East. She’d have been well aware of the notoriety of Carseview because it’s an open secret of how appalling the service is with anyone in Dundee, because most people know someone who has been in the care facility at one point in time. But I don’t suppose it’s any wonder that these things have been swept under the rug when our own First Minister’s constituency of Govan has residents living in rat infested slums unfit for habitation. What a disgrace it is to have a Scottish Government that’s so apathetic to it’s constituents, yet cry out in Westminster that they’re the saving grace for a socialist Scotland under brutish Tory rule. Mix that in with appalling state schools where attainment under the Curriculum for Excellence has failed to meet the targets it set out in it’s 7 year plan; where Dundee yet again has the lowest attainment rates in the whole of Scotland and the second highest district with children living in poverty in Scotland. Even with this independent inquiry, I doubt we’ll see much improvement of any public service in Dundee any time soon.
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