The “short” summary of my incarceration at the SouthWest Kingman Loony Bin almost 2 years ago.
I’m looking for an attorney to file suit against the Kingman Regional hospital (KRMC), SouthWest Behavioral & Health Services (SW), and the persons involved.
Background
North Country, my primary care provider, (mis)diagnosed as ADHD in 10/19 and it took forever to get a neurologist appointment.
“Something” happened to my brain during litigation in federal court against debt buyer Midland Funding and their attorneys Bursey & Associates. In 2018 the appeals court ruled in my favor and remanded back to Phoenix district court. Not many can say that they overturned two federal judges in one appeal. I’ve never been to law school, but have been a passionate consumer activist since the 90s and I used to have an excellent brain.
Discovery ended in fall 2019, I already had a credit reporting claim affirmed by the court of appeals and we were going to jury trial. Judge Logan and the defendants’ attorneys teamed up until I completely lost my short-term memory under stress, such as when approaching filing deadlines.
They refused to give me time to recover and argued that self-diagnosis is not admissible evidence. I don’t have a personal physician ready to testify on my behalf like the rich and famous.
On Wednesday 1/29/20 I finally had my appointment with Kingman neurologist Dr. Ohri (affiliated with KRMC).
I told Dr. Ohri the truth during the intake questioning, that I was frequently depressed because the defendants’ motion for sanctions (dismissal) was pending, I had serious memory issues when stressed and I didn’t have a doctor testifying on my behalf. I even had the motion with highlighted relevant paragraphs on the table, but he ignored it.
Dr. Ohri stated that he doesn’t do anything for the court and had me transported to KRMC instead.
At KRMC:
I was interviewed online by some guy who eventually asked how I felt about suicide.
I asked him to read my online 2018 Draft Suicide Petition:
He REFUSED to read my petition and ordered me titled.
I was hosting two volunteers at my organic micro-farm who had just arrived a few days earlier. I live off-grid with limited electricity, haul water from a well and I knew we were low on water and I had nobody who could help. My friends are either not local or they are old and sick and I was the one helping them.
I also manage a vacation rental and anyone could have booked the house! I didn’t have my notebook computer with me and had used my new I-phone only for calls and occasional texts. I still despise “smart” phones.
At KRMC they asked me to move to the ER hallway and I wanted to stay in that little room, needed peace and quiet to THINK about what I could do. I have had several very unpleasant experiences in the KRMC ER when I brought in or picked up my elderly friends.
Without ANY warning, several huge men came into the room, syringe in hand, and held me down while I screamed as loud as I could.
Now I know what it’s like to be gang-raped.
Whatever they injected me with knocked me out and caused me to vomit bile throughout the night. I hadn’t eaten anything all day. I think they injected me a second time later, not sure.
After many hours on a bed in the hallway, I was transported to the SW Loony Bin in the back of a police car in the middle of the night.
SouthWest Loony Bin incarceration and abuse
Thursday:
After sitting in a recliner at SW until around 10 am, I had another online interview, with Chelsey, and she ALSO refused to read my online suicide petition and ordered me admitted.
I think they had 9 beds and I shared a room with another older woman.
Friday:
Fortunately, staff member Alex read my suicide petition and he offered to attend my daily online interview with Chelsey as he did not feel that I should be incarcerated. To watch her face as she finally read the petition was priceless.
However, she decided NOT to release me because I have a medical marijuana card.
I was devastated.
Saturday:
An inmate had expressed their frustration by plugging up the toilet in a bathroom with paper, defecating, and then flushing. Urine and feces flooded the bathroom floor.
Staff refused to clean up and didn’t even lock that bathroom that also had a shower that was used a lot until Sunday.
It was ice cold and inmates were pleading with staff to increase the temperature. They refused. We huddled under blankets, like in a refugee camp.
My daily online interview was very short, with another woman who refused to release me.
The other inmates had told me that people often urinate in the hallways, so I watched where I was walking Saturday night on the way to a bathroom. When I noticed a puddle on the floor, I advised staff that someone had urinated on the floor. She claimed that it was spilled water.
I literally had to stick my finger in the urine and hold it up to her face to get her to clean it up.
An inmate was screaming several times that night and I and the inmates who weren’t on knockout meds got little sleep.
Sunday:
I got permission to hold a workshop for interested inmates about food safety, E. coli, and salmonella after breakfast.
I explained that E. coli and salmonella could easily be transmitted from our socks to the ottomans. Food and drinks were often set on these same rarely cleaned ottomans. Some inmates remembered a recent melon recall and salmonella contamination and we actually had a great time. The bar was low at the loony bin and my workshop was more interesting than watching Forrest Gump for the umpteenth time.
At the end of the workshop, I announced that I would like to talk to each inmate who wanted to share their story.
Alex had given me a loony bin safety pen and a little notepad so I could keep a journal.
I could tell that staff was acting differently, but they allowed me to continue to take notes as I talked with other inmates individually. What had happened to them?
It was heartbreaking to hear their stories and how most did not get the help they needed.
Staff then advised that I would be discharged.
There was a very brief online interview and my new friends, some of them repeat and long-term inmates told me that nobody gets discharged without two interviews, on such short notice, and on a Sunday.
It was a miracle!
During my incarceration, I rarely ate.
They had asked for my dietary preferences during intake and I had advised that since they likely don’t have organic food, I’m vegetarian. Almost everything they served was DISGUSTING and contained meat. Twice they served chili dogs. Once I got a few leaves of romaine lettuce and another time I had a little pasta after removing the disgusting cubed turkey.
One time I asked whether I could get some veggies and the guy responded with a look indicating that I must really be crazy. He said nothing, I got nothing. I hadn’t eaten since Tuesday.
Fortunately, I was able to refuse their medications, but one time I agreed to take a blood pressure pill as my blood pressure was about 185 (unsurprising!) and I didn’t want them to use my refusal as an excuse to not discharge me. It’s a miracle that I didn’t have a stroke or heart attack considering how stressed I was.
It was so dehumanizing not to get underwear.
The only inmate who was allowed to wear shoes and her own clothing was a repeat inmate and drug addict.
There was absolutely NO treatment whatsoever aside from the prescription drugs – prescribed without any prior examination, diagnosis, tests, etc.
The only activities were watching TV, watching one of the very few movies, and coloring children’s books. Some inmates actually enjoyed the coloring, they were so desperate for anything to do in that godforsaken hellhole.
No window, no garden, no sunshine — only artificial fluorescent light.
As if they were striving to depress the inmates.
Little access to the phone, no computer access, and no privacy whatsoever.
Of course, it stressed me tremendously that staff was literally no more than 2 – 3 ft away during every phone call and I had to be very careful about every word I said, expecting it would be used against me.
Prisoners have more rights and are treated more humanely.
Even sheriff Joe gave prisoners underwear and I wouldn’t have cared if it was pink.
I survived, barely.
My volunteers had left after I was incarcerated. My dogs had been alone outside the entire time, although I got one of my local friends to feed them after a few days. My older dog was traumatized, very fearful, and startled when approached and he didn’t see it was me.
If my dogs had not been there, I would have killed myself.
I would have had no reason to live anymore.
I had just experienced what caused me to write my suicide petition in the first place, the systemic abuse in hospitals and nursing homes.
My very worst fears had become reality and it was so much worse than I had ever imagined.
The day after I was released from the SouthWest Loony Bin we had a major freeze and if I hadn’t been home to shut off and drain waterlines, lots of plumbing would have broken and the water pump would have run until the motor fried.
I was so lucky that nobody had booked the vacation rental while I was incarcerated.
My efforts to get the SW medical records were futile.
KRMC stated that everything was in my patient portal. They claim that I’m DELUSIONAL, among other false statements.
Just an hour of stressful work like trying to get medical records or better internet service wiped me out for the day. Sometimes I slept 12 hours. I tried to learn how to meditate and spent countless hours learning about stress and the brain. Fortunately, I had no rentals due to Covid and I eventually received unemployment in late May.
Almost two years later, I am much better but still suffer from short-term memory loss when stressed and have difficulty organizing thoughts and things.
I know more about the brain and state-of-the-art treatment than most doctors, have taken countless supplements and I’m fine until I’m very stressed and do the stupidest things. Such as recently driving off with the water hauler while it was attached to the running pump when I had a few bookings at the rental house over Christmas.
I’ve sought help and instead of helping me, they destroyed me.
I get $251 social security and just thinking about this horrific reality and what will happen to me when I can’t support myself anymore is so terrifying and depressing.
Documentation
I still have my loony bin journal entries and the notes about my interviews with the other inmates.
I audio recorded on my phone during my appointment with Dr. Ohri and parts of my stay at KRMC, including the online interview with the imbecile who refused to read my suicide petition. I have to go through boxes full of paper and I have to find that phone, went back to android.
I’ve been unable to deal with this, it’s so traumatizing to relive my Loony Bin experience.
If I hadn’t held that workshop and interviewed other inmates, I might have NEVER gotten out!
I had been advised that I’d have an online hearing in front of a judge after about two weeks. I’ve overturned one of the local judges on appeal, they’re not my friends.
My goals
- The defendants pay for testing, diagnosis, and treatment at a state-of-the-art facility like the Amen Clinics in California or Cleveland Clinic in Las Vegas.I’m on AHCCCS (Arizona Obamacare) and learned that there’s nothing more they will do for me. After I got an MRI and EEG in 8/20, neurologist Dr. More’s office claimed that my brain is fine. However, that’s NOT what the actual results show and I know I’m not fine.
- Compensation for my mental anguish, pain, and suffering and a fund to ensure that I’ll be able to go to a high-end facility when I cannot earn a living anymore.
Running the vacation rental is so stressful and my brain may never fully recover from the loony bin trauma. There are safe and comfortable retirement options, for those with cash to pay several thousand dollars per month. I’m very lucky I received a small inheritance in late 2020 as gov. Ducey ended the federal unemployment last July and I had hardly any bookings at the rental. But that’s it for me, I’m on my own now and it won’t be long until I’ll be poor again.
- STOP this madness, the incarceration, abuse, and humiliation of people who have done nothing wrong.
ORDER SouthWest and KRMC to end the horrific conditions in their facilities.
- Correct my KRMC and others’ medical records. I’ve never been delusional.I’ll be posting my records ASAP.
- PROVIDE a SAFE way for people with mental health problems to seek help, GUARANTEED not to result in incarceration.I had intended to update my suicide petition, as I watched a friend commit suicide in 2019 because our healthcare system and the people of Meadview failed him and his 80-year old wife. I was going to make it a real petition and send it to every state legislator. At least they could let us die in peace since they don’t want to provide services to the old and sick in rural areas.
I’ve been too afraid to work on and publicize the petition, it’s too stressful to know that next time I might never get out of the loony bin, or my business is destroyed because I’m not able to attend to guests, pets dead, farm dead, house water and electric system destroyed — I don’t want to have to kill myself.
I don’t want to represent myself in court again.
But I’m also not interested in a quick settlement for a few thousand dollars. Nobody should ever have to go through what I’ve experienced when I was looking for help with stress-induced brain damage.
I feel so awful that I have not acted in almost two years.
It’s so incredibly depressing and stressful to relive the trauma.
In response to one of those idiotic Facebook memes in a local group, falsely claiming that there is help for people with mental health problems and addiction, I outed myself. I posted about the reality and the abuse in the Kingman loony bin.
Now I’m the Meadview “psycho.”
I’m going to go through boxes full of papers to scan and I’ll upload my Loony Bin journal and my notes of the interviews with other inmates. The emails with my requests for medical records. My MRI and EEG results and medical records.
I’m mad as hell and I’ll do what I can to expose these incompetent and corrupt bastards and to create CHANGE.
It took me several days to write this post, trying to organize and reliving the trauma. My arm hurts now, always a sign of too much stress and it’s time to go outside, destress and plant some greens.
