Monday, 13 August 2018

can't afford to do action research or visit safe haven crisis houses

I've had to admit it.  I'm too impoverished to visit safe haven crisis houses in the UK to do action research or gather information.  The trips I'd booked to Ireland and Wales, to network and research, didn't come about because of ill health (viral throat, thyroid cyst) and I lost money on it, which I cannot afford to do.  Glad to say that thyroid issues were not serious.  I did wonder if it might be, was prepared for the worst, considering the difficult year I had in 2017 with the PhD withdrawal and antisocial neighbours.  These took a toll on my health over the winter, also my son's 4th collapsed lung and operation in the November (careless discharge), at the same time I fell and cracked my ribs in Princes St, Edinburgh, when accompanying my son on buses into ERI for surgery.

I'll be 66 in September, on a basic State Pension, with some financial support from family which is likely to decrease as time goes on, so I will get poorer as I get older.  There is no chance of teaching and being paid for it.  I tried for years to get lecturing work in DClinPsy and MH Nurse training programmes at Abertay, Dundee, Edinburgh and Glasgow Universities, since 2009, to no avail.  I had teaching work at Abertay but it was temporary back in 2012 and I only got one day's teaching at DClinPsy Glasgow MH & Wellbeing Unit, on Psychosis module, filling in for Prof Gumley, for which I received an honorarium and travel expenses, and was expected to be grateful for it.

I'm well qualified with postgraduate diploma in community education, 1998, and postgraduate certificate teaching qualification further education, care subjects, 2008, and have delivered training to groups since 1980 in Lanarkshire when working in communities with children, young people and adults in a variety of settings.  There's no reason as to why I couldn't teach except for the fact that I'm now a whistleblower about psychiatric abuse after what happened to my son in the locked seclusion room of Stratheden Hospital Ward 4/IPCU in February 2012:

link to Express article, written after "winning" Ombudsman complaint against NHS Fife
At a meeting in January with Dr Margaret Hannah, Director of Public Health, NHS Fife, and Julie Paterson, a senior Social Work Manager, Fife Council, I was asked by the doctor how long I'd be a whistleblower.  An odd question I thought.  How long is a piece of string? As long as it takes.  The social worker then spoke of a new build crisis house, mentioning John Mills, Head of Housing at the council.  The implication being that if I stopped whistleblowing then there could be a safe house.  No deal.

["If you decide to hire me as an independent MH consultant in Fife then there shall be No gagging clause or coverup": in Email to social worker and others 21May18]

I was also asked by the doctor in an Email what justice would look like.  Another difficult question for how would I know until it happened and could be identified?  I used to have this quote by Thucydides on Emails in 2015: 
"There will be justice ... when those who are not injured are as outraged as those who are".  We're not there yet.

Then recently the doctor came and sat down beside me in a train to Edinburgh, after which I wrote an Email to her about mindfulness:

Wednesday 8 August 2018: minding your own business; whistleblowing isn't a career choice

"Please don't come up to me again in a train and ask to sit down next to me, just so that you can go on about retiring early on your big pension and then going on to lecture, write books and help your husband in his business.  Next time I will say No. ..."

It was like rubbing my nose in it, just as the Nurses did with my son after he had to defecate in dark cell/locked seclusion room with no toilet, light or water, when they had left him in there for hours, unobserved, asthmatic and prone to collapsed lungs, with a broken hand untreated.  They never came when he shouted for help so he did the toilet then a dirty protest (which confirmed their neglect and helped win Ombudsman case) and the Nurses held him face down in his own excrement, penetrating his anus with something, we don't know what, it wasn't written in the Notes.  After which my son got a glandular infection and bad verrucas on his feet, requiring antibiotics and podiatry for months after hospital discharge.  His broken hand also required checkups.

There are no human rights guaranteed behind the closed doors of psychiatric settings and no justice for whistleblowing and speaking out about the abuse.  Rather I have been bullied, badmouthed, excluded, undermined, marginalised, disrespected, laughed at, manipulated, patronised, banished.  Blamed by social work, police and NHS in an Adult Protection Investigation Report 2012 for causing "psychological harm" when Nurses were abusing my son in Stratheden Hospital.

What does justice look like?  I don't know.  Haven't witnessed it yet, in respect of what happened to my son in 2012 and what's happened to me since then, for speaking out about it.  I will keep campaigning for justice and for safe houses for psychosis like I provide for my son who lives with me, we share a house together, at present.  We are both financially poorer after engaging with psychiatry.  He is continually targeted by DWP to justify his existence as a mentally ill person with a Bipolar condition, putting pressure on him, exacerbating his mental health challenges.  I get no carer allowance now since a pensioner and we receive no support from MH services since raising complaints in 2012.  

It's not been easy and it's not getting any easier.  I don't like being financially poor, who does?  I have various health issues which I self manage and these include a bladder prolapse and metal plate on right fibula which causes muscle strains on left side.  I cycle and swim to keep fit, also walk, take public transport, as we don't have a car now, had to give it up in 2015.  Fortunately I'm in good mental health, having survived coercive psychiatric drug treatment 3 times, getting off a cocktail of neurotoxins in 2003/4 after a menopausal psychosis in March 2002.  

I've a lot to be thankful for.  It's about the long game.


A selection of selfies!

home back garden

Springfield 64 bus stop

Dundee rail station

Glasgow bus to Queen Elizabeth Teaching & Learning Centre

one of my Dad's selfies from around 1963 at our home in Pomarium Flats, Perth, he was about 34yrs old; my Father died in 1986 aged 57, in London [in recognition of my Dad Willie Patterson; scriptwriter of Jeff Hawke; Daily Express & Titan Books]:

and a close-up photo he took of me, aged 10 or 11, at around the same time:


Thursday, 10 August 2017: on being an independent voice, leader, educator, survivor: Safe Houses for Psychosis

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