I have been a Downton Abbey fan since it first made its appearance on Netflix. I was sick enough to be in bed for a couple of days and needed something to pass the time. My sister, Renee, suggested I watch this strange sounding series. I was instantly hooked and I think I watched the entire first season in two days--or so. Then I started over and watched it again with Destry because I knew season 2 as on PBS at that time and I needed to win him over in order to continue watching it. He would prefer that you didn't know that he watched it all, so don't tell anyone.
We are one episode away from the final episode of season 6, which incidentally, will also be the final episode of all time. Much of the story line this season has been centered around the centralization of healthcare. A small, community hospital had been servicing the locals for generations, but the 1920's brought some major advances in healthcare that were costly and new. The Dowager and Lady Grantham were the two key players having opposite views. The Dowager had some support at first, but in the end, even the country doctor who had been her strongest ally switched sides.
For most of the season I was thinking that the Dowager was just being stubborn, tradionalistic, and controlling. She's old and doesn't want to let go of what she had been familiar with. I learned the hard way that she was right and I was absolutely wrong about her.
To provide a little background into where I am going with this, Spencer has been struggling with depression and anxiety for some months now. He has been suicidal as well. None of this is new to us, but he has not really been functioning and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep him safe.
We began seeing a psychiatrist in December and was hoping to get an appointment with a therapist we had used and liked in the past. He was unavailable and I have been having trouble deciding on another one.
Destry and I decided we needed inpatient treatment for him. We took him to Utah Valley Regional Medical Center. It took several hours of our time, we had to tell our story to several people, and in the end he was admitted to a to a treatment center. The whole thing had to be their idea. I knew that. I played along until they wanted to transport him in an ambulance the short distance to another hospital. I told the poor social worker that if the doctor wanted to pay for the ride then that would be fine. Spencer was calm, my mom would be there to be the driver (Destry went home to be with the other kids) and I could sit in the back seat with him for the five minute drive.
The social worker told me she would advocate that for me. I said, "You do that honey, but neither you nor the doctor are the boss of my son and I. I voluntarily drove him to this hospital and I can voluntarily drive him out." She later told me the good news that I would be able to drive him myself. What I wanted to say was, "Damn straight." What I actually said was, "Thank you very much." With a smile, I might add. I had done my ranting. I got what I wanted, but they still had to think it was their idea.
Had we lived a couple of centuries ago this whole scenario would not have taken place, putting aside that mental health was issues were dealt with much differently than they are now. I would have gone to a doctor I knew, not a big establishment more concerned with avoiding a lawsuit than really listening to what I needed. Indeed, something has been lost with the big, efficient, modern medicine we enjoy. The human piece has been replaced with assembly line healthcare. Once you step inside the establishment's doors you play by their rules. They tell you what and when to eat, sleep, even drink. My son reported that if he didn't drink a certain amount of ounces each day he would be reprimanded.
I am not ungrateful for safety and help he received in the establishment, it was just a very robotic experience. Violet Crawley knew exactly what she was giving up when the new, modern hospital moved in. She vehemently tried to hold on to the sense of caring and community she knew she was giving up. Even when she stood alone. She was most definitely right.
We are one episode away from the final episode of season 6, which incidentally, will also be the final episode of all time. Much of the story line this season has been centered around the centralization of healthcare. A small, community hospital had been servicing the locals for generations, but the 1920's brought some major advances in healthcare that were costly and new. The Dowager and Lady Grantham were the two key players having opposite views. The Dowager had some support at first, but in the end, even the country doctor who had been her strongest ally switched sides.
For most of the season I was thinking that the Dowager was just being stubborn, tradionalistic, and controlling. She's old and doesn't want to let go of what she had been familiar with. I learned the hard way that she was right and I was absolutely wrong about her.
To provide a little background into where I am going with this, Spencer has been struggling with depression and anxiety for some months now. He has been suicidal as well. None of this is new to us, but he has not really been functioning and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep him safe.
We began seeing a psychiatrist in December and was hoping to get an appointment with a therapist we had used and liked in the past. He was unavailable and I have been having trouble deciding on another one.
Destry and I decided we needed inpatient treatment for him. We took him to Utah Valley Regional Medical Center. It took several hours of our time, we had to tell our story to several people, and in the end he was admitted to a to a treatment center. The whole thing had to be their idea. I knew that. I played along until they wanted to transport him in an ambulance the short distance to another hospital. I told the poor social worker that if the doctor wanted to pay for the ride then that would be fine. Spencer was calm, my mom would be there to be the driver (Destry went home to be with the other kids) and I could sit in the back seat with him for the five minute drive.
The social worker told me she would advocate that for me. I said, "You do that honey, but neither you nor the doctor are the boss of my son and I. I voluntarily drove him to this hospital and I can voluntarily drive him out." She later told me the good news that I would be able to drive him myself. What I wanted to say was, "Damn straight." What I actually said was, "Thank you very much." With a smile, I might add. I had done my ranting. I got what I wanted, but they still had to think it was their idea.
Had we lived a couple of centuries ago this whole scenario would not have taken place, putting aside that mental health was issues were dealt with much differently than they are now. I would have gone to a doctor I knew, not a big establishment more concerned with avoiding a lawsuit than really listening to what I needed. Indeed, something has been lost with the big, efficient, modern medicine we enjoy. The human piece has been replaced with assembly line healthcare. Once you step inside the establishment's doors you play by their rules. They tell you what and when to eat, sleep, even drink. My son reported that if he didn't drink a certain amount of ounces each day he would be reprimanded.
I am not ungrateful for safety and help he received in the establishment, it was just a very robotic experience. Violet Crawley knew exactly what she was giving up when the new, modern hospital moved in. She vehemently tried to hold on to the sense of caring and community she knew she was giving up. Even when she stood alone. She was most definitely right.
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