RUNE, France (AP) – A frightened 22-year-old man is being led to Consultation Room No. 2, his simple-mop floor and hive grille over the window. Behind it, the heavy double doors of the mental emergency ward – open only with the key of a staff member – closed trunk.
With the restless taps of her white sneakers, she confesses to the on-duty psychiatrist how the coronavirus lockdown’s solitude and anger at not being able to find work in the epidemic-ridden job market are contributing to her uneasy conclusion. She is devastated that she is starting to get obsessed with knives, for fear that her mental health will deteriorate.
“Lockdown – let’s not pretend otherwise – worries me,” explains Irene Faisal, the young psychiatrist, while listening intently, through her surgical mask.
The woman says, “I want to reassure you, I’m not going crazy.”
Forcing millions to go home once again – cutting off family and friends, shutting down businesses they’ve invested in, university classes that feed their brains and the night places where they’ve settled, – now, the growth of the new coronavirus France has begun to turn back Which made it a dark target of 52,000 dead in November.
But the costs to mental health have been significant. The number of French COVID-19 patients is now declining In intensive care, psychiatrists are experiencing a follow-up wave of mental distress. The survey by the health authorities draws attention to the most acute form of depression among the unemployed, financial hardship and depression in young adults.
The Rover H Hospital Spital Center in the Normandy city of Rouen is one of the places where psychiatrists are finding themselves on the front line of epidemic mental-health vulnerabilities.. They fear that a growing crisis of indifference, anxiety and worsening may be on the horizon as more livelihoods, futures and hopes move away from the epidemic. Associated Press reporters spent 10 hours in the 535-bed-spread facility, the day after French President Emmanuel Macron blueprinted in mid-January. To gradually lift downdown restrictions.
In the psychiatric emergency unit, as the verdict sends the 22-year-old home with a prescription for anti-anxiety drugs and an appointment to see him again in two weeks, the double door is once again open.
She is the second youngest 25 year old linguistics student. She is led to Counsel Room No. 1, where she sits quietly in the dark as night falls.
On the ward’s whiteboard, which lists patients’ names and details, handwritten a short initial diagnosis on a slip of paper, she uses spelling acronyms to explain how she has a tendency not to fill. Over the past week, she says, she has been conceived of taking “IDS” – suicidal thoughts – and “IMV”, or voluntarily taking prescription drugs.
Sandrin Elias, the ward’s chief psychiatrist, is left completely alone with how the students can be taken down, gently harassing students who have postponed classes.
It is not the only cause of her grief. Elias knows the young woman had a difficult adolescence with suicide attempts. Isolation during an epidemic has only exacerbated the student’s distress. In a quiet voice, he tells Elias that he is “dealing with ourselves.”
He says, “I’m the guy sitting at home, but this whole bond is the real weight.”
Elias immediately decided to hospitalize him. Observed comfort and medication, Elias determines, can help through it.
“You need a structure, to take care of it. Alone, in your studio apartment, that is not possible, ”says the psychiatrist. “It’s good that you’re here.”
Not everyone who seeks help has a previous mental history. Mental health professionals say lockdowns and curfews have also destabilized people who, in less challenging times, may face difficulties talking to family and friends instead of entering psychiatric wards.
“It’s terrible to be alone between four walls,” says Elias. “The stagnation of life in this way has turned on the people again. That’s not good. ”
Nathan, 22, came from the emergency ward two days ago. The log book shows that he was admitted at 5:20 pm and was moved to a longer stay unit that day.
There, in room 14, he told psychiatrist Ol Levier Gillian that he would seek emergency help “because I felt my morale was declining so rapidly, that I was overwhelmed with suicidal thoughts.”
After France’s initial lockdown between March and May, similar thoughts pushed it down for the first time in the summer. When the country was limited for the second time, they attacked again Oct. 30 to. His university closed. His political science classes went virtually. Instead of living alone in his student flat, he went back to Roin with his parents, broke away from his support network and rumbled over his uncertain future.
“The first lockdown didn’t really affect me much, but the second one really drowned me,” he tells Guilin. ”
He says, “Being limited again, always being in a limited perimeter, not always being able to see my friends as usual, it makes me uncomfortable,” he says.
The safety of hospitalization and medications have begun to stabilize it quickly. Resting on his bedside table was Rubik’s cube which he solved.
Gillin, who heads several units at the hospital and has 200 medical staff working under him, says he is seeing a sharp rise in young adults seeking help for anxiety, depression, addictions and other difficulties. He has brackets for more.
“We’ll see the crest of the wave in the coming months.”
Outbreaks appear to be exacerbated during this time, but other mental health issues have also been reduced.
Gillin is still sentenced to death by a patient who killed himself during the first lockdown, 48 hours after his final appointment. She wore a mask to protect herself from the virus at that meeting. She says the depth of her distress has interfered with her reading.
“She was a very expressive woman and with the help of the mask there I misjudged things,” he says. “By predestination, I tell myself that maybe, without the mask, I would have been more attentive and done more.”
Patients have also been injured by the diversion of resources in COVID-19, which ranges from mental health.
Electroconvulsive therapy that helped a student named Laura recover from her severe depression when anesthesiologists – who needed to take a nap in the electrical currents passing through her brain – were needed to care for virus patients.
“Immediately after that, my morale plummeted and suicidal thoughts came back,” she told Gillian.
Laura says the treatment is “as urgent as COVID-19.” He says preferring patients with the virus is “a little stupid and average.” Now, by mid-November, she had hoped that instead of releasing her from the hospital, Laura would have to stop.
In the emergency ward, for the third time in two hours, another young woman dressed in black, coming in through a sunken door, was hollow. An 18-year-old high school student is shown in Room 2, already in room 1 with a 25-year-old classmate, after her initial interview by a nurse and caregiver, she curls up on a chair.
The nurse, Sebastien Lormelet, and the caregiver, Anita Dellu, exchange notes in the staff room where the teenager’s name and time of entry are written on a white marker on the whiteboard at: 0: 0:00 pm.
“The downdown has a lot to do with it, because she says the first was difficult. With the second, now, if she can get away with the slip, she will,” says Delre.
“He can’t stand the third one.”
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