So it started out simply enough. I do night meds at the shelter where I work on weekends and usually I go in around 5-6pm to start. Well we have this tiny sick kitten that needs bottle fed and, not wanting it to starve overnight, I went in around 10pm that Sat. and Sunday. Lord that was the worst mistake of my life.
I ended up getting attacked at work and injected with what I later learned to be a sedative used for anesthetizing animals before surgeries and such. I honestly don't remember much from it since I was out pretty quick and it was all over really fast, and well, that sort of ended up being the least of my problems. I managed to get myself into the staff bathroom which has a security door that no one is getting into without a grenade or a key, so I passed out in safety there. Again, I was out of it so just retelling what I was told. A co-worker found me the next morning around 6am, so I was out for roughly 8hrs and laying on my side on concrete the whole time. He noticed my car in the driveway but couldn't find me and found a bunch of dogs (all 7 or so dogs from puppyroom. The attacker let them out is our guess) running around the hallway, where I might add they had tons of fun playing Let's-Eat-Heather's-Ipod!!
Anyway, the police arrived and I was rushed to the ICU of the hospital. Apparently I was very nearly dead with a body temp of below 85 degrees and an incredibly low heart rate. My muscles had also started to deteriorate and released CPK or whatever, so my levels were up around 2000 when they should have been 0-100. I actually woke up mid-day Monday, a full two days before they expected me to wake up if I was going to, and found a tube down my throat and nose and restrained to the bed. If you've never felt a tube being pulled out of your throat or nose, I pray you never have to. That's about all I remember from that day as I went back to sleep shortly thereafter.
So to cleanse my system of the excess CPK, I was hooked up to an iv drip, 180mls per hour. You ever had 180mls per hour dripped into you? Pray you don't. I was in that restroom every 40 minutes or so, if I was lucky. That first night I was hooked up to 40232 machines that all had to whir and beep, and of course hospital staff don't care what time it is and I had tests done every few hours. Needless to say, between Tuesday and Wednesday, I hadn't slept in 27hrs straight.
So I was in the hospital until Friday, when instead of being released like I thought, I was transferred directly to a psych clinic about an hour away. Handcuffed. In a Police Car.
Let me back up here a bit. The police don't believe I was attacked, they think I tried to commit suicide. No matter that drugs were stolen that (obviously) weren't in my possession and numerous other details that don't add up to my trying to commit suicide. However, they can't for the life of things figure out how someone got in (though a door was unlocked) and didn't set off the motion sensors (though they aren't hooked up) or why someone would steal the drugs they took anyway. But police are asses (sorry for anyone who is police, or knows someone who is) and didn't bother to actually /look/ for clues other then "SHE DID THIS TO HERSELF!"
So they searched my room and took my comp to look for evidence and didn't really find anything that isn't a far stretch to support their case. But since they couldn't find any hard evidence to support my case either, they sentenced me to inpatient care at a clinic for 72hrs unless the doctor felt it was safe to release me. So I went to the psych clinic Friday afternoon, transported by the police, where I didn't even get to talk to anyone until mid morning on Saturday. The Psych said I was fit to be released and could have gone home that day. Except for a catch. You need to talk to a social worker there before they will release you and they don't work weekends. So I had to stay there until yesterday (Monday) before I could sit with a social worker and work on my outpatient care. I'm required to go visit another psych on an outpatient basis until they feel I'm fine.
Hopefully none of you ever need intensive therapy, cause well, if they are all like the ones I stayed at, it's a bunch of crap. We had group meetings about four times a day and they lasted about 30 minutes and were utterly pointless. For the rest of the day we could do whatever we wanted. However the only entertainment they had there was a single TV and a deck of cards. My mom brought me a book so I read for most of the threeish days, but even that gets tiresome after a while.
In other scary news, they had done a CT scan of my chest at the hospital and found little lumpy things in my lungs. They weren't sure what it was and want me to go back and get another scan in three months. I had a cough at the hospital but didn't think too much of it. I'm voting lung cancer now though.
Except for my bruised arms (I look like a heroin addict
) I'm okay physically at least. Now to just get all this legal mess sorted out and hopefully move on with my life. *Sigh*So that is the Week From Hell. Pray you never have one like it.
