Written by Catherine West-McGrath 

November 2025 marks the eighth anniversary since I was discharged from an acute in-patient mental health ward. I’d spent four weeks in there, preceded by one week in an assessment ward.

At the beginning of October 2017 I went to my nearest A & E department. I felt extremely unwell. I’d been suffering for about six weeks. It started with a pain in my neck which extended throughout my body. I’d also gradually lost my sense of taste and smell.

At A&E I was told my bloods were fine, but my blood pressure was high. I was sent home and advised to see my GP in a few days. My GP told me not to ruminate and prescribed me anti-depressants. I’d never taken anything like that before so I didn’t pick up the prescription. Over that week I visited A&E and my GP three more times. Each time I was told they couldn’t do anything for me, my bloods fine, there was nothing wrong. The distress of being dismissed and the continuing feeling of being unwell made something in my head snap. I was convinced I had a terminal illness and I wouldn’t see Christmas. I wanted to be hooked up to some morphine and left to die.

After six weeks of going between my GP and A&E I was seen by a social worker and admitted to an assessment ward.

In the five weeks I spent with NHS mental health services I saw approximately 19 different doctors and psychiatrists. Each time I had to retell my story. There was no continuity of care.

The first psychiatrist told me I had Munchausen Syndrome. 

I kept asking for a scan to put my mind at rest but was told ‘No, scans are only done when there is a need’ and ‘a scan would only make things worse.’

I never had access to an advocate. I complained to the Trust about this afterwards. They responded I’d been asked did I want an advocate on admission and had declined. I was deemed to have capacity and was never asked again.

I also complained I’d never been given pain killers despite being in severe pain. I was told I’d never had a pain assessment because I was not considered to be in pain.

Eventually I had a CT scan. The results came back within normal range. When I saw the results something in my brain clicked back to safe mode. I was no longer in imminent danger, I was going to be okay. I was going to live. Within a week I was back home.

There was very little support in the community. I was desperate to know why I’d got ill and if I would get ill again. I didn’t feel anyone was interested in my questions or my need to process what happened. I spent the next couple of years writing letters to the Trust and my GP trying to get answers.

Fast forward to November 2025.

I’ve now been an Expert by Experience, supporting CQC inspections, for three years. In this role I’ve spoken to many patients in a wide range of mental health settings. I’ve witnessed Occupational Therapists, Psychologists, Nurses, Support Workers and Psychiatrists deliver patient focussed care. 

I now work in a mental health rehabilitation hospital, working in mental health law and administration. I see my colleagues deliver compassionate care every day. 

To process my experiences I returned to my childhood passion of creative writing and music. I’ve since published five poetry books, a children’s book, a novel and released about twenty songs in collaboration with fellow musicians.

I’ve contributed to research about women’s health and mental health. I was invited to the launch of the NHS Confederation’s report into the economic case for investment in women’s health in October 2024.

In the next couple of years I’m hoping to complete a Master’s. My dissertation will focus on how hormonal health is investigated during admission and treatment in women’s in-patient mental health settings.

In July 2017, ten weeks before my first visit to A&E I’d run out of HRT medication. My GP’s surgery was closed for training and I was advised to call 111. I asked the operator could I get a repeat prescription but was told, in no uncertain terms, absolutely not. The operator told me how irresponsible my GP had been to prescribe me the medication for so long. Alarmed and worried I stopped taking it immediately. I now believe it was the withdrawal from the hormone medication and the anxiety around my health (plus being dismissed by health professionals) which brought on the crisis.

My novel, Compassion-on-Sea, is a fictionalised account of my experience and recovery.