The Priory

The Priory

When I had my breakdown I was fortunate enough that we had private health insurance the hospital I was admitted to was to be The Priory in Bartle just outside Preston.

The drive there on the day I was to be admitted felt like an out of body experience. We drove in almost silence for the journey apart from my occasional pleading that there was nothing wrong with me, I was fine, it was all just a misunderstanding.

The hospital was in the middle of nowhere, and as we approached the entrance it felt like we were going on a weekend break. The building looked like it was a Spa or luxury hotel. We parked up and walked around to the entrance. I wouldn’t let Kenny get my suitcase out of the car as I my mind if we took it in with us I was admitting that there was something wrong and that I would be staying. Even though my admission to a psychiatric hospital was imminent I was still suffering from a major case of denial.

We signed into reception and were given a brief tour of the building, we were shown the communal areas, which included a large conservatory with a pool table, games, TV DVD player and a seating area. At that time there were a lot of people in there, it was noisy and I remember feeling petrified and thinking to myself that I will never leave the safety of my room.

We made a coffee and were then taken to the “ward” and shown my room. It didn’t look like a ward, there were no heavy locked doors nor were there bars on the windows, it was a long nicely decorated hallway with could have been mistaken for any hotel corridor. There was a pantry room which was in effect a small kitchen, with a fridge, dishwasher, coffee machine, kettle and toaster, cutlery, plates, cups etc. There was fresh bread and biscuits and we could help ourselves to drinks whenever we wanted. We were shown to my room which would be number 3 for the time being, it was near to the nurses’ station and opposite the room which was used for medication time.

It was a lovely room lightly decorated very bright with a TV, dressing table, chair and a modern bathroom and shower with touch controls. I could almost pretend that it was a hotel room apart from the glass observation panel in the door brought me crashing down to earth. We were given some time alone and whilst Kenny was getting ready to leave I broke down. I started crying and pleading with him. “Please” I begged, “I don’t want to stay here, don’t go, take me with you” I cried. Kenny hugged and kissed me, told me he loved me and left.

Later that evening a member of staff brought my suitcase into my room and went through it with me and confiscated anything which I could potentially harm myself with which included my dressing gown belt, IPod ear phones, emergency essence and my wonderful Wife badge.

I would be checked by a member of stay at regular 15 minute intervals for the time being and this would include throughout the night. That night I was given my anti-depressants at 10pm together with sleeping tablets and anti-anxiety tablets I slept deeply that night but woke feeling groggy, heavy headed and very frightened.

I forced myself to get up, have a shower and get dressed and built up the confidence to leave my room and go downstairs for breakfast.

I ate little and quickly and escaped back to the safety of my room.

A member of staff came to my room to speak to me about the problems I had been encountering and I was told that after lunch I would start in group therapy sessions with the other resident patients who were having treatment for depression.

The majority of patients at the Priory in Preston were being treated for either general psychiatry (which covered depression, anxiety, stress, post traumatic stress, OCD, Bipolar disorders, attention deficit hyperactivity to name a few) or addiction, primarily the addiction patients were alcohol dependent.

These two categories of type of patients would later be known by myself and other patients as ‘the pissed off’s and pissed ups’.

I was given a timetable of therapy and was told that Monday to Friday 9.30am to 4pm I would have to take part in all the sessions. The sessions varied in topic. Some of the session would be for depression, anxiety, stress, emotions, self-esteem, personal development and art therapy. I would also see a psychiatrist one on one 3 times a week (this was known as the ward rounds) the doctor would monitor our progress and adapt our medications if need be.

I was dreading group sessions I really didn’t think it would be for me the whole ‘hello my name is Jo and I’m a fuck up’. But I had been admitted now and part of the treatment was to take place in all sessions so I had no choice. That afternoon and entered my first group session.

Being a resident / patient in a psychiatric hospital was kind of like being in big brother but without the cameras. You are put in a situation with strangers that you know nothing at all about and suddenly you have to share your life, honest innermost feelings that even your closest family and friends never knew. It was exhausting emotional and physically. The first session I didn’t really contribute but listened to others stories but would be expecting to contribute as it was all about talking therapy and sharing. When you are in such an intense full on situation and are sharing your private thoughts and feeling with others you quickly become very close to one another and we bonded quickly as a group and became very close to the other patients in my group and made some very good friends I remain in touch with to this day.

It’s funny when I first went to the Priory I didn’t want to be there but by the end of my 4 week stay I didn’t want to go home back to my life and reality.

I met some exceptional people, staff and patients and learnt a lot about myself.

The patients were from all walks of life, young old, professionals, everyday people, who all had one thing in common their inability to cope with life any longer.

I was extremely fortunate to be able to attend a private hospital. I do not think my experience would have been so positive had it been a different hospital. I say this not as a criticism of NHS units but I do think that the NHS units lack funding, the staff are over worked and stretched.

I experienced staff who could not do enough for me 24 hours a day there was a kind face and a listening ear. They just could not do enough. I am thankfully now for this experience as I think the counseling and therapy sessions I was offered were very intense and to have experienced this availability of services it may have take months if not years of therapy and prolonged depression.

I am not 100% but like to consider myself to be in recovery I not cured nor do I think I ever will be but I am having a bloody good try at life now.