Discharge Planning Mental Health Worksheet: Fill & Download for Free

I’d just like to say I’m sorry for my ridiculously long answer.Shit, where do I start?First off, I think that one’s experience in a psychiatric hospital will vary from hospital to hospital. Many factors can contribute to how good or bad your experience will be, such as the quality of the doctors and nurses, how caring the therapists are, whether the hospital was private or public, and whether or not you were there voluntarily. I think you’ll hear more positive stories from voluntary patients. I was thirteen years old when I ended up at a pediatric psych ward in a private children’s hospital. I was there for having a major depressive episode in which suicidal ideation was involved. It all started when my mom was going apeshit on me because my mental health wasn’t improving even after countless of hours in therapy and being on multiple medications such as prozac and zoloft. Her now ex boyfriend comforted me and took me to school and that was when I broke down crying at my counselor’s office and told her I felt like killing myself. My counselor then asked me how I wanted to kill myself and in retrospect, I’m not sure if my state of mind or the fact that she asked me such a question was more messed up. Anyway, I told her that I would probably hang myself and after some brief talk, she sent me back to class. After class ended, the counselor was waiting for me outside and she walked me back to her office. After getting herself some coffee, she told me to leave my stuff at her office and she walked me to the assistant principal’s office, where two police officers were sitting there waiting for me. I was in shock and I didn’t know how to react but I knew I was in big trouble at that point. I sat down and the cops started asking me questions regarding my suicidal thoughts. They then told me that I was going to be taken to the ER for an evaluation, so I broke down crying again and started panicking. The female cop called my mother and told her what they were about to do. The male cop told me a story about the one time he supposedly had to take his mentally ill aunt to the hospital and how heartbreaking it was for him, but that didn’t help.Trip to the ER:On my way there, I felt scared and completely vulnerable. Instead of being brought to the hospital in the same way someone with a physical condition would (by ambulance), I was brought to the hospital in the same way they take people to jail. Being handcuffed in a patrol car was one of the most humiliating and traumatizing experiences I’ve ever had. The female cop told me that it was for her safety and mine and she asked if I understood where she was coming from. I abhor how cops tend to have preconceived notions about the mentally ill being dangerous and unpredictable but I was in a situation in which I had no control over what was happening and I couldn’t argue with protocol, so I was left with no option but to say “Yes, ma’am” and suck it up. I always found it ironic how a lot of cops fear the mentally ill even though they are usually the only ones with guns and tazers. I think I hear more of cops hurting the mentally ill than vice versa, but maybe that’s just me. I personally don’t think that the police should be the first to respond to people going through a mental health crisis (especially if it involves a minor) unless they have a history of being violent because all too often, the mere presence of the police can be more than enough to add more drama and tension to the situation than is needed. On our way there, she asked me about life and my family and I guess it was to sort of distract me from what was going on. When we walked into the ER, I remember seeing a mother and her child staring at me as if I were some convict in an orange jumpsuit who had just walked in- an elephant in the living room, to put it in better words. I was escorted to a room and the female cop took a few minutes to explain to the nurses why I was there. One nurse just looked at me and said “Why? You’re very young and pretty!”. I just looked down at the floor because I didn’t know what to tell him. The female cop finally removed the handcuffs, wished me good luck, and left. The nurse who looked after me was very sweet and attentive; she calmly talked to me and asked what was making me so depressed. My vitals were taken every fifteen minutes or so and I also had blood, urine, and EKG tests done on me. My mother arrived to the hospital about half an hour after I was dropped off. She was kind of mad at me because my naive trust of the counselors had led me to be involuntarily hospitalized. I also felt guilty because I was detained on her boyfriend’s birthday (we were planning on having a party at a restaurant for him) and the party had to be cancelled due to all this. I was given food but I was so depressed and shocked that I was barely able to eat. We stayed in the ER for about 4–5 hours until I was finally transferred to the children’s hospital. Two hot paramedics brought me to the hospital and one was actually kind and sympathetic enough to buy me a popsicle to try and lift my spirits up. As protocol, he asked me some weird questions such as “Where are we heading?” and “Who is the president?” to make sure I was on the same planet as everyone else.Arriving at the Psych Ward:After arriving to the ward, my mom and I were taken to this room that had two couches and a bunch of cushioned chairs. It was intimidating because the room had a huge security camera and we were locked in, so we had no other place to roam around in. My mom called a friend of her’s and she came to the ward with some food for us to eat. She told me that even though my stay was probably not going to be fun, I should still try to make the best out of it. A nurse eventually came in to ask my mother and I a few questions. We had to wait about 2–3 more hours before I was officially admitted and then it was time to say goodbye to my mom and her friend. It was hard, but my mindset was basically “This fucking sucks but at the end of the day, I got myself into this situation and only I can get myself out of it”. I sat alone in a chair away from the other patients and I was approached by one patient who asked me why I was there and if I was a first-timer. I then asked her why she was there and she told me that she was there for severe OCD and bulimia (if I recall); the girl ended up being one of my roommates but she was moved to another room about two days later. I was later called up by the nurses and they took me to a room where my vitals were taken, I was strip-searched (which was even more humiliating and traumatizing than my experience with the cops), and they checked my body for any injuries or infections. I was then asked more personal questions such as “Have you ever been abused? How?”. I had no issue falling asleep that night but I think that was only because of my level of exhaustion.Daily Routines and Activities:Patients were woken up at around 8AM, which was hard for me to adjust to after having such an exhausting day. We would all have breakfast while the nurses would scrutinize our rooms to see if they were neat and free of any contraband. I actually got in trouble once just because my bed wasn’t made. We would then go back to our rooms to take a shower before group therapy began. Honestly, my shower time was the only time in which I had some sense of privacy. We were only allowed to shower for up to fifteen minutes, so I tried to appreciate every one of those fifteen minutes before heading out again. We received all kinds of therapies from group therapy, to art therapy, to pet therapy (the only therapy I anticipated for), to music therapy, and family therapy. The group therapy sessions were pretty useless because they were based on issues that were completely irrelevant to why I was there. I don’t recall one group therapy session that was based on the issue of depression and suicide. After our therapy session, we would have free time that usually consisted of the patients watching a movie or playing games (typically card games). I would usually spend my free time reading, daydreaming about all the shit I could’ve been doing if it weren’t for me being locked up, occasionally playing and having conversations with the other patients, and teaching my former roommate some English because she only spoke Spanish. The most depressing part about being in the ward was seeing young children already landing in a place like that. I met a little boy who was about 5–6 years of age and we instantly won each other over (I don’t know but for some reason, I’m a kid magnet) and I would sometimes read stories to him or draw with him. The other patients told me he was mainly there for anger issues and I was able to tell when he once got very upset after finding out that his mom wasn’t able to visit him. I also saw a four year old girl who had to be restrained and sedated after having a scary tantrum. Anyway, the nurses would sometimes take us to the hospital’s movie theater and that was the only time I felt like I wasn’t being locked somewhere. However, that feeling quickly dissolves when you’re brought back to the ward and receive a pat down. After we had free time, we would have lunch and then it was visitation time. After visitation, we would usually have more therapy and free time. Sometimes “school” would replace therapy. I can’t tell you what it was like because patients who weren’t attending public schools didn’t receive this service. We were simply given worksheets with basic math and reading. We were sometimes given snacks and the kids were sent to bed at around 8 or 9 whereas the adolescents were sent back to bed at around 10:30. The nurses took our vital signs again before going back to bed and they asked us individually about how our day had been going. My other roommate was there for having paranoid schizophrenia and I remember she had massive lacerations on her legs and arms due to self-harm. She told me she had been molested by her brothers and her mother did absolutely nothing to protect her. Instead of going to sleep like good children, my roommate and I would spend a great amount of time getting to know each other and ranting about how shitty the mental health system is. It was funny because a nurse would always sit outside our room and she constantly told us to shut up and go to sleep. She was sixteen years old and told me she thought I was very articulate and mature for someone my age. I admired her bravery after knowing all she had to go through. Some nights were okay whereas there were other nights in which I had to silently cry myself to sleep because I was homesick and couldn’t live with the fact that I was in a psych ward. I was eventually prescribed wellbutrin for depression/anxiety along with benadryl to help me go to sleep.Visitation:Visitation was a very important and emotional time for me. My mom visited me every day (she also brought me food from home because the hospital’s food usually sucked) and her boyfriend at the time would sometimes come when he was able to and I think he was the most supportive of all my visitors. I was also visited by one of my mom’s friends of whom was a nurse at the hospital. She told me that this ought to be the first and very last time I end up in a place like that and I agreed. Those were some of the last words I heard from her because she died due to having six consecutive heart attacks a few months after I was released. I was also visited by an aunt who happened to be friends with one of the nurses at the ward and she told her to please take care of me. As a result, I think she treated me a bit better than she treated the other patients. I even joked around with her and told her that on the day of my release, I would literally run out of the ward. My aunt had a history of depression herself, so I guess it really hit home when she found out that I ended up at a psych ward. I was also visited by my dad, who was skeptical about the new meds they were going to give me and I didn’t blame him. Psychiatric meds can potentially increase the risk of suicidal behavior in children and teens. Mind you, that’s one of the many risks involved when you consume them.Discharge/Post-Discharge:I was in a group therapy session and when it was my turn to speak, I guess I said something that convinced the therapist that I was ready to be released and that was when he decided to recommend me for discharge. The psychiatrist also called me up to check my progress and I tried to seem enthusiastic and joyful enough to convince him I was ready for release, for one of the first things you learn when landing in such a place is that compliance, or at least faking compliance is key to getting released as soon as possible. It’s also cruicial that you refrain from displaying any negative emotions during your stay, even if they’re perfectly justifiable. As someone here said previously, any negative emotion you feel will be viewed through the lens of pathology. Thus, the staff will not take you seriously because they apparently think that only a mentally ill person would feel dehumanized and terrified in what they consider to be a “normal” circumstance, or at least a circumstance a healthy person would glad to be in. Anyway, he said he “would think about it” and a nurse later came in with a plastic bag to tell me to pack up my clothes because I was going to be discharged. Words cannot explain the level of gaiety I felt at that moment. My roommate had also been recommended for release the same day as well and I was happy for her. I stayed for a total of five days and four nights at the ward but it felt more like five weeks. After packing all my stuff, the little boy of whom I was previously talking about asked me where I was heading and I told him I was leaving. He got very sad and gave me a long hug, which I thought was cute and heartbreaking at the same time. I went on to say goodbye to my roommate and the other patients. We wished each other good luck on our recovery and unfortunately, the hospital didn’t allow patients to exchange contact information so I knew that was probably going to be the first and the very last time I ever saw or spoke to any of those people. The patients were very interesting people and the majority were there for being suicidal and/or having substance abuse problems. If there was one positive thing about being there, it was being around other people who were going through similar bullshit so you wouldn’t feel alienated. When my mom and her boyfriend came to pick me up, we had one last family therapy session before those heavy metal doors were opened for me to walk out freely. My aunt’s friend (the nurse) jokingly asked me if I was going to run out as I stated. I told her “You know what? Why not?!” and I ran out of the ward. She laughed and she wished me good luck on the outside before she closed the ward’s doors. Never in my life had I been so grateful to see sunlight and the city again. Being back home was weird but it was certainly better than being in the hospital. I was allowed to take the rest of the week off before going back to school, which I felt was necessary because of my level of resentment toward the administration for betraying my trust and also because I guess I just needed a minute before going back to my normal life. When I came back, a meeting had been scheduled with me and my mom to discuss how I had been doing and things of that nature. I was required to check in with the counselor or any other administrator at least twice a week until they felt that I was stable enough to not need so much supervision anymore. My mom moved my little sister’s bed to her room and forced me to sleep there for almost a month until she and her boyfriend thought I wasn’t at the risk of hurting myself. I fucking hated it because of the lack of privacy and I just didn’t like seeing my little sister enjoy my room (lol). My friends asked me where the hell I had been for the past five days and I explained what happened. They were stunned but supportive at the same time, so I was grateful. I don’t think I gained anything from being in the ward (if anything, it was harmful because I think that it only further encouraged me to bottle up my feelings) but it was certainly a somewhat fascinating experience despite how terrifying it was.Current Status:One of the things I promised myself to do after my release was that I would do anything in my power to stay away from setting foot in a place like that again. Most of the patients in the ward were not first-timers (in fact, I think I was the only first-timer there), and some were frequent flyers (you had some people who would return to the ward after being discharged 2–3 days ago) so I knew the odds of me never returning were most likely against me. It’s been almost five years since the incident and I’m proud to say I’ve kept my word. Hell, I don’t even take meds anymore! Sure, I still suffer from anxiety and depression but I think I’ve accepted the fact that it is something that I’m going to be dealing with for a substantial amount of time and all I can do is learn how to cope with it. I’m currently a high school senior who plans on going to college as a pre-vet student because I’ve been taking veterinary science classes for three years and I love some of the things I’ve been able to do at my internship in a veterinary clinic. I was originally planning on being a psychologist but I learned that I would rather work with animals than people. I hope this long ass story answers your question and if you actually took the time to read it, I’d just like to say “thank you”! :)

I was the director of a child psychiatry day treatment program for about ten years, and during that time, collaborated with a special education teacher to develop a template of recommendations from which we could select to produce an educational discharge summary for the school of the children we treated and educated. The special education teacher had Orton-Gillingham certification.Many of the children had attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). The recommendations are NOT intended as a one-size-fits-all cookie cutter approach; rather, as we wrote a customized summary of each child’s classroom needs, this served as a reminder and sometimes a loose framework:School recommendations are as follows:a. A highly structured, self-contained classroomb. Xxxxx’s ability to tolerate distraction appears to be low; he was unable to remain on-task given any extraneous noises in the classroom setting. Therefore, a teaching environment with reduced stimulation is recommended.c. A Functional Behavioral Assessment should be conducted, and used as the basis of a Behavioral Intervention Plan (BIP). This should then be incorporated into an Individualized Educational Plan (IEP) or implemented as part of a “504” plan.d. A low teacher-pupil ratioe. A consistent behavior management program with clear academic and behavioral expectations, concrete reinforcers (points, stickers, stars, privileges), and consequences (not earning reinforcers, provision for time-out and isolation as needed)f. In-school mental health services including an in-school crisis intervention team are recommendedg. Provide Speech and Language evaluations to assess receptive language deficitsh. Conduct an academic and cognitive assessment to determine appropriate special education and related servicesi. The following Accommodations/Supplementary Aids are recommended:i. Chunking of tasksii. Explicit Teachingiii. Extra Response and Processing Timeiv. Sentence Frames and Starters for Writing Assignmentsv. Modeling and Repetition of Informationvi. Repetition/Overlearning of Skillsvii. Restating, Paraphrasing, and repetition of directionsviii. Prelearning of Classroom Materialix. Notetaker (peer or adult)x. Access to computer/laptopxi. Use of a daily/weekly planner to keep track of individual assignments and long-term projectsxii. Modified Homeworkxiii. Human Reader/Audiotape or compact disk recordingxiv. Extended Timexv. Reduced Distractionsj. When instructing Xxxxx:i. Provide one task worksheet at a timeii. Pair visual cues and models with oral instructioniii. Seat him in the front row or place him at a study carreliv. Monitor and supervise his progress towards task completionk. Praise efforts at mastery as well as actual achievement of mastery.l. Maintain regular contact with home to monitor educational, medical, family, or social issues which may affect Xxxxx’s school functioning.A full Occupational Therapy evaluation should be conducted in the school system to assess functional areas, fine motor skills and anger management.In addition to understanding overactivity, impulsivity, and inattention as functions of “ADHD,” our practice was informed by sensory integration theory; that was part of the reason an Occupational Therapy evaluation was a consideration. Poor graphomotor skills, hearing problems, executive functioning issues like a small working memory or poor internal timekeeping (and a number of other executive functions) can contribute to a classroom problem in ways that resemble ADHD or tapped to address the condition. It goes without saying that depression, anxiety (related to trauma or not) and other issues have to be ruled out before jumping to conclusions about the nature of a classroom disturbance, but this framework can be mined for useful ideas.

I was 13, 14? in for persistent self harm reported by teachers. I was apparently given two warnings and got committed, by chance, since "the officer just passed by".It was weird. I felt sad but not suicidal, they knew that. They asked for my insurance, which made me realize shit was real and it was hitting the fan. They called my dad because I didn't know my insurance plan.Fast forward, I'm in the gurney biting my fingers and making marks to ease the worry. In this mental state, the pain was faint, perhaps the gate theory at play. The ambulance worker questioned it and I said it didn't hurt, with a smile.I entered. The building tried to be welcoming with blue and green walls along with a zoo painting, but the lighting didn't hide the miserable energy.I'm asked to take my laces off. "Really? Wow, hardcore" I thought. Shoes placed in a bag, along with my actual backpack and phone. Other patients my age approached me; one has been here 3x and another 2x. They are eating the free food from the fridge and I'm told to help myself; I don't.Time passes, I'm asked to do a worksheet about my mood and fears. A lot more time passes, an intake nurse asks me general questions but I asked her to close the door. She looked worried and didn't even close it fully. She then asked if I could tell the time and I almost failed - the clock read 11 (12?) and I almost said it was mid afternoon, 15:00. I kept pointing to the clock because suddenly I forgot how to read it, she fell for it. Also, my ligyrophobia is apparently interesting to her.I've been hearing loud buzzes from time to time and she informed me that it's new patients. One came in screaming and they threatened to tranq him; he had apparently posted shit to FB. It sounded like he threatened people with said posts but now I'm thinking it was the opposite. Yelling back and forth ensued for awhile.After awhile, front desk started talking about my case. They don't know I was groomed online (I came to terms with that when I turned 18), they only knew that a LDR failed (7 months) since he told me he never actually loved me; a crushing phrase for someone whose mental health relied those 'relationships'; "How would she get to him? What if she hopped on the Amtrak? Hahaha". [this ex was actually not an adult for once, and he wasn't the one who groomed me]. I already felt ashamed that I cut myself over something so petty, it made it worse.The psych came in. I wasn't talking much but she offered to give me a juice box since my blood sugar was low. I also stretched my neck to loosen the knot. I told her about front desk and she apologized since they are supposed to discuss the case but will address them for their behavior. She asked me to write things I liked about myself since "I had to make my own changes". I had transference issues with her and she picked it up, probably. She told me to scream in a pillow and to listen to music after. She left to speak with my dad: she told him to lock sharp objects up. I wish he followed through.Another worker, another worksheet set about self empowerment. He was very interested in the fact I had a choir concert the day after, thanks for caring. I'm discharged and finally realize how far I got dragged.As a 5 hour 5150, it was very short. A few years later, right before they legally can't charge anymore, they finally sent the ambulance bill. Don't know if we ever paid it.All I learned from this was to not tell psychologists certain things, at least not for a long time. The aftermath of the ordeal sucked harder than the stay. In short, I still cut and still sought to be loved in the same spot that started everything. I was only clean a month later for two years, and then again for four years after my dumbass was dating another adult who used sex when things went wrong. I would then be clean for four years later, but it broke out of accident and paranoia. I am only two months clean again. While my relationship is going 3.5 years and onwards, it started when I was a minor and he was closer to 30 than 20. I never learned and didn't come to terms with grooming until recently, but it turns out he is a better partner that still treated it as a respectful, healthy, and non-secretive relationship.I also learned that intervention makes a difference since I eventually had to report a friend of mine. She didn't go to the ward but she used it as a catalyst. It was both out of genuine worry and a way to put my anguish on another, but she and I are close friends and she credits me with changing her life.