Over protective

End September 2002 - beginning October 2002


As previously mentioned, the voices have worsened again for Mr Man recently, telling him to cut himself. So far he has managed to resist carrying out their demands, but it’s funny how the fear that he will follow through never completely leaves me.

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.

Mr Man had been in hospital for about 4 months. He was still an inpatient at the Psychiatric hospital but he was at home with me for the evening on home leave. I’ve discussed previously why it was difficult for me to have Mr Man at home on home leave, but equally as difficult to refuse.* Things were really starting to come to a head; I could see that Mr Man’s condition was deteriorating, but the only member of staff who recognised this fact was his primary nurse, who unfortunately didn’t seem to be at work that often, or was working nights. The other staff, including the consultant, was under the illusion that Mr Man wasn’t suffering from psychosis at all and never had, and that he wasn’t a risk to himself either, despite recently having been through several assessments which indicated otherwise.*

Mr Man had cut his arm whilst on the ward two weeks earlier, with razor blades. The poor lad that found him had only just been moved from the Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit to the Acute ward, and had to be taken back to PICU because of the shock. Mr Man was assessed and found to be suffering high levels of psychosis, and was a high suicide risk.* He was placed on level 3 observations, which meant he was checked every 15 minutes – as if it takes longer than 15 minutes to seriously harm yourself. These observations never lasted long anyway; maybe a day or two, and the following week Mr Man’s consultant suggested that Mr Man go home over night for some leave. This caused a huge row between the consultant and Mr Man’s primary nurse, who was the one that carried out the assessments and seemed to be the only person who took Mr Man’s symptoms seriously; not to mention my own ability to cope. She overrode the consultant’s decision, and told Mr Man that for the time being he was only to have a couple of hours home leave at a time, and no overnight stays.*

During those hours I followed him everywhere. I tried not to make it obvious, but whenever he needed the toilet I would find something that I needed to do upstairs. I told the staff I was doing this, in an attempt to get them to understand how worried I was about Mr Man's safety. They told me I was being over protective and that I needed to allow Mr Man to take responsibility for himself. They said I was "hindering his recovery". So on Tuesday 1st October when Mr Man was at home for a couple of hours, I followed their advice and allowed him to go to the toilet alone. I knew it was wrong. It felt wrong. There was something in his face that told me it was wrong. I patiently waited down stairs. When I heard the floorboards creaking I knew he wasn’t sitting on the toilet, so I went upstairs. And that’s when I found him.

He had cut the inside of his forearm lengthways with the craft knife, and was prodding around inside with his fingers. “What are you doing?” I shrieked, as I took the knife out of his hand. He was clearly very distressed. “Please don’t be upset with me, I had to do it. They told me I had to get the aerial out”. It was difficult for me to be a calming influence when inwardly I was panicking. I know now from reading medical blogs that I probably didn’t need to panic quite so much as there was no arterial spurt, but at the time the cuts looked deep, and finding him in such a state was traumatic.

"Cut Out" by Philippa King

I didn’t know what else to do except take him back to the ward. He really didn’t want to go, but I managed to persuade him by explaining that I didn’t know how to dress his wounds and that the nurses would know what to do. I wrapped his arm in a clean tea towel and we made our way back to the ward. The cuts were worse than last time, but he wasn’t monitored under any level of observation this time.

The next two weeks were probably the worst two weeks for both of us, as Mr Man’s symptoms continued to deteriorate, and the staff continued to ignore it, but I will write about that another time.

So when Mr Man says that the voices are telling him to cut himself, I know that the danger is real, although I also know that Mr Man is learning to cope better and resist their demands. I don’t follow him around like I used to, but I still make sure that temptation is hidden out of his way. I don’t hide every knife in the house, and if he really wanted to he could find a way to cut himself, such as with razor blades as he has before. But when just a momentary lapse in his resolve could result in such traumatic circumstances I don’t see the point in unnecessarily leaving very sharp knives in view. I don’t think that is being over protective, do you?


*These points have been discussed previously in the post "Patient rights verses patient safety"