A weathered missing persons poster and the unspeakable sadness of how depression gets treated

The "Missing" poster is taped to a lamppost near the science buildings on campus. It's weathered from sun and rain, ripped and flapping in the warm June breeze. I'm tempted to take it down, but I hesitate, wondering if it would be disrespectful in some way.

The face shown is a kind one: an older woman with white hair, glasses and a sweet smile. Catherine Curtis suffered from depression and was released (as per Winnipeg Regional Health Authority policy) from hospital to go for an unsupervised walk. Her body eventually turned up in Sturgeon Creek.

There is no doubt that this was unspeakably sad. Was it avoidable? It's difficult to say, considering the overwhelming and changeable nature of depression. However, I do know that as long as mentally ill patients keep taking their own lives, current policy is inadequate. As the saying goes: "The proof is in the pudding."

In this case, part of the "pudding" is the WRHA's practice of letting depressed patients take unsupervised walks. Another component is the privacy laws that prevent hospital staff from contacting family members when a patient is in crisis. Cathy Curtis was allowed to leave alone, despite the fact that she had had a "difficult" weekend, according to her family. This "one size fits all" approach to mental illness is inadequate, plain and simple. This is illustrated in a story about a young mother I'll call Mary.

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Mary found herself struggling with severe post-partum depression after the birth of her twins. She had been sent to a halfway house for PPD after the birth of her first son. Despite her best efforts, extreme exhaustion and hormonal changes left her in the exact same position when the twins were a month old. She reported to St. Boniface Hospital and was seen by a psychiatrist who committed her to the psych ward.

Relieved of her nail clippers, Mary found herself sharing a room with a young woman who said she was there due to "hearing voices." Mary was uneasy about sleeping in a room with someone who seemed quite mentally ill. However, according to the system, there was no alternative.

If the equivalent was done with physical illness, people with hay fever would be grouped in the same category as those with cancer, and all of them would be given a box of Kleenex.

Each day of her weeklong stay, Mary witnessed at least one incident of violence and/or extreme emotional outbursts. In one instance, a woman was upset about her dessert and tried to flip her lunch table as a result. In another incident, two men got into a dispute about a card game and ended up screaming and throwing their chairs across the lounge.

As a result of these occurrences, Mary and the rest of the patients were obliged to go to their rooms and remain in what was referred to as "lockdown." This lasted for a few minutes or over an hour, depending on how long it took to resolve the situation.

Each time she sat through a lockdown, Mary felt she wasn't in the right place. It seemed to her as if the ward was for the significantly mentally ill, not for a woman suffering from PPD. It was frightening to be locked in with people dealing with far more severe conditions. It added to her stress and made sleep very difficult, which was ironic considering that chronic sleep deprivation had contributed to her diagnosis.

Three days into her stay, Mary met with two counsellors whose job it was to help Mary assess what supports she could put in place once she returned home. Mary was advised to ask friends and family to help with the children. Alternatively, she could pay to hire a nurse to help with child care. At the end of the session, both counsellors remarked that since they had no resources to offer her either in the form of cash or child care, Mary was in "a bad spot." The women thanked her for attending and wished her the best of luck, "considering." What was clear to Mary was that she was on her own.

What's wrong with the treatment of the mentally ill here in Manitoba? I'll tell you what's wrong: insufficient resources and the resultant lumping of everyone with mental illness into one category. If the equivalent was done with physical illness, people with hay fever would be grouped in the same category as those with cancer, and all of them would be given a box of Kleenex.

As ridiculous as that sounds, it's how the mentally ill are dealt with here. Mary's story took place 17 years ago (you guessed it, I'm "Mary"), and it seems as though the mentally ill still don't have sufficient resources. If Cathy Curtis had had someone walking with her, would she have died? I can't say. What I can say is that as long as mental illness is not accorded the proper consideration and resources, the mentally ill will continue to be at risk, as neglected as that poster blowing in the wind.

Jo Holness is a Winnipeg writer.