Never say never again - inpatient 2016

The view of Haytor from the Haytor Unit, a view I'd first seen 22 years before when it was called the Edith Morgan Centre (did the 45 mile version of Ten Tors in 1977.) (photo by Nick Hewling)

Luckily I was transferred to the old Cypress Independent Hospital within the week (Community Care Trust as was.) (photo by Nick Hewling)

Some argument about Wordsworth, probably me saying something about always read the original and remember the context - wild daffodils, between the edge of the mere and the tree line. (photo by Nick Hewling)

Not difficult to scare oneself (photo by Nick Hewling)

Still had to serve-out 28 days, part of deal, still cheers! (selfie by Nick Hewling)

 

Time and space - inpatient 2014

Location on, screenshot by Nick Hewling

Tortured by the view, photo by Nick Hewling

Selfie, clearly I had more kit than 'they' did, photo by Nick Hewling 

1.12.2014 10,48 food obsessed, photo by Nick Hewling

2.12.2014 17,00 must have been out, photo by Nick Hewling

Where my head is at now

For my most recent mental health writing see Natural Mental Health. Everything else promised on this site is coming, and more besides, eventually!

New header photo 2019 (photo by Nick Hewling)

The man with no name (updated 2014)

(This piece first appeared in a local newsletter in 2008. At that time I slightly censored my original text but restored the cuts and updated the content when it was first posted here in January 2010. Now I’ve briefly added more text in italics at the end which brings it up to date again! When it first appeared some readers wondered if the other person referred to was real, I can assure you he is).

I first met him on a psychiatric ward, I knew his name then but have forgotten it since. We lived in almost the same street for many years but rarely spoke, though we saw each other all the time. The last time I saw him, a few weeks ago, he passed briefly through the café before jumping the train. We have known each other now for nearly sixteen years, and it seems that there is a bond of shared experience that will never go away. Let me try to explain.

At times he seems like my mirror image. He’s certainly a benchmark by which to measure myself. On one occasion when we met (passed on the street) I was in a neighbouring town, and waiting for the bus home. I was sitting on the wall, staring in the direction the bus would come, looking south-west; the setting sun illuminating me, my body relaxed and my eyes rested naturally on the horizon. I saw him coming from the same direction, the perfect opportunity to ‘read’ him and therefore myself - the simplest of encounters with the minimum of ‘noise’. I knew his gaze had to past across the uprights of the bus shelter and that would clean his memory at the right moment. I remained motionless and allowed the gaze of my eyes to remain fixed. At the right moment I glanced away for a split second in recognition, then back to look directly and uncompromisingly into his eyes - demanding a response. It was then that something remarkable happened. For the first time in all those years he looked undeniably normal, and his expression, in response to mine, was one of sorrow and sympathy. With my seemingly fixed stare I looked distressed to him - he had misread me, in a way only an ordinary person, who cares but doesn’t understand, can do. He had lost, for a while, his capacity to be mad.

He’s a walker, night and day, and so am I. But he needs to be outside more often - he covers more miles. Those who are disturbed don’t wander, they walk with purpose, rhythm and speed. To the onlooker they may appear to be staring blankly ahead whilst taking an erratic course - they look crazy. But this is only because urban landscapes are artificially regular and regimented. The real walker, who moves swiftly but smoothly, is actually following the most efficient path through the real contoured landscape beneath his feet. The path of least effort up a slope is always curved. The apparently fixed staring eyes have in fact come to rest naturally on the horizon - seeing through the fixed artificial urban skyline. But they do blink from time to time, like a camera shutter recording fixed points for navigation. The so called ‘psychotic’ hopes to achieve a kind of walking meditation; whereby the hallucinations, which may be of sound, smell, taste, touch or vision, and the unwanted delusional thoughts that emerge to explain them, may be relieved. If he can stay ‘in the moment’, in the here and now, create nothing but constant change around him, know that all thoughts and feelings can only be about the past or future and let them go - then survival is possible. Finally he may be able to allow his unconscious mind to make all the decisions and find a few hours of peace whilst in constant movement.

By the time he comes to rest, his ‘balance’ (physical coordination) and ability to ‘navigate’ (be orientated in three dimensions of space and one of time) will be restored and his mental awareness as acute as his hunter-gatherer ancestors. Alas, opportunities to be alone and abroad at night are ever more restricted by modern society. When forced into the crowd then disaster may strike unless you are particularly confident and relaxed. You may even be able to ‘part the waves’ by walking briskly in a dead straight line through a crowded pedestrian precinct staring relentlessly ahead, not deviating nor giving way even for a moment. The first time, I did it by accident; I was pre-occupied with my own thoughts and didn’t realise until I was in it and saw its effect. It’s both frightening and amazing if you have the confidence to keep going. The crowd parts in front of you, you are like an arrow travelling through air, it gives a wonderful sensation of power. But you mustn’t take your eyes of the real horizon and make eye contact otherwise you will become rapidly disorientated and liable to fall. I must have gone a hundred yards without touching anyone. Afterwards you need to be able to switch realities; and must make eye contact to be balanced, and able to navigate in the landscape of others!

When we met on the hospital ward it was a crazy place, the staff occupied one mental universe, whilst we the patients had our own individual realities - well almost! There is a realm where two, at most three, psychotics can understand each other and therefore act together. We each define a situation differently and ascribe different meanings to it, reflected in the mutually incomprehensible content of our words - but how much real communication depends on language? He’s a bit of an artist and one day I helped him cover the walls of the music room with graffiti. The unit was attached to a general hospital, any part of which could be explored - if you had the confidence to act as though you had a right to be there. At night the grounds could be a playground too.

The fastest way out of a prison is usually the reverse of the way you came in - through the front door! You are never more than three keys away from freedom in the psychiatric system; one out of seclusion, another out of a secure ward on to an acute ward which is open at some point in the day, and the third which unlocks the transport taking you to and from units or the outside world. Physical methods are extremely slow, the psychological much faster - you have to get those who want you in, to want you out. Using what have become the 'black arts' of psychiatry and psychology, against those from whom you learnt them, can be fun; non-verbal behaviour, hypnotherapy and NLP - plus a little old-fashioned distraction and sleight of hand. Two of you can cause chaos, three of you can get one of you - out of anywhere. And it is a game. If you can understand the source of your distress in the system of care; see its rules, routines and the habits of the workers who reproduce it - then there is much to amuse. But it is addictive and I still can’t walk away from it all.

(Oops! I may have just self-diagnosed myself with an ‘anti-social personality disorder’).

(Now it is 20 years since we first met, and I haven’t seen him for a couple of years – which doesn’t necessarily mean he is not around, just that our awareness’s have changed. I know mine have and I suspect his have too. First there was the time I saw him working in an out-patient art therapy room, absorbed in a very elaborate large drawing. Then months later he had a dog in tow, he was still walking but obviously the pace and priority had changed. Then came the van, the woman and the child. One day the van was parked outside the café – the first time we had been stationary in the same space for more than fifteen minutes, ever! Finally the last time, all three were dressed as if part of a wedding party, on their way to a local music festival.)

Bus shelters are often effective barriers for forcing a 'pattern break' from one kind of a 'trance' like state to another involving more 'reality testing'.

The Recovery Movement (part three)

What looks and feels radical to those attempting to bring about change from within an organisation often appears to outsiders as the mildest of reforms. As a general rule, groups - which share a collective self-interest - do not correct errors and the world of mental health is no exception. Groups self-perpetuate until external pressures cause them to collapse.

This post looks at Recovery in practice, first at what workers using the approach actually do, and secondly at how services have sort to reorganise themselves. In my local area I was on the receiving end, as a client, of two attempts aimed at introducing Recovery focused care; one a largely bottom-up and partially successful community movement, the other a top-down formal reorganisation by an NHS Trust which made very faltering progress.

This post on the Recovery movement should be read in conjunction with part one (January 2010) and part two (November 2010).

From 2005 onwards, the Community Care Trust (CCT) began to adopt a Recovery approach and its employees tentatively began to change their attitudes, if not at first their actual behaviour. They signed-up to the national Support, Time and Recovery Worker programme (STR or STaR) and during 2007-8 I undertook some STR training too.

From STR Worker to Recovery Coach

For a brief description of the STR role go to NHS Careers. For more detailed accounts see Huxley et al (2006) and the National STR Handbook (Hope 2008).

Before the national programme ended approximately 400 people within the county of Devon had received some basic STR or other form of Recovery training. At the time the Community Care Trust employed the equivalent of 70 full-time staff with a mix of STR and mental nurse training. Later an additional internal programme of training in ‘recovery coaching’ was added. I was a client of CCT between 1999 and mid-2007 and retain close links with some of the staff and many of the clients. Today a few workers appear to pursue the Recovery approach in the fullest sense envisaged by Shepherd et al (2008) and Slade (2009), others barely at all - but they all speak the language of Recovery!

Huxley et al (2006) in describing what his research subjects did, provides a useful summary of the STR role as originally conceived.

‘..STR workers achieve [..] through engaging in practical and emotional support to increase people’s participation in daily life through accessing further education and training, obtaining and holding down a job, participating in leisure activities, coping with personal financial matters, or finding their way through the welfare and health systems. One of the effective ways that STR workers achieve these ends is, by dint of their maturity and personal experience, teaching the service user to do practical things for themselves, so they have the confidence to go and do it in the future.’ (para.3.2  p.9)

‘The STR worker establishes (where appropriate) a pattern of activity, first working for service users and then with service users…This leads to situations where service users are ready, and/or want support with, and/or teaching of, practical skills. This in turn leads to increased social skills and/or activities which lead to independence and then greater interdependence with other people.’ (para.3.3  p.10)

During the time I’ve been able to observe CCT workers, the focus of support has shifted away from the practical and interventionist, towards an emphasis (as highlight in part two) on the idea of a non-directive worker, and a self-managing client. (Workers remain particularly sensitive to how the prescriptive nature of pre-Recovery ‘therapeutic’ interventions often appeared to add to the problems faced by their clients.) Whilst STR practitioners are confident of the effectiveness - plus the political, moral and ethical appropriateness of their work - nonetheless they have great difficulty in articulating their approach. They have problems in describing their one to one interactions with the users of services; how they do what they do, from whom they have learnt what they do, and what is effective in a given situation. Equally, clients often cannot describe what ‘makes a difference’ to the resolution of a crises. So although comfortable with the language of Recovery, developed over more than twenty years, which most workers claim they apply in practice, they seem unable to demonstrate its meaning in action.

The test of any approach of course must be how far its values and ethos are embodied in the way its practitioners actually behave. The Recovery workers I’ve met, like many occupational groups in health and social care, play down or sometimes actively avoid interpersonal skills training and any attempt to modify their own non-verbal communication. Instead there is a huge bias towards explicit cognitive tools, especially language use, which is presumed to lead to change.

My abiding image is of an incongruence between the content of what is spoken by workers and their body language (tone of voice, gestures, facial expression, eye and head movement, posture and body movement). Nonverbally there is always an urgency to empathise (feel what another person is feeling), not just to establish an initial connection or rapport, but as a regular strategy - which too often ends up with them mirroring the disconnectedness between emotion and reason displayed by the client!

The principal tools used by the Recovery worker today are; the Wellness Recovery Action Plan (WRAP), personal stories, mindfulness, formalised peer support, traditional non-directive counselling plus some group social activities. However the emotional content of what Recovery workers do as expressed through their body language remains not only tacit, but almost entirely unexamined. Yet, workers put a premium on genuineness and sometimes claim not to be playing any role at all other than being themselves. They also recoil at the idea that they should teach, model or demonstrate any desired or more effective behaviour for a client to follow. They believe they should and can work with almost anyone who walks through the door. Equally, they feel that if only they can escape the organisational constraints placed upon them, and just be themselves, then that in itself is therapeutic for the client. They have an extremely ambiguous relationship with their own training, believing that they can embody the values and attitudes of Recovery without having practiced anything other than making verbal affirmations of their approach.

This can be a disaster for the client, who is desperate for practical help from someone with whom they feel physically and emotionally safe, and from whom they can gain confidence. Still today, workers often appear to want to climb into the ditch with the client, empathising beyond establishing a connection (which at most takes a few minutes), and help through reason and rational talk, whilst their bodies display something other than the social competency and lack of fear that their client craves.

When assessing themselves workers ask the client to self-report using written questionnaires which - in contrast to their claims about practice - are highly directive, designed and targeted at what they presume to be the priorities and concerns of clients. There is a tendency to drop the word Recovery into any and all questions, as in: ‘How has such-and-such contributed to your Recovery?’ They seem to lack awareness of a loaded question, of when they do lead, leaving one sceptical of their claim that they know how not to in practice!

Organisational Recovery

The Recovery approach began as a bottom-up community movement gradually seeping into policy through word of mouth. In the case of CCT it began in an organic way before becoming systemised, however as it was adopted as policy by the NHS (Shepherd et al 2008, Slade 2009), a much more top-down, designed approach was taken.

Traditional occupational groups such as mental health nurses, psychiatrists, occupational therapists, social workers and others have been asked to ‘unlearn’ or ‘let go’ of established professionalised practice (SCMH 2009).

In my local area the principal statuary provider, Devon Partnership NHS Trust (DPT) adopted Recovery focused care in the context of trying to move workers from being highly bureaucratised helpers and administrators to networking coaches. Many responded as if this was an attempt to deskill them. Yet this occurred in the context of community psychiatric nurses spending about fifty per cent of their time on administrative tasks, and of ward nurses spending an even greater proportion of their time at nursing stations! Even student mental nurses are lucky if they can achieve two hours contact time with clients during a seven and a half hour shift.

At all levels there was a resistance to new learning; anything new was taken as criticism of current practice, an encroachment of and threat to someone‘s territory, someone’s job, and the defensive response was always the same - experience tells us it is not practical to change (and it costs too much). And besides, our clients are different than the model suggests and won’t respond!

Consultation, and then implementation, was placed in the hands of managers who had first trained as nurses many years before, often espousing a version of Recovery learnt from reading policy documents rather than practice, to younger workers who daily met with clients and were more in touch with their circumstances. There were a number of ‘team leaders’ who bonded as students whilst ‘necking and decking’ in the old asylums who appeared to undergo weekend conversions to the Recovery approach. Much organisational change was put on hold whilst they were trained-up.

There is a sense in which mental health workers are more risk averse than their clients. I sat for eighteen months or so, on a DPT implementation committee for my local area. After an initial false start however, an outsider was appointed who didn’t carry the baggage of longer serving employees. However she was only appointed on a one year contract and much of what she did was subject to both conscious and unconscious obstruction – many simply did not appreciate that the Recovery approach, whatever its weaknesses, nonetheless was a challenge to the appropriateness of established practice and required a change in personal conduct.

Committees are often the death of change, the quasi-democratic structure of NHS management based on professional group demarcations plus some user consultation gives all interested parties their own five minutes, but when interests conflict, as they must, the chair can reinforce the status quo whenever they choose. Authority in hierarchy, rarely trumps professional demarcation and autonomy in practice.

Equally, in the bureaucracy of mental health, where there is no clearly defined product or outcome, then it is the amount of visible activity which is used as a substitute for real achievement, success being measured by the size of a budget and the number of staff employed.

Strangely mental health organisations often operate in an information vacuum, this may strike the outsider as incomprehensible since there has never been a period when so much mental health information is so easily available, yet many professionals are ignorant of it. In order for one professional group to assume expertise in one particular area requires seeding authority to other groups in other areas. This can be a disaster if there are no generalists left, how many front line mental health workers, pursuing a Recovery approach or otherwise, know that experimental psychology, neuroscience and forensic behavioural science have made much of their work irrelevant and or potentially damaging to their clients?

One simple training initiative proposed by myself to allow those less experienced in Recovery practice, though formally more senior, to see Recovery in practice (me as client in interaction with an experienced Recovery worker) once a week for forty-five minutes during a lunchtime at a local community mental health centre was brushed aside as being only appropriate in a formal training setting, run by trainers on official ‘away-days’, in other words costing thousands of pounds instead of nothing at all. In such small ways does the NHS forever expand, create needless jobs and financially become a bottomless pit.

In recent years most service user participants have become explicitly incorporated into the hierarchy and bureaucracy of DPT; as trainers on courses for clients rather than staff, as peer supporters supervised by nurses - which becomes absurd since the whole point of a peer supporter is that they do something a nurse cannot do, nor understand in the fullest sense. Managers want the credibility of association with those with ‘lived experience’ without the need to fundamentally challenge their own behaviour.

But all this pales into insignificance alongside some of the larger absurdities. The headquarters of DPT remains within the last local example of a Victorian asylum, one of the ‘back wards’ has been used for many years as the showcase inpatient Recovery unit where clients can stay for up to a year! Managers will tell you they have been unable to do otherwise because of the way the building was gifted to the Crown (for the expressed use of mental patients) way back in the days of the formation of the NHS. But those senior managers, doctors and nurses who push for a Recovery approach were not born and brought in Exeter. Digby and Exminster hospitals may had been the long stay ‘bins’ from which your relatives never returned, but Wonford House – the building in question - was the first port of call for anyone taken off the streets, or from their homes. The location, one word in fact, Dryden (as in Road/Lane/Clinic) was enough to stigmatise anyone. Well over a million pounds must have been spent on Recovery by now, but a lot more could have been done to aid the community, as well as clients, by simply hiring a cheap suite of offices in the centre of the city. Equally, the Trust had a free hand to develop a two hundred acre rural site a few miles away on the coast, yet chose to take the Home Office’s money to build a new secure hospital for the prison service.

Equally it was the police service which insisted that the statuary provider finally do something about providing a ‘place of safety’; a pilot scheme was initiated (actually two rooms from an existing psychiatric ward), STR support laid on to be alongside potential patients whilst they were being assessed and sure enough the number of people actually admitted to hospital fell. After six months however the money stopped and was diverted to pay for an extra approved mental health professional (someone legally sanctioned to 'section' people). Now a couple of years on a different scheme is being tried as an alternative to hospital, but that’s prompted now by the shortage of beds.

It was when someone within DPT said, ‘..it takes ten years to bring about real organisational change’, that I knew it was time to absent myself from any further involvement!

Conclusion - the paradox of ‘control’

Now the game has changed. DPT having attempted to manage change, rather than allow it to evolve organically from the bottom-up, has seen what Recovery focused care there was eroded by the external pressure of severe budgetary constraint. The irony is that the Recovery approach only really costs money if you see it as a top-down process of managing organisational change! CCT was also forced, late-in-the-day, to reduce the scale of its activities due to a reluctance to compete for contracts. Recovery is on hold.   

In day to day interactions between workers and clients the focus has become more and more on the construction or reconstruction of an individual’s personal story or emotional journey.

Some people feel it is enough to vomit their personal distress over a keyboard, a therapist or an audience; that others acceptance and validation is the therapeutic goal. But that is not storytelling in the true sense, for there is nothing necessarily useful in sharing for sharing’s sake, all it does is attract the empathy of those who have been there too, who are equally distressed. It offers nothing that makes it easier for the author or their audience to get up tomorrow.

It is now well established that each time we remember we update our memory within the present context – what we are recalling from several years ago, is actually the version we told ourselves a few weeks ago, the last time we recalled it! Your carefully constructed personal story is always out of date. Much better to keep a journal. Record a little regularly, then set aside. Going back to a journal after a number of months or years gives a measure of change. The ‘making sense of the world to yourself’ or ‘discovering what you’re thinking by writing’ is of the moment, a process not of fixing, but of letting go.

Journals take you back to a present moment, removing a large element of reconstruction, illuminating what change has occurred, been forgotten, then occurred again – all in a world of uncertainty where the resilience or robustness of a ‘personal story’ is brittle and likely to collapse at any time.

Recovery is based on an old existentialism as manifested in 1940’s humanist psychology, updated with a 1980’s post-modern frame of reference. Large dosages of political correctness, of rights and entitlements, but increasingly bureaucratised at the same time as advocating social networking. There is certainly a phenomenon which might be called Recoveryism, the assumption that the pursuit of a Recovery approach is a virtue, in and of itself. An inward looking-ness, which hates feedback as much as those traditional approaches it once criticised.

The desire for control by workers, clients and carers - achieved through rational, cognitive tools - to deal with emotional uncertainty - leaves everyone just as vulnerable to inevitable external change as ever before.

The Recovery Files - in need of editing and re-filing!