Healing through helping
To be or not to be, that is the question.
When I became seriously unwell for the first time in early 2022, I was working in Central Wellington. There was the omicron peak, the Beehive occupation and Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Everything in my own life came to a head. I spent a month in hospital under the Mental Health Act.
The world felt pretty crazy. I had been receiving work emails telling me to stay in my bubble and stay inside at lunchtime for safety reasons. Then, I was taken away from everything I knew. I had no visitors in hospital because of covid. I couldn’t communicate easily because of my illness. I was very isolated and I didn’t think I would ever be allowed to go home.
I learnt the hard way that the rights of ordinary citizens don’t apply to people under the Mental Health Act.
The ward was a small space to occupy 24/7. There was no grass. I remember doing a singing group, smoothies and creative writing. These quick activities were merciful breaks in the tedium of the ward. Then came the weekends, when no activities took place at all. I remember spending hours standing behind a desk looking at a clock.
So much of that year after hospital was spent marking time, unable to think of anything other than my trauma. I was wretched in the knowledge that every day, others were suffering as I had suffered.
I started dropping off jigsaw puzzles to the ward. I brought treats at Easter and Christmas. Once or twice I broke down in my car before driving away.
I was determined to make hospital a better place. It took over a year of applying to multiple organisations, but eventually I began working as a volunteer peer on the ward. I spent about 2 years supporting a new Saturday occupational therapy programme.
Every day was different. A unique mix of personalities and a new activity (although we often stuck with the always popular karaoke). If I’m honest, one of the highlights was getting swiped out at the end of the day and walking through those doors to freedom.
I also learnt something important about quiet enjoyment of the little things and being with other people. Being on the ward feels completely different when you are there by choice and you have a purpose. I began to make peace with my experiences.
Our Saturday programme was tenuous from the beginning. There was a single person dependancy, and if one particular person was sick or on holiday, nothing went ahead. Eventually, the timetable was permanently adjusted, and I was told there would no longer be anybody available to supervise me. To my knowledge, Saturdays are now back to the bad old days of no planned activities.
There is so much I would like to say to the people that hold power in this system. Don’t make hospital feel punitive. Let tangata whaiora have a sense of purpose. If people want to donate their time, put consistent structures in place to let them. I wish occupational therapy treatments were afforded the same importance as the drugs.
Hospital marked a permanent shift in my interests and passions. But volunteering allowed me to take that energy and turn it into something positive. Now, I need to take up arms against the sea of troubles in the system, and of course enjoy my good health, find time to relax and just be happy.
