Freak Show Scene Two

I was terribly judgemental of my fellow nurses when I started working for the Department of Corrections. I thought them to be unfeeling, uncompassionate, and unconcerned. I was wrong. I learned. Oh did I learn. It was a Saturday. Everything always happened on Saturday. I was the mental health nurse. In charge. The Crisis Stabilization Unit was off the chain. It usually was. Or I thought so anyway. I admitted an inmate who was very hostile, yelling and cussing. I don't remember his name or diagnosis. Surely he had Antisocial Personality Disorder. He could of won the prize for that disorder. A large percentage of mental health inmates have it. I think it means they need their ass kicked. But remember I am not a psych nurse. I tried to tell them I wasn't. I notified the doctor and counselor on call that the inmate was in the CSU. I gave him his meds. He took them. They don't sometimes. He was somewhat calm for about an hour. Then the freak show started. The officer called me. The inmate was bleeding. I walked down there. I peered in the little window. He was shaking and thrashing. his wrists slashed and bleeding. But how? These guys are strip searched, to include oral and other cavities. I knew something the other staff didn't as I had read his chart. He had Hepatitis B. It kept getting better and better. I had to disclose this to the officer as he was about to be directly exposed. The inmates anger was accelerating. There is a protocol for going into these cells in these situations. He clearly could cut any of us with his razor. He most surely had one.

I was no longer Nancy Nurse. I had an epiphany. He was going to pass out or calm down and lay down or we would not come in. The nurses were tough and I was getting tough. He could sling Hep. B all over, I no longer was playing his chain-gang con. I called the doctor and received instructions for inject-able meds to calm him. The officers in the mean time were dressing out in protective gear. Arm protection, knee pads and helmets with shields. I was going in ,in pj's, I mean scrubs. I had three needles and they had protective gear. All I had was gloves, a cloth gown and glasses. They would wrestle him down. Not me.

The officers went in first. Three razors were found. Three. They were small. He had swallowed and regurgitated them. Isn't that sweet? The cuts were not serious. Just enough for drama. The inmates are experts at this. He bit an officer. The doctor had us put him in leather restraints by the end of the day. I also had to put a helmet on him as he was beating his head into the floor. All of this requires pounds of paperwork, dozens of phone calls, and numerous checks on said charming inmate. After that Saturday I was a different nurse. Tougher yes. I still cared. I did not trust as much. I understood my fellow nurses to be wise in the way of prison life.

Olive Out

Freak Show Scene One

Sometimes a person needs to choose her attitude. Whether to cry or to laugh for instance. When I transferred to work at a different state prison it was never mentioned that I would be the mental health nurse on the weekend. I would be the only one. The one in charge of all the psychiatric inmates.
 The prison has four crisis stabilization beds. Which means inmates who are suicidal, unstable, or generally terribly whacked out are placed there. Sometimes they are naked and tied with leather restraints to a mattress. An officer checks them every fifteen minutes. The nursing and medical staff checks them all the time as well. Needless to say it is a freak show. There are an additional twelve step-down crisis beds in another building the mental health staff supervises. The mental health inmate population in this prison averages around six hundred inmates. The weekend RN can be called to see any of them at any time.
The first weekend I had to work I did have the wisdom to insist that another RN orient me. I had never had mental health training outside of college.
My first day, a Saturday, a regular frequent flyer, was there. Let's call him Derrick. He was twenty years old. White, deathly so, as he had not seen the sun in many many months. His favorite distraction was masturbation. Most inmates do this. But Derrick had achieved a special status as a master at this among the staff. Dr. Tice, seventy years old, said one day that he almost envied Derrick his ability. We laughed out loud at this. I was being oriented by Linda, a RN, a character in herself. We walked back to that CSU first thing. I said hello to Derrick through the thick prison glass. He said " Shut the Hell Up You White Motherfiiing Bitch" and threw urine under the three inch space in the door onto my white shoes. I don't recall what I said to him at that moment. I did back out and clean my shoes. Linda was howling with laughter. She said that was typical and not a bad start really. Really? This is when you choose your attitude. I laughed and laughed. Then I called Joe and he laughed with me.

The remainder of that day was uneventful. I learned that everything done for the mental health patients had to be written in triplicate. That right there was worse than Derrick by far. Linda and I walked out those six locked gates with satisfaction because we finished on time. Joe was sitting in the parking lot on his big motorcycle, he took off his helmet, smiled handsomely and said "I'm here for my bitch."
Olive Out

We Are All Mad Here

"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.

"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat, " we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad"

"How do you know I'm mad?" asked Alice.

"You must be." said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."

The Cheshire Cat rightfully says we are all mad here. This whole dialogue brings me to appreciate Alice in Wonderland immensely. I myself am feeling rather mad today. Trying to pass a 4mm stone through a 2mm opening. Defying the laws of physics. That's me. Not that I am brave. No bravery here. Would rather be doing eleventy thousand other things.

Dr. Cutie Pie, he is oh so handsome, says there is a fifty fifty chance I can pass this pebble. All the carnage being wrought by it is a "good sign". I was afraid to inquire about bad signs. Did I type pebble? In my narcotic-crazed mind rock is a more appro noun. The madness of the pain is difficult to describe. Passing shards of old Coca Cola bottles is close but not quite. The Cat nailed it for we all all mad here.

Olive Out

Seven Things I'm Doing Today

Today I am doing the following:

1. Roasting chicken. I might make chicken chilli later dude.

2. Doing laundry. Yucko.

3. Passing copious amounts of blood in my urine.

4. Finally passing a kidney stone?

5. Taking prescription drugs. Not enough for a stone to be sure.

6. Drinking diet green tea tangerine, who knew that existed?

7. Not going to the ER. Am not.

Olive Out