Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Psych Trek: The Journey Home
You'll be pleased to know that today was, in fact, my last day of the semester's classes. And even if you aren't all that pleased, or hell, even really care at all about my academic calender, I'm freaking ecstatic. And though the semester was long and painfully exhausting, I'm happy to report that it ended on a strangely high note, or more honestly, just a strange note.
Yesterday was the last day of my psych rotation -- and coincidentally, my birthday. And what I learned yesterday was that there are some gifts that you just can't wrap.
I arrived on the unit around 6AM and waited at the glass doors to be let in by one of the nurses. (It's a locked unit). As I waited, I looked in and saw the elderly gentlemen I mentioned last week -- the one who would stop crying when he held hands with me. He was sitting in the main lobby with another client. When he saw me, his face lit up and he began waving. I happily waved back. He smiled his wonderful denture-less smile at me and stood up. And that's when I stopped waving. Love him the most, but the man was naked from the waist down. Happy Birthday to me!
Later I was caring for a patient who is an honest-to-God, textbook psychotic (and thankfully he remained clothed). In all seriousness, I have never met a person who was completely vacant behind their eyes -- he, though interactive, was cold, unattached and essentially lifeless. It was creepy, at best, and I think I'd remember his empty stare for the rest of my life. But, to turn a frown upside down, I had asked him why he was there at the hospital (it's a pretty standard, approved and acceptable conversation starter). He replied, "The haters." I'm thinking - this is a man who knows about 'haters' which just might be my most favorite and overused word. He may be psychotic, but he's got one thing right. The proverbial 'haters' always want the proverbial 'you' to be in the proverbial 'here'. Would it be un-therapeutic to remind him that as Bono says, "Don't let the bastards drive you down." I refrain.
It was as if the psych ward was just the birthday gift that kept on giving. In a moment of my own mental retardation, I piped into a conversation with a hispanic patient. Well, it was hardly a conversation. It was more like the therapist asking him questions at the top of her lungs because she functions on the "You'll suddenly comprehend English if it's at a loud enough volume" mindset. I asked him how he was, in Spanish, and then promptly forgot every other Spanish word Sra. Via ever taught me in highschool. Worse yet, dude was so pleased to have a translator that he followed me around the unit for the rest of the day tugging on my sleeve and twittering wildly in Spanish about something. Or many things, really, I don't know. I really couldn't tell you what that something was. Our interactions consisted of his very long strings of words I didn't know and me saying, "Lo siento! No comprendo." Fue awesome.
Shortly before we left for the day (and for good), we all attended the group exercise/activity therapy. [Sidebar: When it was my turn to lead the group exercise, I went against my first thought to have them all run a 10 miler, going with, instead, my famous and trademarked "Butt Dance". I had the entire ward of psych patients doing my "Butt Dance". It was a moment of sheer pride for me.] The therapist passed around a large book of CDs and asked each of us to pick a song that she'd play and we'd all group-exercise to. Mr. No-Pants and I selected the Stevie Wonder CD, Mr. No-Hablo-Ingles gusta la musica y chose a nice salsa album and the way-elderly man on the unit picked the Boyz-2-Men CD, and more specifically, "Motown Philly" (not too hard, not too strong.. Boys-2-Men, goin' on... I'll stop now cause it's in your head for the rest of the day..). There is really no textbook answer on how to react to the oldest man you've ever seen, who is also on a psych unit, when he picks a CD you probably wore out in the 8th grade (or else just the tape single) but haven't given much thought to since then (unless "End of the Road" comes on the radio every so rarely, but you hear it, leave it on and sing along because you know all the words (sung and spoken) until by the end of the song you're weeping with the angst of your 8th grade unrequited love who you would secretly whisper the words to and hope that he'd fall deeply and madly in love with your totally sweet 8th grade self who sometimes wore koolots...... Oh.. was that just me?). Moving on!
I find it kind of sad that the last day of the psychiatric rotation is the only day we really got the full gamet of psychiatric patients. Life's tough. In any case, I'm pleased to have it behind me.
Later that evening, BFF and the Betrothed took me to a steak house for dinner. The choice was made primarily because BFF was led to believe that instead of singing 'Happy Birthday' to me, they'd, instead, have some chorus or other that involved yelling, "Yee Haw". Oh, how delighted she really was when it turned out she got her chorus of "Yee Haw" whilist I sat on a saddle that was affixed to a saw-horse on wheels (as to embarass people with a little more rolling power). She and the Betrothed enjoyed themselves so much at my expense and laughed so hard that I'm pretty sure a little pee came out of at least one of them.
And so, I am meant to leave you for a charming winter weekend in Oglebay, West Virginia with the future-in-laws to enjoy Christmas lights, early Christmas presents and warm hearths (but to secrely study and read textbooks) before I come back to my exams next week.
Yesterday was the last day of my psych rotation -- and coincidentally, my birthday. And what I learned yesterday was that there are some gifts that you just can't wrap.
I arrived on the unit around 6AM and waited at the glass doors to be let in by one of the nurses. (It's a locked unit). As I waited, I looked in and saw the elderly gentlemen I mentioned last week -- the one who would stop crying when he held hands with me. He was sitting in the main lobby with another client. When he saw me, his face lit up and he began waving. I happily waved back. He smiled his wonderful denture-less smile at me and stood up. And that's when I stopped waving. Love him the most, but the man was naked from the waist down. Happy Birthday to me!
Later I was caring for a patient who is an honest-to-God, textbook psychotic (and thankfully he remained clothed). In all seriousness, I have never met a person who was completely vacant behind their eyes -- he, though interactive, was cold, unattached and essentially lifeless. It was creepy, at best, and I think I'd remember his empty stare for the rest of my life. But, to turn a frown upside down, I had asked him why he was there at the hospital (it's a pretty standard, approved and acceptable conversation starter). He replied, "The haters." I'm thinking - this is a man who knows about 'haters' which just might be my most favorite and overused word. He may be psychotic, but he's got one thing right. The proverbial 'haters' always want the proverbial 'you' to be in the proverbial 'here'. Would it be un-therapeutic to remind him that as Bono says, "Don't let the bastards drive you down." I refrain.
It was as if the psych ward was just the birthday gift that kept on giving. In a moment of my own mental retardation, I piped into a conversation with a hispanic patient. Well, it was hardly a conversation. It was more like the therapist asking him questions at the top of her lungs because she functions on the "You'll suddenly comprehend English if it's at a loud enough volume" mindset. I asked him how he was, in Spanish, and then promptly forgot every other Spanish word Sra. Via ever taught me in highschool. Worse yet, dude was so pleased to have a translator that he followed me around the unit for the rest of the day tugging on my sleeve and twittering wildly in Spanish about something. Or many things, really, I don't know. I really couldn't tell you what that something was. Our interactions consisted of his very long strings of words I didn't know and me saying, "Lo siento! No comprendo." Fue awesome.
Shortly before we left for the day (and for good), we all attended the group exercise/activity therapy. [Sidebar: When it was my turn to lead the group exercise, I went against my first thought to have them all run a 10 miler, going with, instead, my famous and trademarked "Butt Dance". I had the entire ward of psych patients doing my "Butt Dance". It was a moment of sheer pride for me.] The therapist passed around a large book of CDs and asked each of us to pick a song that she'd play and we'd all group-exercise to. Mr. No-Pants and I selected the Stevie Wonder CD, Mr. No-Hablo-Ingles gusta la musica y chose a nice salsa album and the way-elderly man on the unit picked the Boyz-2-Men CD, and more specifically, "Motown Philly" (not too hard, not too strong.. Boys-2-Men, goin' on... I'll stop now cause it's in your head for the rest of the day..). There is really no textbook answer on how to react to the oldest man you've ever seen, who is also on a psych unit, when he picks a CD you probably wore out in the 8th grade (or else just the tape single) but haven't given much thought to since then (unless "End of the Road" comes on the radio every so rarely, but you hear it, leave it on and sing along because you know all the words (sung and spoken) until by the end of the song you're weeping with the angst of your 8th grade unrequited love who you would secretly whisper the words to and hope that he'd fall deeply and madly in love with your totally sweet 8th grade self who sometimes wore koolots...... Oh.. was that just me?). Moving on!
I find it kind of sad that the last day of the psychiatric rotation is the only day we really got the full gamet of psychiatric patients. Life's tough. In any case, I'm pleased to have it behind me.
Later that evening, BFF and the Betrothed took me to a steak house for dinner. The choice was made primarily because BFF was led to believe that instead of singing 'Happy Birthday' to me, they'd, instead, have some chorus or other that involved yelling, "Yee Haw". Oh, how delighted she really was when it turned out she got her chorus of "Yee Haw" whilist I sat on a saddle that was affixed to a saw-horse on wheels (as to embarass people with a little more rolling power). She and the Betrothed enjoyed themselves so much at my expense and laughed so hard that I'm pretty sure a little pee came out of at least one of them.
And so, I am meant to leave you for a charming winter weekend in Oglebay, West Virginia with the future-in-laws to enjoy Christmas lights, early Christmas presents and warm hearths (but to secrely study and read textbooks) before I come back to my exams next week.
# posted by Cathy @ 10:57:00 PM 
