I always thought I was lucky that I don’t live in a third-world country where all of the human rights are broken. No torture, no persecution, no prospect of imminent death.
Well, I was wrong and should actually inspect how horrible psychiatric care is in my country, and of course, if I am able, to financially help those unfortunate Freethinkers International is helping.
“Maybe some of the regular readers noticed my inactivity. I will explain. It’s f***ed up, Bryxí has gotten his head bruised!” a male member of staff started screaming. I was in the unspecified mental hospital because of depression decompensation and medication adjustment.
I had my first epileptic seizure in my life. I fell from my bed and injured my spine badly. No recollection of the vast majority of subsequent events whatsoever.
They likely gave me first aid on the spot, and I was rushed to a hospital, but I don’t remember.
Then I remember asking some man (maybe a doctor or paramedic): “Are we in this (I will not name it) hospital?” He replied: “It is me who is asking you!” Since I was completely confused and had little clue, I replied: “Yes, we are in this hospital.”
Then I remembered them discussing that I am not local and they were going to transport me. Another memory is being rushed by an ambulance with loud honking and high speed.
As I learned later, I had 7 epileptic seizures, and they say I was completely unconscious during one.
I was rushed to an emergency room first; they transported me to a neurology department, and just because I wasn’t local, I was transported to my hometown’s neurology department. It was a very poor decision, as my last 4 seizures were in my hometown’s hospital.
One of the worst things is when you are starting to wake up in a hospital not knowing anything. Why? Where? Because of what? In what circumstances?
You start to realize you have a urinary catheter, diapers, and an IV cannula.
My roommate was a very old lady. All day and night, she was screaming: “Nurse, help me, I’m dying, I’m drowning!” The nurse told her: “Stop it! Or your roommate will be very mad!”
Everything was absolutely unreal; I had very bad ideas to jump out of the window and check whether the pain was real or not. Since I realized it was a very bad idea, I dismissed it. And I was on the first floor.
Then my mother came. I was told so many times, yet I asked: “What happened?” Everything was surreal. My discharge summary reads: “He is barely communicating, then he falls asleep.” My psychomotor pace was very slow, and I could barely walk.
They didn’t let me go anywhere because I could fall, which nearly happened twice. My toes betrayed me, and then I couldn’t put on my pyjamas in the bathroom.
“Well, Mr. Bryxí, these falls, please don’t do that,” the senior doctor told me. “Your spine is screwed up already.”
I underwent thousands of medical examinations (MRI, EEG, CT, and so on), of course, but I remember just one.
A nurse lifted my bed’s side rail. I couldn’t have escaped. There was an emergency button but since I was in the mental hospital where nobody gave a f**k (to make it clear, I was in the neurology department at this time), I was very sceptical that they would come. I told myself: “Well, I will p**p, I wouldn’t be the first and the last one.”
The vast majority of my vertebrae are damaged. I also suffered from heart failure and was close to liver fibrosis (the next stage is liver cirrhosis).
I have little information about the heart failure, but 35 % of people won’ť survive the following year. Quite disturbing! At least, I don’t have epilepsy.
First of all, I am lucky I didn’t end up in a wheelchair; I have survived this. My pain is not severe and, hopefully, it will disappear as I am wearing a corset.
“What the heck is my future book about?” I was surprised by what files and folders I had. I actually write my notes in a notepad file. What writing platform does Freethinkers International use? WordPress.
What visitor measurement tools does my website use? Where can I find this and that file? Do I remember my passwords?
What is the last name of this man? What is the first name of that person?
I dared to visit Freethinkers International’s website. I was shocked. They used my name in an AI-generated article. No, it is my own article; I just don’t remember it. I don’t remember tons of my articles at all.
As I start regaining my memory (but some of it is lost forever) and perhaps will be a regular contributor both at Freethinkers International and my blog site, I will give you good advice: don’t go to a mental hospital (hopefully, 99 % of you don’t need it) where 50 % of the population are drug addicts, drug dealers while the other half was made up of freaks and total lunatics. Don’t go to a mental hospital where the staff behaves like the Gestapo.
Some of you realized that I won’t name that hospital because they could sue me, as I cannot prove my claims. And you are right.
It was Auschwitz. The difference was they gave us food (which was, by the way, inedible), didn’t torture us, and didn’t kill us. Actually, there is also another difference: in the concentration camps, there were Jews and Slavs, normal people. In the madhouse, there were truly immoral, unintelligent, and totally disturbed people.
They cut my brutal doses of 8 medicines in just 15 days (sic!). They knew what my personality traits were. Boom! At least there was a lot going on. The ambulances were arriving at the hospital accompanied by the police. So let’s do it vice versa.
My amnesia is luckily mild. I know who I am, where I live, people around me; I remember Freethinkers International, but I had a taste of what it is like to have amnesia.
I am not going to lie to you. I don’t remember the seizures, but this is good, as they must have been horrible.
The proposed surgery is not happening for now; my back pain is lower and lower with some fluctuations, my liver should be okay, and I hope I won’t have any complications because of my heart failure.
Being a member of Freethinkers International is an obligation. You (if able) have to write articles and donate money to those affected, so I hope that this is not my last say.
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