Tales from the Nuthouse: Lest You Think I have a Really Cool Job
 

Tonight's adventure involved a now-sobered-up-enough-to-talk-to drunk. He had actually been hauled in a couple of days ago, but was too drunk to evaluate. He was even too drunk to really haul in ... got picked up at his house and taken to a medical hospital without us even seeing him to make sure he needed to go to medical. What he had been doing was not in any way interesting or spectacular. Threatening to shoot himself "if he had a gun."

Were it not for some ethical and legal issues, I'd be willing to help him out.

Anyway, this drunk has a long history of being a drunk.

During one of his drunken escapades many years ago he suffered injuries that left him a paraplegic. He gets around in a wheelchair, and has tempted several police departments into wanting to issue a DUI as he rolls his way up a four lane highway against the flow of traffic. Unfortunately, they don't ever follow through on this and tend to bring him to my hospital.

So, anyway, he comes in tonight after two days of sobering up in a nice medical bed. I end up dealing with him and listen to his story of distress and woe over some recent losses, including his "little buddy" (a neighbor's dog that died unexpectedly), the Pope, and an ex-girlfriend, his last girlfriend before his injury. He found it necessary to explain how he was "broken" below the waist, and was "no good to a woman any more."

I sincerely doubt that he was much good to a woman before that, frankly.

So, what's the real point of the story here, you might be wondering?

I didn't have any male staff available, and drunken asshole decides that he needs to urinate. This involves some mechanical assistance. He has a catheter which thankfully he is able to insert himself.

I was hoping to just leave him with his tubing and a plastic urinal, but no such luck. The damn thing kept falling over as he tried to get things set up.

So there I was, holding one of those elongated pee-pee bottles, and working very, very hard to maintain eye contact with him as he was shoving a small bore hose through the ureter of his flaccid, nonfunctional unit.

On the upside, I did not get any urine on me.

Ah, come on, wolf! Not so bad! I've done it thousands of times and with working units, to boot! Ya know what's really fun? Scrotal ultrasounds--ya gotta tape the big buddy up and out of the way so you can scan the twins! Fun!

I thought cleaning the "science projects" out of our office refrigerator was bad. You're a bigger woman than I, wolf. I really don't think I could have done that.

That's why wolf is the Woah-man!

I went to school extra so I didn't have to do stuff like this.

I am not a nurse. I respect nurses. (most of them. the ones that aren't dirt stupid, the ones who don't prepare to do something very, very wrong in a medical sense of the word, and preface it with "I'm a nurse and I know." You get this more in older (over 50) psych nurses since they are so far removed from their nursing skills and training you really wouldn't trust them to do a bed bath.)

I had a scrotal ultrasound, and no nurse taped my unit in any way. I feel left out!

Hey wolf:

You mentioned drunk was eventually sufficiently sober to speak, but you did not mention if anywhere in this story he managed to say thank you.

So, on behalf of drunk, thank you.

On behalf of all those who can no longer do for themselves, and who depend on others to help them, thank you for your service, thank you for your compassion. It's a fucked up situation all around, and even though you're the one handling the bodily fluids and parts and endless call buttons and bullshit, the one on the receiving end would swap places with you in a heartbeat.

It sucks to not be able to help one's self anymore, and to have to depend on another this way sucks for everyone, in some way.

So, I want to say thank you.

I dunno. A job where you have to come in any sort of contact with the genitals of a drunken paraplegic warrants hazard pay. Particularly if it's the sort of place where you're likely to have poo thrown at you (or worse). wolf, how do you keep your spirits up around all the whack jobs? I'd be as suicidal as them after awhile.

SHhhhhhhh!

I don't really have an answer to this.

We question ourselves at work a lot ... why are we doing this.

One of the answers is that we have no marketable job skills.

The truth, of course, is that we do, we just don't have personalities that fit well in private industry. I say fuck all too often, don't know how a corporate power structure works, and would probably strangle myself with the bow on my peter pan collar if I ever had to wear a business suit, or even a skirt on a regular basis.

Part of my personal answer is that this seems to be what I was made to do. I had never laid eyes on a live mental patient until I walked into the hospital 13 years ago this June ... but I'm very comfortable with the population, I'm constantly in a position where I have to think creatively, improvise, and figure out how to make the impossible possible.

I don't usually see blood or body fluids, but yeah, when I do, it's a doozy.

There are a lot of people who come in hating me, thinking I'm a bitch, and making some significant death threats against me. Most of them get over it after the med levels rise high enough in their blood. I've had at least one guy try to kill me, but he only succeeded in breaking my hand.

The fact that I came back after that says a lot ... either I love what I'm doing, or I have some massive fucking bills to pay. Okay, both.

My coworkers and I always talk about getting out. Doing something else. One of them went to school for computer repair ... he has quit three times and come back after what he left for failed to work out. My other partner is getting his MBA and dreams of going to work for a real company. I went to graduate school with the intent of honing my expertise in this field. I go to additional training on Suicide, Critical Incident Stress Management, Disaster Response, Weapons of Mass Destruction not because I have to, but because I want to. I don't have a license to maintain. I don't need continuning education credits, but I love this stuff.

Our current "exit plan" is that we'll all quit when the shrink quits ... he has decided that he will retire to Ghana, where he is building a very beautiful house (we've seen pictures) to raise snails and sell them for an obscene profit to the French. We will spend the mornings tending to the snails, making sure they are properly shaded, watered, happy and free of salt, then we will spend the afternoon on the veranda, smoking the finest Ghanian weed, drinking Palm Wine, and being refreshed by the cooling breezes. I will be the Director of Snail Security, and keep the snails safe from banditry.

Unforunately, he won't be retiring right away.

Or one of my favorite variants...

Having to administer enemas to schizophrenics who either:

a) refuse to take a dump or,
b) really like having an enema... :eek:

isn't this just one guy??

I've got to think that's better. I mean, wouldn't the untaping hurt, regardless of who was doing it??

depends...one way to get gum out of hair is to use some vegetable oil. you do the math.

Um. That might be bad for the tech or nurse, but it's REALLY bad for the subject. Well, the taping might not be so bad but removing it.... YEEOWWW.

I think the guy who did the actual scan just held it out of the way, or the nurse held it out of the way. I don't remember, all I remember is that the door to the hall was open and the radiology tech was cracking jokes.

Do you remember any of them? :D

Scrotal ultrasounds? I guess I should have expected that on a thread titled "Tales from the Nuthouse". :cool:

It turned out to be a cyst.

Depends on the day of the week and the celestial alignment.

You mean I'll have to move to Africa in order to get you to be my elder care provider? :mg:

A lot is going to depend on what happens the next time the Ghanian government destablizes ... they're about due. This could cause the plans to change.

I think I know where I can find some tape....

;)

Can you say "hydrocoelectomy"? Actually, it's easy to say, but hard to spell.

Sadly, there are people in the USA right now somewhere who pay a substantial sum of money to anyone willing to do this to them while calling them "babydoll" at the same time.

I wouldn't say I pay a substantial sum....oh wait...nevermind. :smack:

Carry on.

sick , sick puppys ALL !!!!!!!

when I was but a prevert, still a little young for total pervert, I had surgery. IT was a kidney related surgery and I had to check into hospital the first day of summer. My parents were having a pool installed at home that week and I would be unable to swim in it until some time in August. My best friend was flying in and I wouldnot be able to go see him for a while. On top of all this I was in the Naval hospital and since I was still under 18 I had to be in the pediatric ward. Most of my room mates were at least half my age.
My favorite aunt was an RN. For fun at her house I use to read her medical books. one of these was an intro to psych text. At the time I considered that direction for a career.
The reason for this long winded into, at the half way point of my first stay in hospital a doctor walked into my ward and asked to check my surgical batch. He asked if I was in pain. I said no. He asked if I minded the tube running out of my back. I said no. He asked if I was upset my summer was being ruined by this. About this time I became suspisious. Let me add here that my doctor learned quick that even at 14 I understood most of what he told me. I also demanded to be told what he was doing and what meds he gave me. The doctor actually liked it. He was use to adults and it made me easier to deal with. This doctor failed to properly introduce himself. I began to get very derpessed suddenly. I started picking at my blanket and answering in monotone. I refused to look at him. THings like that. My answers to his questions got steadily stranger till he noticed I had changed too quick and asked me in an odd voice "DO you knw why I am here?" I looked him dead in the eyes and said, "Arent you going to ask me how I feel about my mother?" I smiled. The shrink got pissed and walked out. The nurse said he told her he didnt have time to deal with smartass teenagers. He returned the next day and introduced himself as the Ward shrink and that he wanted to talk to me about my stay. I invited him to sit down and after that we had good visits.
No offense Wolf but I often wondered if some psych students dont take it more to help themselves then others. I know I got interested because my whole family is full of nuts.

There are a lot of people in psych who just ain't right ... I've had to deal with some of them too.

I don't take offense to it. I make fun of these people too. Daily. Sometimes to their faces.

And you know you've gotten it right when THEY don't get it.

And thats not counting the cost of the Secret Service's background checks. ;)


*now that could be a Clinton, Bush Sr., or Bush Jr. joke, so I don't need to hear any partisan whining.

Back when I was in high school and working at a nursing home, there was a patient who routinely shit in her dresser drawers. Like every day. There was another woman who liked to roam the hallway naked except for her slippers.

Much admiration goes out to all the people who do those sorts of jobs.

Let's just put it this way ... last night I was asked "Would you believe me if I told you I didn't want to hurt you?" by a woman who started her interview by announcing, "I'm not wearing any underwear." I, of course, responded "Yes, I believe you" before asking "Do you want to hurt me?" "Yes, I want to bop you on the head." Tonight I had to deal with a man whose aliens are stuck in poop. His own poop appeared to be stuck on the tail of his polo shirt. A different patient who had slashed his wrists and neck was sent to the ER just to get a tetanus shot. He walked away. Hasn't been seen since. Hopefully the Schuylkill is running high and he won't be found until spring and we won't be held responsible by his family. Two nights this week I had to ride herd on "doc-in-a-box" (a part time shrink whose medicine is really bad, so I have to review labs before I hand them off for medical clearance to make sure he doesn't accept someone who is about to die).

To top it all off, I wrote three sets of commitment papers myself, qualifying for a hat-trick (so far two of the three signed themselves in, so mine are only to be used in case they try to sign out ... I typically have to do this three times a year, if that).

Oh, and I intimidated a man with my mere presence.

Marichiko and I can do that too :D
(Don't try to catch us)

You do that to me all the time. That's what weak knees and palpitations mean, right? :angel:

Heheheheheheheheh!

Just ask the ax murderer! I'd love to tag team him with you Tonchi! I have the man whimpering at this point! I confronted him with his sex offender conviction (a copy of which was obtained for me by a paralegal friend), and he has since been repaying me my money as meek as a lamb.

Then the final revenge!

He writes me the last check and I casually mention that I expect to become a Swiss heiress to the tune of 5 million euro's in the next 6 to 8 months. Now, this is an incredible long shot, and the amount wouldn't be that high even if it DOES come through, but the ax murderer doesn't need to know this.

"Think of me in Zurich when you are pulling weeds next summer" (did I mention that he ran off with a woman who owns her own gardening business?), I sez. "I won't be thinking of YOU!" His face goes white at the thought of the "prize" he let slip through his greedy little fingers.

"Wait! Can't we still be friends?" he hollers after me as I get in my car to drive away.

"Should of thought of that 6 months ago, pal. Sorry, you lose!" I yell out my car window and then drive away leaving him standing in my exhaust fumes.

Best laugh I've had in months! :lol:

Which one of your guns is named "mere presence", again?

Well, if you do, the next Cellar party's at your house.

You're on! In the unlikely event that I DO become an heiress, the drinks are on me and you're ALL invited - even LJ! ;)

(in my best shrink voice)

Tell me about keeping snails free of salt. What comes up? What surfaces?

Let them work it out themselves. :D

I missed this! Kick ass!

I think you should make the info known to everyone in sight once he's paid you off.

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH, Patrick!

The very best part is that I don't have to let ANYONE know, personally. I have been working through this entire sorry experience with my therapist when a couple of weeks back she stopped me cold.

"Wait!" she exclaims, "You mean you have a copy of the actual court paper work and conviction from the county? This is just not hear-say stuff?"

I was rather surprised. "Why, yes, I do," I said. "Its not hear-say. I have the paperwork stamped ______ County Court. Found guilty as charged in a trial by jury."

My therapist gets a concerned, official look on her face. "Then according to the professional code of ethics, I am required to warn anyone who might have a minor child below the age of 18 in the household in which he resides. Will you please bring in those papers when you come for your next session?"

No problemo! Am I going to withhold documents which are a matter of public record, anyhow, and possibly be indirectly responsible for some tiny child having God knows what experience at the ax murderer's hands?

Three guesses, and the first two don't count! That sleeze! Like I'd stay quiet to protect HIM over some innocent little kid. Nice try! :mad:

PS I might be needing that spell for protection you mentioned a while back...

We'll work it up asap...

Meanwhile, stick it to the SOB, and stick with the therapy. It can be wonderfully effective with a willilng subject

Phone call tonight:

Timid Woman: How do I check someone in who isn't me?

Male Voice In Background: BITCH, HANG UP THE PHONE!

wolf: You need to call 911.

What, no "Merry Christmas"?

This is a stressful time of year. At least, at my house it is.

I am hoping that was a prank phone call because it's very funny in text.

If it's for real then you need a new phone number.

No, that wasn't a prank.

I seriously can't read about your job withough visions of Jack Nicholson dancing through my head, accompanied by Ken Kesey sketches.

Good 'Ol R.P. McMurphy...

An unlisted number for the nuthouse? :right:

Don't let Hollywood fill in the blanks in your experience...things you can't relate to. They lie...everytime....they lie.;)

"Medication time, gentlemen, medication time"

Hopefully, she wasn't alone.

Maybe she'd been better off if she was . . .

While we are well past the thorazine, shock treatment, and straightjacket days of inpatient psychiatry, there are a lot of grains of truth in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, just not all in one place, or all in one (or a few) days. I think the descriptions of the Chief's internal experience of the external world is probably one of the best descriptions of the inside of schizophrenia looking out in fiction. There are control-freak nurses in psychiatry, although most of them figure out that they're not getting much success out of trying to boss around a bunch of crazy people, and move on to some other kind of nursing, like long term care (the PC term for nursing homes).

Ever have one of those days? Okay, I'll admit that my one of those days tend to be a little more over the top ...

My day started with finding out that I had no water. None, nary a drop, coming out of the faucets anyway. I have plenty of bottled water, and made a supplementary trip to the supermarket just in case. This, however, meant no coffee at Chez Wolf this morning. It also meant no shower. Apparently the hot water heater in my building went kaflooey, and there's no estimate as far as when it will be fixed.

Okay, I can deal. I have enough waterless handwash and wetnaps to clean an army, or at least a kindergarten field trip.

So, off to work I go, foolishly choosing not to buy coffee on the way in to work, since I'm running a wee bit late. I figured I'd brew up once I got into the office and got shift report.

Yeah right. It's a madhouse. Struggle through shift report by drinking leftover dayshift coffee. As near as I can figure, it was made at about 1300, so it's past the margin of drinkability. Add honey, I can use the sugar. It's visiting night and it's my turn to be at the window. First two visitors get turned away because they don't meet criteria for visitation. They took it surprisingly well. Okay, so far, so ... oh, no it's not. Police arrive with crazy guy who refuses to talk to crisis worker and doctor. That actually makes things easier because he's totally nuts, and we know him pretty well. Internet goes down. Annoying, but not a big deal but ... crap ... whole network is now down, can't print, can't get to medical records system, or to the prescribing software, computer guy trying to figure out what happened ... whoops, swapped out some cables and forgot to plug the critical one back in? great ... no, still doesn't solve the problem. System eventually begins working, I suspect he turned off the switch that's labelled "Do not turn off this switch." Phone rings ... another police department on the way in with some dumbass who failed in his attempt to shoplift at the mall, he tried ramming his head into the cell toilet at the station. Okay, pretty run of the mill ... they show up, doctor sees him, decides to keep him in the hospital, is back in the office doing the paperwork ... I'm coming into the office from the front porch and I hear a ruckus in the lobby, another patient (the dude with one leg who smuggles drugs and matches in his prosthesis) is yelling, "Hey, we need some help out here!!" Not good. Dash through office screaming, "there's something going on in the lobby," followed (luckily) by hefty male crisis worker, to find toilet boy hanging by his bright green shoelaces from the handle of the interview room door. Big guy grips him up both to take the pressure off his neck and to keep him from trying to grab my knife as I cut him down off the door handle. Good save, offered thanks several times to the one-legged drug smuggler.

Have to offer supportive counselling to the other patients waiting in the lobby to see the doctor.

Fill out extra paperwork related to incident and staple bag containing bright green shoelaces to the report. Worry about whether bright green shoelace incident will have negative impact on boss' promise that we would receive congratulatory pizza for 100% compliance on maintaining one-on-one supervision for all patients placed in seclusion and/or restraints for the last seven months. We are very concerned about the free pizza. We do not get much in the way of bonuses.

Banter with client who has been waiting 5 hours to see the doctor so that she doesn't get any ideas similar to that of bright green shoelace dude.

Get home to find out that I have water, but only of the cold variety. Fill coffee maker reservoir to avoid any possible caffeine emergency in the AM. Consider options ... need to shower outweighs possible discomfort, given that plumbers are supposed to be back tomorrow, uncertain if there will be even cold water. Take extraordinarily quick shower while chanting "Think Warm Thoughts," which doesn't really work. Nipples hard enough to cut diamonds (yeah, TMI, but Elspode needs a little thrill every now and again).

Why would anybody choose bright green shoelaces?

green is supposed to be a calming colour?

I think that would be more of a pastelish, lime-sherbet green for calming.

These were majorly bright green.

Well maybe he wanted to give you something to think about for a while? ;)

They're crazy?

What are you basing that on? ;)

This thread already has enough material for a book wolf, time to get cracking.

I always thought those were the best kind of nipples.

/s/UG of the nice sensitive ones