The rage tonight has to do with a woman who died on a hospital floor in Brooklyn, I think. I'm not sure of the town. Somewhere in NYC. The woman lies on the floor in the waiting room for a time and finally, a nurse shows up. Th nurse is on record kicking or nudging the body with her foot efore she realizes the woman is unresponsive. I've heard descriptions of the video and thus far, have seen snippets, but I have yet to see the entire thing.
A few points come to mindbefore I view it and I reserve the right to change my mind after viewing the whole tape. I just do.
What comes to mind:
1.) It's a city hospital E.R. High volume and large homeless population should immediately come into play. The homeless are used to sleeping on the floor.
2.) The woman is dressed in a nightgown. That would indicate that she came after or around the time she was ready for bed.
3.) She lays on the floor which is surprisingly common. Night shift, nightgown, city ER and lieing on the floor.
4.) We have no idea what she went to the hospital for in the first place, although there's discussion that it was for some unknown psychiatric reason.
5.) Way too often, people show up in the ED for dumb shit while they're high or drunk and it's not uncommon for them to fall asleep. It's more comfortable doing that while in an air conditioned waiting room than it would be on a park bench in the muggy outside air. The kicking or nudging might seem over the top but maybe not if the person stunk like an animal or maybe urine and feces.
6.) Despite the fact it's not necessarily "professional", it's basically human. Someone on the floor, semingly asleep or unconscious - it's not outside the realm of possibilities that she would get a "kick" to the legs, that is having someone use their foot to shake the person on the floor rather than bending at the knees to shake them.
Anyway, I need to see the whole clip and after I do, I can make a much more informed opinion on the whole situation. It seems like I always do.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FOCpOZ4txvs
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Dawning of a New Age
7-1-08 - New residents. I gave the orientation speech today to a sea of new faces. The orientation is from the nursing perspective, naturally and the fresh, clean, eagerly anticipating faces stare, jot notes and wait for something pertinent. They're eager to do the work ahead. The excitement is palpable and it's refreshing, in a way. Frustrating in another. Always a round of new folk to be introduced to the same, old routine and it brings a fresh atmosphere into the mix. It's also repetitive, a little boring and unfortunately played out to some degree. After all, the APS is in a constant state of orientation at its worst and sometimes, it's just plain tiresome - even though the latter parts of what I just said are generated from within the pessimist in me. And it's that pessimist who sees a drug seeker in every anxiety-ridden kid and a personality disorder in every poor bastard who come in and really doesn't know quite how to express him or herself.
Although, now I'm not being fair to myself. I'm a bit more aware of what's going on than what those last, few sentences make it seem. I've been doing this long enough to assess who and what is before me and to admit I'm wrong when I am.
They all look so young, all the new residents. All the new docs look like kids. It really is a sign of how I'm aging. Kids in medical school actually look like kids. Seriously, when you get right down to it, that's pretty fucked up from where I sit.
Although, now I'm not being fair to myself. I'm a bit more aware of what's going on than what those last, few sentences make it seem. I've been doing this long enough to assess who and what is before me and to admit I'm wrong when I am.
They all look so young, all the new residents. All the new docs look like kids. It really is a sign of how I'm aging. Kids in medical school actually look like kids. Seriously, when you get right down to it, that's pretty fucked up from where I sit.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Intro. Needed
- Grew up shy, pretty humble overall and not liking or appreciating any attention. Made me uncomfortable. I was big then, with rolls of fat and man-tits.
- High school. Lost a ton of weight in a very unhealthy way taking Dexatrim. Kept a journal of what I ate, always wanting to go lower and lower with my calorie count. Bottomed out around 350 calories per day and stayed there for about 2 weeks. I think the crash diet encompassed about 3 and a half weeks total. I remember being light-headed and on the verge of passing out just about every day. I was a sophomore in high school.
One thing that stands out as food during that time - 1 slice of bread and 1 slice of salami for lunch at school. I think i also used to eat a small can of tuna in water and sometimes a Dannon yogurt. I have no idea how many calories that equals right now but it isn't much. Breakfast was cottage cheese. I would weigh the amount and can't remember what was acceptable. Sometimes I would put raisins on it and sometimes I wouldn't. Sometimes it would be garden style cottage cheeseand have tiny, hard chunks of vegetable in it, sometimes pineapples. I think dinner was a little of whatever was served for the night or nothing at all. I don't remember dinner being anything special. I only really remember breakfast and lunch. And throughout this whole time, I would hit the weights at night at home.
- There was a time at a school play, I think it was 8th grade, where I was hanging out with my best friend. I was 13 or 14 at the time, a couple of years before I lost the weight. My friend had boasted to me several times bout the girls he'd kissed and to date, I had not locked lips with anyone.
We were at the school play and running around inside the school, running for some reason, whatever it was. I can't remember. There probably wasn't even a reason. I was running because my best friend was running and he was running mainly because it was important to BE running, for some reason from nowhere to nowhere, I imagine.
Rick ran. I ran. It was Beta trailing Alpha.
The reason this sticks out in my mind is because we ran by a cluster of girls that night, one of which I was enamored with. She was, as far as I was concerned, the girl upon which all other girls had to measurethemselves. she was, to me, proof that heaven and earth did indeed merge in small doses, that God would triumph over the devil, that THE reason to live trumped a pointedly vapid existence, even though I have no idea what that means.
Anyway, one time when we ran by them (I guess we were really just running in circles around the gymnasium), I thought they called out to me, that SHE called out to me.
"Hey!", she said and I stopped running to face her. Rick kept running, oblivious to the amazing thing that had just happened to me and I felt some pressure to keep up with him, running to points unknown because he was my best friend and that's what best friends do. Apparently, she was pretty oblivious to the incredible thing that had just happened to me also, that of her calling out to me, because it took a moment for her eyes to lock onto mine and at that moment, I had to let her know how I felt, had to let her know how captivating she was, how enchanting and I had to do it quick because Rick was getting away, running farther with each passing second and even though I could have cut across the gym to catch up with him, it seemed so incredibly important to follow suit, mainly because that's what you did at 13 with your best friend, even though she was now staring at me and I was staring at her and my heart was thumping beneath my man-tits and fat rolls, I did what any sophisticated, suave and sultry seductor would do - I lifted my fist into the air sideways and extended my thumb upwards, a la Fonzie. Not nearly enough to show my attraction, I coupled it with a stern expression so she would understand the depth of attraction and why I stopped in the midst of my... what? Mission? Outing? Running? I still don't know what we were doing. Something serious. Running after my friendwho had now put a decent distance between us, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I'd stopped.
There are very few things in life where one's idiocy becomes glaringly obvious to the point where it should be displayed on a billboard, just to complete the massive thundering into oblivion of one's ego. This was one of those times. For me.
My friend was gone. I'd just given the girl of my every fantasy the Fonzie sign and I watched with a sinking sensation in my gut as she first looked shocked, as though a small electrical charge suddenly jolted her and then turned as if in slow motion toward the friend to her side. It dawned on me then that what i'd aken for a locking of the eyes was nothing more than a mistake and that her friend had a look on her face like she'd just tasted something foul. And then it started. They laughed. They laughed so hard.
She hadn't called to me, probably hadn't even noticed me running blindly to and fro, aside from the fact my fat was no doubt bouncing hither and yon. and now she was laughing, at me. Her friend was laughing at me too. We were no longer meeting eyes, there was no connection and it was perfectly clear. I was a fat kid with boy-tits and I was a fuckin' dork. There was nothing to offer in this early stage of sexual attraction other than a dart board and she'd hit the bullseye.
I made the decision to not be fat anymore prettyy soon after that.
Altogether, I lost close to 40 pounds in just under a month. Also, during all of this, I was hitting the weights, like I said before and when i finally decided to quit the starvation diet that was dropping chunks of fat from my frame, I was ripped and buff and believed I was ready to start my life anew, despite the fact I'd been damaged in a way that carries through sometimes even today.
-----------------------------------------------
I guess this was my earliest memory of getting "shot down", even though I wasn't really shot down. It was more like I stood there and pulled a gun on myself.
Dork.
- High school. Lost a ton of weight in a very unhealthy way taking Dexatrim. Kept a journal of what I ate, always wanting to go lower and lower with my calorie count. Bottomed out around 350 calories per day and stayed there for about 2 weeks. I think the crash diet encompassed about 3 and a half weeks total. I remember being light-headed and on the verge of passing out just about every day. I was a sophomore in high school.
One thing that stands out as food during that time - 1 slice of bread and 1 slice of salami for lunch at school. I think i also used to eat a small can of tuna in water and sometimes a Dannon yogurt. I have no idea how many calories that equals right now but it isn't much. Breakfast was cottage cheese. I would weigh the amount and can't remember what was acceptable. Sometimes I would put raisins on it and sometimes I wouldn't. Sometimes it would be garden style cottage cheeseand have tiny, hard chunks of vegetable in it, sometimes pineapples. I think dinner was a little of whatever was served for the night or nothing at all. I don't remember dinner being anything special. I only really remember breakfast and lunch. And throughout this whole time, I would hit the weights at night at home.
- There was a time at a school play, I think it was 8th grade, where I was hanging out with my best friend. I was 13 or 14 at the time, a couple of years before I lost the weight. My friend had boasted to me several times bout the girls he'd kissed and to date, I had not locked lips with anyone.
We were at the school play and running around inside the school, running for some reason, whatever it was. I can't remember. There probably wasn't even a reason. I was running because my best friend was running and he was running mainly because it was important to BE running, for some reason from nowhere to nowhere, I imagine.
Rick ran. I ran. It was Beta trailing Alpha.
The reason this sticks out in my mind is because we ran by a cluster of girls that night, one of which I was enamored with. She was, as far as I was concerned, the girl upon which all other girls had to measurethemselves. she was, to me, proof that heaven and earth did indeed merge in small doses, that God would triumph over the devil, that THE reason to live trumped a pointedly vapid existence, even though I have no idea what that means.
Anyway, one time when we ran by them (I guess we were really just running in circles around the gymnasium), I thought they called out to me, that SHE called out to me.
"Hey!", she said and I stopped running to face her. Rick kept running, oblivious to the amazing thing that had just happened to me and I felt some pressure to keep up with him, running to points unknown because he was my best friend and that's what best friends do. Apparently, she was pretty oblivious to the incredible thing that had just happened to me also, that of her calling out to me, because it took a moment for her eyes to lock onto mine and at that moment, I had to let her know how I felt, had to let her know how captivating she was, how enchanting and I had to do it quick because Rick was getting away, running farther with each passing second and even though I could have cut across the gym to catch up with him, it seemed so incredibly important to follow suit, mainly because that's what you did at 13 with your best friend, even though she was now staring at me and I was staring at her and my heart was thumping beneath my man-tits and fat rolls, I did what any sophisticated, suave and sultry seductor would do - I lifted my fist into the air sideways and extended my thumb upwards, a la Fonzie. Not nearly enough to show my attraction, I coupled it with a stern expression so she would understand the depth of attraction and why I stopped in the midst of my... what? Mission? Outing? Running? I still don't know what we were doing. Something serious. Running after my friendwho had now put a decent distance between us, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I'd stopped.
There are very few things in life where one's idiocy becomes glaringly obvious to the point where it should be displayed on a billboard, just to complete the massive thundering into oblivion of one's ego. This was one of those times. For me.
My friend was gone. I'd just given the girl of my every fantasy the Fonzie sign and I watched with a sinking sensation in my gut as she first looked shocked, as though a small electrical charge suddenly jolted her and then turned as if in slow motion toward the friend to her side. It dawned on me then that what i'd aken for a locking of the eyes was nothing more than a mistake and that her friend had a look on her face like she'd just tasted something foul. And then it started. They laughed. They laughed so hard.
She hadn't called to me, probably hadn't even noticed me running blindly to and fro, aside from the fact my fat was no doubt bouncing hither and yon. and now she was laughing, at me. Her friend was laughing at me too. We were no longer meeting eyes, there was no connection and it was perfectly clear. I was a fat kid with boy-tits and I was a fuckin' dork. There was nothing to offer in this early stage of sexual attraction other than a dart board and she'd hit the bullseye.
I made the decision to not be fat anymore prettyy soon after that.
Altogether, I lost close to 40 pounds in just under a month. Also, during all of this, I was hitting the weights, like I said before and when i finally decided to quit the starvation diet that was dropping chunks of fat from my frame, I was ripped and buff and believed I was ready to start my life anew, despite the fact I'd been damaged in a way that carries through sometimes even today.
-----------------------------------------------
I guess this was my earliest memory of getting "shot down", even though I wasn't really shot down. It was more like I stood there and pulled a gun on myself.
Dork.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
39
So this is it - 39. I turned 39 about 15 minutes ago. This is my final year in my 30's and I suppose if I'm able to take the tme with this, it'll be fair for me to chronicle my time up to the age of 40. What would be the reason, overall aside from my desire to continue writing, no matter what?
1.) Info. for my kids about what I do every day after I leave the house.
2.) A way for Trish to get the same information.
3.) Introspection. A necessary piece of growth that could potentially provide an interactive aspect since others would be able to comment. If they do, that could help with entries.
4.) I, like everyone else, feel as though I am an ultinmate human. I shouldn't die. I'm important. And it's all bullshit. I need to discuss this to settle this ridiculous feeling inside my own head, come back down to earth and come to terms with the fact I'm just a sack of carbon like everyone else.
5.) My profession is fucked up. It'll help to open up bout it.
6.) The way my profession has progressed is important, actually. People really are affected by it, when push comes to shove.
7.) I'm a fuckin' schlub.
8.) The people I meet. That'll all come out over the next year.
-----------------------------------
I wrote this at the bar in Foxboro the night my age tripped over from 38 to 39 and thusly, this blog was born. I didn't celebrate my birthday at home. Such is life and has been for quite a while. Just making sure that little piece of the pie isn't lost amongst the stupidity scribbled above. :)~
1.) Info. for my kids about what I do every day after I leave the house.
2.) A way for Trish to get the same information.
3.) Introspection. A necessary piece of growth that could potentially provide an interactive aspect since others would be able to comment. If they do, that could help with entries.
4.) I, like everyone else, feel as though I am an ultinmate human. I shouldn't die. I'm important. And it's all bullshit. I need to discuss this to settle this ridiculous feeling inside my own head, come back down to earth and come to terms with the fact I'm just a sack of carbon like everyone else.
5.) My profession is fucked up. It'll help to open up bout it.
6.) The way my profession has progressed is important, actually. People really are affected by it, when push comes to shove.
7.) I'm a fuckin' schlub.
8.) The people I meet. That'll all come out over the next year.
-----------------------------------
I wrote this at the bar in Foxboro the night my age tripped over from 38 to 39 and thusly, this blog was born. I didn't celebrate my birthday at home. Such is life and has been for quite a while. Just making sure that little piece of the pie isn't lost amongst the stupidity scribbled above. :)~
Monday, July 5, 2010
Randoms...
1.) Charming fellow, quite easily manipulates those around him to fulfill basic wishes, even if they go above and beyond basic prison allowances. Such a feat is not extraordinary. It is, in fact, aligned with what is to be expected from Subject X. He is a charming and seductive fellow and it is for this reason he should be quarantined from general population.
2.) Sexual fantasy, of course. Bound, gagged with a firm hand pressed against the windpipe. Choking, eyes bulging, feeling the vagina muscles spasming or perhaps the warm gush of urine as she slips out of consciousness. Love, right? It's love, isn't it? They all said yes. Every single one of them. When I got to the point where their life hangs on a thread, they loved me. They would do anything for me. And yes, that's what happened with my mother. But forget her. Those girls loved me. I figured out how to make that happen.
3.) There's a mouse in the shelter. I saw it last night while my sister slept and although I wondered whether or not to kill it initially, I now have to be realistic about it. Realistically, the world is destroyed. Realistically, a mouse can be a pet. Realistically, not much food is needed and realistically, I have nowhere to put a dead mouse body. I don't want to smell it. Not ever.
4.) Traveling around, visiting new places. Of course that's fun. It's exciting. But it's always comfortable, always nice when you come home to a place where you know the sights, the sounds. aybe the smell. Familiar faces. The smile when you pull a seat up at the bar - not a smile just because you're a patron but a smile because of who YOU are, your history in the place. A smile because the bartender knows you're going to be respectful and polite and leave a decent tip. That's the smile I'm talking about. Yeah, it makes coming home that much sweeter. It makes life itself seem just a bit more clear and understandable.
5.) So 40 is just around the block. I have but 1 more year to reflect upon the past and prepare for life on the other side of the hump. Maybe I should start a blog and market it as best I'm able through BB.com and especially the Misc. Important piece though is to make sure to mention fairly often that I have pieces of the blog / my life and reflections set aside as private. If it takes off, that could work in my favor regarding leverage with an attempt to publish. Humor may not be my thing. I should explore all avenues. It's not really fair to pigeon-hole myself before I've had a chance to really test the water. This is a chance, a true chance to challenge and possibly redefine myself. Mark Dirschel does not have to be a horror / thriller writer just because he always has been or rather just because he's always defined himself as such. There's a whole world open to that aspect of my writing with being a husband, a father, a psych nurse at MGH, etc. as well as being fairly well-versed at life online. I've got enough of a vague following to actually try what I just outlined and see where it takes me.
6.) I remember several instances of violence in the beginning of my career - stuff that essentially helped to define the field I was getting into, had gotten into and planned to continue working in.
Two I remember:
a.) Drunken mother-fucker who was throwing a wheelchair on the entrance ramp at Mountainside Hospital. I went out to deal with him and was confronted by a leather jacket wearing fool who chanted over and over, "I'm too strong!". He'd almost hit an old woman with the wheelchair he threw so taunted him until he came at me and when he did, I took him down hard at the ER entrance. He managed to get a handful of my hair and tore it out, something I didn't realize until later, whikle I held him on the floor and he struggled to get up. Luckily for me, since security at the time had no way of helping - it consisted of a single, 70 + year old man - someone had the wherewithal to call the police. The cop who responded was named Shawn and I vividly remember seeing the sliding doors open, Shawn coming through the doors, going airborn and landing on the kid with a knee to the back while I held him down - with difficulty. The kid was strong but I was stronger. When Shawn hit him, though it took the fight right out of him and he went limp. Later that night, he was put into leather restraints and wound up pissing all over himself. We let him walk home that way basically because he was such a fuckin' dick.
b.) Dude who'd been walking for God knows how long, seen in the ER by me and the psychiatrist and ultimately admitted to the unit with all his angry bullshit and tough talk. The unit would have been 2B, the place I got my first job ever in psychiatry. The nurse that night was a woman, a regular and I think she might have been the only person on the unit when I brought him up with a security officer. She was Korean, a mom in her 40's, hot as hell with huge tits which was odd for a Korean but whatever. I liked her. She was fun and kind and always polite.
When we got to the floor, we set him up in the quite room because of his anger. He wouldn't let it go and I could see that the nurse was a bit nervous knowing the security guard and I would be leaving soon and she'd be alone with him and the rest of the patients. At one point, he said he had to use the bathroom and into the quiet room bathroom he went. that's when he completely lost his shit and started pounding on the metal sink, yelling and cursing. It was on right then. I grabbed hold of him, yanked him off the toilet and slammed him against the wall across from the toilet, twisting his arm behind his back and pinning him. I told him point blank, "I don't give a fuck how pissed off you are and I don't really care why. You better pull it together. Now. In a moment, I'm going to let you go and that nurse here, her name is -----, she will be the person taking care of you. She's a female and I care about her. She's much more sympathetic to people than I am and she will not want to put you in restraints. Are you listening?"
He nodded yes without any sign whatsoever of the anger and rage he'd displayed throughout the night. I had his attention, which was good. We needed to establish where the line was.
"If I have to come up here again for a problem you crate, I pomise you this - I will slam you onto the bed, strap you down and make sure the doctor orders needles to put you out. Do not fuck with -----. Don't you dare."
I let him go and he sat on the toilet to finish his business. The fight was out of him, it was over.
Security leaned over to me at that point and whispered that the guy had pissed on my boot.
--------------------
Reflections:
1, 2 and 3 were errant ideas for scenes that popped into my head.
4 was most likely a reflection upon the Peking Garden in Foxboro, where Al the bartender always made me feel right at home eery time I walked in.
5 is fucked up. I don't know how I drove home that night. What the hell was I thinking? Really.
And 6 were 2 episodes of early psych work at Mountainside. The fun, the fun.
2.) Sexual fantasy, of course. Bound, gagged with a firm hand pressed against the windpipe. Choking, eyes bulging, feeling the vagina muscles spasming or perhaps the warm gush of urine as she slips out of consciousness. Love, right? It's love, isn't it? They all said yes. Every single one of them. When I got to the point where their life hangs on a thread, they loved me. They would do anything for me. And yes, that's what happened with my mother. But forget her. Those girls loved me. I figured out how to make that happen.
3.) There's a mouse in the shelter. I saw it last night while my sister slept and although I wondered whether or not to kill it initially, I now have to be realistic about it. Realistically, the world is destroyed. Realistically, a mouse can be a pet. Realistically, not much food is needed and realistically, I have nowhere to put a dead mouse body. I don't want to smell it. Not ever.
4.) Traveling around, visiting new places. Of course that's fun. It's exciting. But it's always comfortable, always nice when you come home to a place where you know the sights, the sounds. aybe the smell. Familiar faces. The smile when you pull a seat up at the bar - not a smile just because you're a patron but a smile because of who YOU are, your history in the place. A smile because the bartender knows you're going to be respectful and polite and leave a decent tip. That's the smile I'm talking about. Yeah, it makes coming home that much sweeter. It makes life itself seem just a bit more clear and understandable.
5.) So 40 is just around the block. I have but 1 more year to reflect upon the past and prepare for life on the other side of the hump. Maybe I should start a blog and market it as best I'm able through BB.com and especially the Misc. Important piece though is to make sure to mention fairly often that I have pieces of the blog / my life and reflections set aside as private. If it takes off, that could work in my favor regarding leverage with an attempt to publish. Humor may not be my thing. I should explore all avenues. It's not really fair to pigeon-hole myself before I've had a chance to really test the water. This is a chance, a true chance to challenge and possibly redefine myself. Mark Dirschel does not have to be a horror / thriller writer just because he always has been or rather just because he's always defined himself as such. There's a whole world open to that aspect of my writing with being a husband, a father, a psych nurse at MGH, etc. as well as being fairly well-versed at life online. I've got enough of a vague following to actually try what I just outlined and see where it takes me.
6.) I remember several instances of violence in the beginning of my career - stuff that essentially helped to define the field I was getting into, had gotten into and planned to continue working in.
Two I remember:
a.) Drunken mother-fucker who was throwing a wheelchair on the entrance ramp at Mountainside Hospital. I went out to deal with him and was confronted by a leather jacket wearing fool who chanted over and over, "I'm too strong!". He'd almost hit an old woman with the wheelchair he threw so taunted him until he came at me and when he did, I took him down hard at the ER entrance. He managed to get a handful of my hair and tore it out, something I didn't realize until later, whikle I held him on the floor and he struggled to get up. Luckily for me, since security at the time had no way of helping - it consisted of a single, 70 + year old man - someone had the wherewithal to call the police. The cop who responded was named Shawn and I vividly remember seeing the sliding doors open, Shawn coming through the doors, going airborn and landing on the kid with a knee to the back while I held him down - with difficulty. The kid was strong but I was stronger. When Shawn hit him, though it took the fight right out of him and he went limp. Later that night, he was put into leather restraints and wound up pissing all over himself. We let him walk home that way basically because he was such a fuckin' dick.
b.) Dude who'd been walking for God knows how long, seen in the ER by me and the psychiatrist and ultimately admitted to the unit with all his angry bullshit and tough talk. The unit would have been 2B, the place I got my first job ever in psychiatry. The nurse that night was a woman, a regular and I think she might have been the only person on the unit when I brought him up with a security officer. She was Korean, a mom in her 40's, hot as hell with huge tits which was odd for a Korean but whatever. I liked her. She was fun and kind and always polite.
When we got to the floor, we set him up in the quite room because of his anger. He wouldn't let it go and I could see that the nurse was a bit nervous knowing the security guard and I would be leaving soon and she'd be alone with him and the rest of the patients. At one point, he said he had to use the bathroom and into the quiet room bathroom he went. that's when he completely lost his shit and started pounding on the metal sink, yelling and cursing. It was on right then. I grabbed hold of him, yanked him off the toilet and slammed him against the wall across from the toilet, twisting his arm behind his back and pinning him. I told him point blank, "I don't give a fuck how pissed off you are and I don't really care why. You better pull it together. Now. In a moment, I'm going to let you go and that nurse here, her name is -----, she will be the person taking care of you. She's a female and I care about her. She's much more sympathetic to people than I am and she will not want to put you in restraints. Are you listening?"
He nodded yes without any sign whatsoever of the anger and rage he'd displayed throughout the night. I had his attention, which was good. We needed to establish where the line was.
"If I have to come up here again for a problem you crate, I pomise you this - I will slam you onto the bed, strap you down and make sure the doctor orders needles to put you out. Do not fuck with -----. Don't you dare."
I let him go and he sat on the toilet to finish his business. The fight was out of him, it was over.
Security leaned over to me at that point and whispered that the guy had pissed on my boot.
--------------------
Reflections:
1, 2 and 3 were errant ideas for scenes that popped into my head.
4 was most likely a reflection upon the Peking Garden in Foxboro, where Al the bartender always made me feel right at home eery time I walked in.
5 is fucked up. I don't know how I drove home that night. What the hell was I thinking? Really.
And 6 were 2 episodes of early psych work at Mountainside. The fun, the fun.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Still no date on this one...
D.I.D. - Dissociative Identity Disorder. Now, here's an interesting diagnosis. It's the modern term for Multiple Personality Disorder. New and improved, updated - bringing it into the 21st Century much like Manic Depressive was updated to Bipolar Disorder - quite possible the most often diagnosed diagnosis.
But let's focus on DID for a moment, shall we? Imagine for a moment having more than one person living inside you. Various personalities which have the potential to emerge at any moment, sometimes mid-sentence. One moment, you're aware of the world as a 30-something year old woman (since the majority of supposed DID cases are female) and you're perhaps looking for a job, buying a slice of pizza, driving a car or having sex.
And then - BAM!
You're a 6 year old girl.
Imagine the frustration, huh?
Now, imagine you're a man with that woman. One moment you're lost in sexul bliss with the 30 year old personality and then BAM, the switch. And she starts screaming RAPE!
Yeah.
Multiple Personality Disorder. That's pretty legit, eh? DID?
What about getting caught while stealing? "Oh, that wasn't me. It was X personality."
Running a red light? "That was my 6 year old alter. She doesn't know how to drive."
Throw a rock at someone or start a fight - "My angry teen came out. I'm so sorry."
Murder? "I don't remember that. It must have been one of my alters. My doctor says..."
Ah, yes. One of my alters. Even MPD / DID has its own catch phrases, words and terms to toss around at the coffee shop or inside a psychiatric groupsession. Something to normalize or attempt to provide a sense of legitimacy to a fucked up thing that's wholly fucked up.
It's a diagnosis prevalent in women with a trauma history and som other personality disorder to boot. Crack the surface of that and there's a plethora of problems to wade through, like surfing the ocean tide rife with jelly fish, seaweed, a few circling sharks and the rusty remnants of a steel-supported dock long since removed.
------------------------
I don't remember who it was that inspired this when I hit the bar but it was no doubt someone with DID, one of the most ridiculous diagnoses ever to grace the world of psychiatry, in my opinion. Some docs believe everything and anything they're told by their patients because it's easier to do that than to challenge asinine statements.
There are only a handful of people who come in with a diagnosis of DID, so it had to be one of them. They're all essentially manipulative to the core and become quite offended when told they're full of shit (diplomatically) - usually without switching alters. Go figure.
But let's focus on DID for a moment, shall we? Imagine for a moment having more than one person living inside you. Various personalities which have the potential to emerge at any moment, sometimes mid-sentence. One moment, you're aware of the world as a 30-something year old woman (since the majority of supposed DID cases are female) and you're perhaps looking for a job, buying a slice of pizza, driving a car or having sex.
And then - BAM!
You're a 6 year old girl.
Imagine the frustration, huh?
Now, imagine you're a man with that woman. One moment you're lost in sexul bliss with the 30 year old personality and then BAM, the switch. And she starts screaming RAPE!
Yeah.
Multiple Personality Disorder. That's pretty legit, eh? DID?
What about getting caught while stealing? "Oh, that wasn't me. It was X personality."
Running a red light? "That was my 6 year old alter. She doesn't know how to drive."
Throw a rock at someone or start a fight - "My angry teen came out. I'm so sorry."
Murder? "I don't remember that. It must have been one of my alters. My doctor says..."
Ah, yes. One of my alters. Even MPD / DID has its own catch phrases, words and terms to toss around at the coffee shop or inside a psychiatric groupsession. Something to normalize or attempt to provide a sense of legitimacy to a fucked up thing that's wholly fucked up.
It's a diagnosis prevalent in women with a trauma history and som other personality disorder to boot. Crack the surface of that and there's a plethora of problems to wade through, like surfing the ocean tide rife with jelly fish, seaweed, a few circling sharks and the rusty remnants of a steel-supported dock long since removed.
------------------------
I don't remember who it was that inspired this when I hit the bar but it was no doubt someone with DID, one of the most ridiculous diagnoses ever to grace the world of psychiatry, in my opinion. Some docs believe everything and anything they're told by their patients because it's easier to do that than to challenge asinine statements.
There are only a handful of people who come in with a diagnosis of DID, so it had to be one of them. They're all essentially manipulative to the core and become quite offended when told they're full of shit (diplomatically) - usually without switching alters. Go figure.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
No date entered.
The first patient he'd ever come in contact with was an older woman who liked to smile. He was fresh out of collegethen without a thought in the world related to his nursing license. He'd majored in psychology in school and done fairly well despite his penchant for marijuana and Jack Daniel's, consumption of both earned him consistent A's. Youth and innocence, resilience with a good heart. That's what he was about back in those days. Hell, that's what the whole world was about, as far as he was concerned. The sky was the limit, to coin an old cliche and why shouldn't he? For him, there was only upward movement when it came to his prospects for the future. He was a college graduate and he was working a professional job.
And so, there he was, walking the unit with the first patient he'd been assigned to since graduating. His first job. His shining star. They walked together around the unit. Sometimes he looked at her and for the life of him, she never looked back. No problem, though. What did that matter? He was there to make things ok, wasn't he? Psych counselor extraordinaire with a heart of gold.
Right.
Yeah.
That's a cheap shot at myself. Cheap and inappropriate. That's life.
Damn, I'm angry with myself, aren't I?
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edit: I don't remember what started this or why I got so down on myself. It happens sometimes. I remember that patient, though.
She was always sweet and pleasant, we'll call her Tina. She used to tell me about the clowns in her head, laughing. And I remember initially thinking that that wasn't such a bad thing until she told me about how they were laughing at her, with sharp, pointed teeth and they told her they were going to kill her. Or she had to kill herself. "They want me to die.", she'd said at one point - but she still smiled.
And I remember when she came into the ER one night, dead on arrival. Her liver had been failing for a long time and one night it and a lot of other things in her just quit. This was in the 90's. I stayed with her while the medical team did their work and straightened her out / cleaned her up when they called her time of death. And I remember holding her dead hand for a little while after and saying good bye.
My first patient.
And so, there he was, walking the unit with the first patient he'd been assigned to since graduating. His first job. His shining star. They walked together around the unit. Sometimes he looked at her and for the life of him, she never looked back. No problem, though. What did that matter? He was there to make things ok, wasn't he? Psych counselor extraordinaire with a heart of gold.
Right.
Yeah.
That's a cheap shot at myself. Cheap and inappropriate. That's life.
Damn, I'm angry with myself, aren't I?
------------------------
edit: I don't remember what started this or why I got so down on myself. It happens sometimes. I remember that patient, though.
She was always sweet and pleasant, we'll call her Tina. She used to tell me about the clowns in her head, laughing. And I remember initially thinking that that wasn't such a bad thing until she told me about how they were laughing at her, with sharp, pointed teeth and they told her they were going to kill her. Or she had to kill herself. "They want me to die.", she'd said at one point - but she still smiled.
And I remember when she came into the ER one night, dead on arrival. Her liver had been failing for a long time and one night it and a lot of other things in her just quit. This was in the 90's. I stayed with her while the medical team did their work and straightened her out / cleaned her up when they called her time of death. And I remember holding her dead hand for a little while after and saying good bye.
My first patient.
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