One of the saddest cases I ever saw at my hospital was an elderly gentleman who was characterized as "confused" because he had consumed an entire bottle of rubbing alcohol, presumably in a search for something to slake a middle-of-the-night thirst. It wasn't long before we learned that this poor man had just lost his wife of some 60 years and was on his own for the first time in his life. His grown children were scattered around the country, and seldom spoke with him even by telephone.
This, of course, only isolated the man further; gentle questioning proved quickly that he was sharp as a tack, but very, very depressed. He had drunk the isopropyl on a sudden impulse, thinking it would be enough to kill him. Well, what it did was alienate his children, who refused to care for a father who was "mentally unstable", and bring him to the attention of the social worker, who made arrangements for him to go to an assisted-living facility upon discharge. I felt so bad for this grave, dignified gentleman.........all he wanted was to be with his wife, or failing that, to have his children pay some attention to him.
I heard sometime later that he wasn't doing well at the ALF, and then he made another more serious suicide attempt which landed him back in the hospital. I took care of him a couple of times, and he told me privately that he didn't want the antidepressants and anxiolytics they were giving him, but he was taking them because "the kids" would put him in "the nuthouse" if he refused them. His worst fears were realized anyway, as he was transferred to the geropsych unit at the state hospital once he was medically stable. Never did hear what became of him after that, but I wonder about him from time to time and find myself hoping he's with Mary now.
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