Your Own Mind Can Kill You And You Don't Even Know It

How do you tell someone who's never been ill in her entire life that she is dying, and that it is her own mind that is killing her body?

You don't because you can't - it will make it even worse.

This is the story (still unfolding) currently lived by my family, a story that it is not easy for me to share with the world; I chose to do it because it might help you one day - and, most of all, it might help someone you love or are close to.

We all read about mental health, how important it is, how our work may sometimes harm us, how we need time to switch off, work flexibly and so on. I must admit, until very recently, I naively thought that mental health and mental issues are some things experienced only by the working people like me and like many of you.

I was wrong - so, so wrong.

My sister-in-law is 71. She certainly doesn't look it, nor did she ever 'act' her age. She held a very high ranking clinical position in the NHS before she retired 7 years ago and she has always lived her life to the full before and after her retirement.

Every year, she would go with the 'girls' (as she calls her friends) on at least two short breaks abroad in Europe and on several weekends away across the UK. She also has a partner (although they don't live together) who she's been with for over 25 years now and, together, they go on long haul holidays 2-3 times a year, too, and spend most weekends together with him and his family.

Until all this started, you could almost never find her at home - she was always out and about, either volunteering with the medical staff at the local teaching hospital, doing something for a league whose Treasurer she is, going for lunches and dinners with so many people I've never heard of let alone met and so on. She would barely find the time to come and see us (we live 35 miles apart) once every 10 days or so.

She has never been house-bound, physically impaired or mentally depressed - she's never had a family of her own and her life has been filled by others' families and friends. She was, until 4 months ago, one of the happiest and busiest people you could see. She has her own little cottage, a very good pension which many of us can hardly hope to ever have, she drives her own car and so on - no debts, no drama, no issues.

She wouldn't let anyone ever do anything for her, not unless she had tried and failed to do it at least several times: she changes her own bulbs, does her own lawn, prunes her trees etc. The only times she has been asking for our help is when she needed her computer software updated, when she needed a new anti-virus or when she got a new phone - technology may be quite daunting for some elderly people.

What she has never been though, at least not with us, she has never been a 'heart-to-heart' or emotional person. She has never been confrontational or asked personal questions; some would say that if you don't want to be asked questions, first don't ask them yourself.

Although a very social and sociable being, she would never engage in a personal discussion - there were and still are walls around her that no one is allowed to breach. I've been in her house no more than ten times in total, and only in her kitchen and living room. I don't know how her 'inner sanctum' looks like. She has many social friends but, in hindsight, I don't think she has any real ones: friends who are there to tell you what you need to hear, not what you want to hear.

I've given you a bit of a background to understand who she was until four months ago. Now, she is someone completely different, both physically and mentally.

Physically, she lost almost 13 kg (2.04 stones) in four months, her walking is unsteady, she has a slouched posture when sitting and walking, her hands are shaking almost uncontrollably, her eyes are bulged and her whole body is unsteady. She takes her tea in the same size cup as ever but, this time, only half-cup full because, otherwise, she'd spill it.

It started with a slight chest pain, followed by a 10-seconds dizziness when lying flat in bed or when turning from one side to another. Nothing else.

Then, slowly, a mild nausea began - first during the day, then all through the night. One day the nausea - retching only - got so bad that she kneeled over her toilet (in August). Nothing came out and she stood up, only that when she did, she lost her balance and fell face down on the floor. The frame of her glasses almost became embedded in her face from the impact. She was bruised badly but, oddly, no other injury happened.

Every week or 10 days she would come by to visit, one of us (we are rarely both at home at the same time) would offer her a small snack, sweet or biscuit to have with her tea or coffee. We noticed that during August-September she refused to eat anything when coming by and, towards the end of September, she told us that it was 'the nausea' that was preventing her from eating.

We didn't think much of it and asked her if she had seen her GP. She said she had and that the GP had given her some Omeprazole.

In October, we've only seen her once, and we were both wondering what was going on that she hadn't come over for two weeks. Then, on the 16th of October, we got a call from one of her friends and neighbours in the village, telling us that she was taking my sister-in-law to the hospital to be admitted.

That was shocking because, as you can imagine, we knew nothing about the severity of her condition and that, even more strangely, we were told by my sister-in-law in a text not to go and see her because she, and I quote, 'can't be bothered'.

Remember what I said above about her arms-length approach to personal matters? Even for her, this seemed a bit stretched. After much internal deliberation between me and my husband, where he said he didn't want to go because she said not to, and I said I couldn't care less about what she said and that I was going, we eventually went to the hospital, two days after she had been admitted (although we were told not to).

We didn't see her that day because, just as we got there, she had been taken for a CT scan and an endoscopy. We were told to leave because both procedures were likely to take some time.

On the 19th of October, after a series of text messages between me and her, I called her. She said she was going to be discharged that afternoon and asked if we were going to be at home over the next week, knowing too well that we both travel a lot for work. I said we were and asked what she couldn't bring herself up to say: 'do you want to come and stay with us?'.

She said she would if we didn't mind. She came and stayed; and, until two weeks ago when she was readmitted to hospital, she never left.

She had all the possible and impossible tests done to her: hormone levels, CT scans, endoscopies, MRIs etc. She is one of the healthiest 71 years-old you could ever find. Yet, her mind is killing her and, because of her age (above 65), not a threat to herself or others, the NHS can't do much about it other than refer her to an area mental health practitioner who might be in touch with her within 6 months.

She is not sleeping, she is barely eating, she cannot stop her mind from racing and she is losing control of her mind and of her body. She will very likely be discharged from the hospital this weekend, although we told the doctors that we both work a lot away from home and that, effectively, she has no one else and needs urgent, specialised care. They looked at us as if saying 'not our problem'.

This is a woman who, until four months ago, was vivacious, fiercely independent, full of life and stamina. A woman who would take no prisoners, nor would she allow anyone to tell her off. Today when I went to see her (flew back from Zimbabwe this morning), this woman behaved like a terrified child, almost begging with her eyes not to be thrown away.

She is lucky in a way because she has us and, even if we didn't have the financial means to get her to see a psychiatrist privately, she would. And, one way or another, we'll sort it out although the pressure this entire situation has put on my husband and I is dramatic for a variety of reasons.

I am devastated when I think that my sister-in-law is, probably, one of the few lucky ones because she has us and she has the means to seek some form of immediate support. But now I wonder how many over 65s are in her situation and simply cast away because the system doesn't care about them and about the enormous impact a mental health condition may have on their immediate or extended families?

So, if you had the patience to read all this, I hope you will never have to face the same situation. But, if one day you hear of someone who is perfectly healthy yet dying before your eyes, seek psychatric help for them.

Good luck.