Next Saturday I'm getting married. I have the make-up artist and hairdresser booked, my dress is hanging in my room, and the most beautiful veil I've ever seen is ready to be worn. The ceremony is at 11 AM.
But at 10 AM, just before I go say my vows, the plan is to be standing in front of the Waterford Hospital. Rain or shine, I’ll be there with my sign that says ‘Long-term mental healthcare needs to be more accessible!’ Several people have told me they don't think it's a good idea. I mean, who wants to risk messing up what is arguably the most expensive get up of their lifetime? I don't want to, but I will.
My wedding dress was custom made from a shop in Russia. I sent off my measurements and wondered if I had made a silly mistake. Just a few weeks later, I had to send my measurements again. It was clear I was steadily gaining weight. Not a problem unless someone is trying to make a dress you want to fit perfectly. So without telling my doctor, I lowered my dose. From there I slowly deteriorated, felt ashamed, and like I didn't deserve healthcare. Because I know what a privilege it is, I didn't call my psychiatrist. Even when the paranoia reared its ugly head and other problematic symptoms started sneaking into my days, I felt undeserving of care that so many are unable to access.
It was supposed to be the happiest time of my life, but I was juggling my mental health trying to align it with the "normal" things in life.
The week after we got engaged, Calvin wasn't doing so well. He had been rationing his meds because making appointments is frustrating without a family doctor. His depression and anxiety had been making appearances. Even though he was excited to marry me-- the darkness didn't magically go away. In fact, the night of my birthday he went down to the corner store and bought a six pack of beer. He walked up the hill to his apartment and stared at it for 45 minutes. He’s been sober for over a year, but it was a particulary hard day. He'd been forgetting to eat and the brain zaps were tough.
Both of us were excited to be engaged. I mean, I was the little girl who played wedding in my mother's wedding hoop, drew pictures of brides, and had a dress picked in my big sister's bridal magazines. Calvin says he can't wait to spend his life with me. He goes on about how we are a team and how he loves time at The Shoe (My home in Petty Harbour-Maddox Cove)
But mental illness doesn't give a flying fig about fitting into wedding dresses, sobriety streaks, and the biggest events of a lifetime. Chronic mental illness never goes away. Suicidal thoughts can convince you it would be kinder to leave this world and not gamble with the 90% divorce rate. Alcoholism can make you want to take a drink even when it's cleared your head and helped you stay stable. Bipolar can still jerk you to scary places when you don't take a proper dose. Anxiety can prevent you from going into stores and getting the important errands done.
Calvin and I are getting married, but our mental illnesses don't care even a little bit.
But you know what? We are SO fortunate. I have found a drug that stabilized me when I realized just how sick I was getting again. If I combine it with water, exercise, therapy, and proper food—I can get by. Calvin's brain zaps calms down when he remembers to take his dose every day. I’m trying to get better at making sure he gets protein. We have a support system.
Many, many people in Newfoundland and Labrador do not have a psychiatrist. They do not have a support system. They do not have access to get proper medication. They are on a waitlist for therapy, or even worse they don't have access to it at all. They are being turned away at the Waterford because they have to wait 1-4 days to get into detox before getting help. They do not make a living wage that enables them access to food and ADEQUATE housing. They don't have reliable transportation to get them to appointments. They are unable to access proper long-term mental healthcare.
People are dying because of it. They are dying by suicide and overdoses and we let it happen. That is not okay.
Calvin and I both started showing signs of our illness when we were young. I blazed on a trail of hypo-mania and depression that led to many people calling me crazy, broken relationships, and getting myself into situations I'm thankful didn't get worse than they were. Calvin spent endless evenings paralyzed by anxiety, felt alone, and would be in and out of hospital convinced he was dying of a heart attack because his body would show physical symptoms.
Imagine if either of us had access to proper help? I think both of our lives would have been much different. And even though I am SO happy we found each other, it was a really hard road to get here.
All of this is to say I'm demonstrating in my wedding dress. When I made the commitment 49 weeks ago to go out every week, I meant it. In two weeks it will be the one year anniversary of me standing outside each Saturday. (A very special thank you to Kim, Susan, Kaiden, Jill, Sarah, and Katie who have become regulars who stand with me.)
You know how most people have a registry? We had a tiny one because we truly did need a few things-- but our main request is a donation to our fundraiser for the Jacob Puddister Foundation.
Who are they?
They offer free counselling to people between ages 12 through 35.
There's 10 sessions and then you can register again to see the SAME person.
They care about continuity of care.
They have a dream to build a facility with 40-50 beds to help youth.
Here's the thing. They shouldn't have to exist. A part of me is against this fundraiser. But there is a need that is not being met by the government of Newfoundland and Labrador.
The new Waterford is going to have roughly 40 less beds.
There is a long wait for any sort of CONTINUOUS therapy.
People are being turned away from getting proper help at the Waterford when it comes to addictions. It’s an alarming system that I have seen fail first hand.
Our mental healthcare system is not okay. Doorways is short-term care. Helplines are short-term care. Emergency rooms are short-term care.
This foundation is filling a gap that is not their responsibility.
Our goal is to raise $2500 for this foundation but we want to be very clear this should not be happening and it's not acceptable that it's needed.
We would be thrilled if you donate to this cause, but we would also be equally thrilled if you wrote your MHA and Dr. John Haggie and ask them to please outline what they are doing for long-term mental healthcare for those with chronic illnesses. Anyone can do it.
Why should you donate and write your MHA?
Do it for the mother who is cleaning toilets to pay out of pocket for her child's therapy. They can't wait to get through the waitlist.
Do it for the person who was turned away from the Waterford and then took their life.
Do it for my friend who tried to get therapy, was unable to, and passed away from trying to get help elsewhere.
Do it for the senior who called me crying saying that no-one in her life understood.
Do it for parents who keep trying to get their children help to no avail.
Do it for the person who was told they would only be admitted to the hospital if they were willing to give up their spot on the waitlist for other help.
Do it for the kids who are undiagnosed and unable to access help.
Do it for those who cannot afford to pay rent or eat.
It's been almost one year later and sometimes it feels like I've done nothing. But if wearing my wedding dress will make even one MHA put more pressure on the majority to do better, make the media want to publicize the recent talk of long-term mental healthcare in the House of Assembly, or raise money for one more teenager to access help they need, then it will be worth it.
You can donate to our fundraiser here.
The email address of the MHA's in Newfoundland and Labrador are here.
Long-term mental healthcare needs to be more accessible even on the best days of our lives.
