Tired Always Follows Sick

I am sick and tired this month. Tired always follows sick as the brilliant Bill Cosby reminded us. April has been tough and nearly overwhelming for me. The Boston Marathon Bombing Terrorist attacks followed by the tragedy in the town of West, Texas. I despair every time I hear another parent claim their grown child is as innocent as a white dove. I had parents of convicted murderers tell me that all the time when I was a Director of Nursing for the Georgia Department of Corrections. 

We all are in potential what every criminal is in actuality. I learned that there is a thin fine line between criminals and us. I hear you shouting in protest "But I have the sweetest child." I am sure you do. Please, please, parents never claim your children can do no wrong. Hold them accountable for their mistakes. It may be the greatest gift you give to them.

If you think this blog shallow or too focused on all things pretty just know that I have spent far too much time, working as an RN in challenging locations, and need this pretty refuge. I seek the solitude of gardening and making our home comfortable for a reason. If you have not read my Hold Everything Lightly Series at the top of the page you might want to consider it.

Our daughter, CC, has a dear friend whose mother died, last night, at age 52, of breast cancer. She was surrounded by her husband and children. We know she is no longer suffering and is with Her Lord. CC is hurting and is away at college and unable to comfort her friend. Here again April has been a difficult road to travel.

Hug Someone You Love Today

Olive

Hold Everything Lightly #12 {Not A Bad Start Really}

This is a re-write, of sorts, from a memorable prison episode I wrote about here in February of 2010. It has strong adult content. Click off if you cannot handle that. It is about my first day as a mental health nurse in a state prison.

 A nurse needs to choose her attitude.
 Whether to cry, laugh, or fall into the depths of despair. 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 in charge of all the psychiatric inmates. Also, I was in charge of staffing just to keep it interesting.
 The prison had four crisis stabilization beds. Which means inmates who are suicidal, unstable, or terribly mentally ill are placed there. Some of them are cutters and have been stitched up and they rip out the sutures routinely. Sometimes they are naked and tied with leather restraints to a mattress. Sometimes they are naked because they want to be (they have paper gowns). An officer checks them every fifteen minutes. The nursing and medical staff checks them frequently as well. Needless to say it is full on electrified chaos. 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 averaged 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. Any RN with as many years of experience as I had does have some mental health experience. But still......

My first day, a Saturday, a 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 self stimulation. 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 this ability. We laughed ourselves silly at our sweet Dr. Tice saying that. I was being oriented by Linda, a RN, a character 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? That was when I had to decide on my attitude. I laughed and laughed.
Then I called Joe and he laughed with me, at me, and for 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 after that massive stack of nursing documentation and our patients did not hurt themselves, us, or anybody else. Unexpectedly 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."

"Hold everything in your hands lightly, otherwise it hurts, when God pries your fingers open."

---Corrie Ten Boom 1892-1983


joy and peace
Olive 

Thoughts on Thoughtful Blogging

I have been considering the manner in which I blog. 

Sometimes I plan. Sometimes I do not. I would like to tell you the majority of the time I am organized and methodical but I am not. Life, joyous life distracts me. Gardening distracts, photography distracts, reading distracts, Joe and  CC distract. Clovis and Shelley distract. Shelly Puppy is especially attention grabbing these days.  Sometimes I throw up a pretty image and write a diddle about it and I am done. Not a lot of thought involved in those posts. The Hold Everything Lightly Series posts are timed, planned and agonized over. I am not into recipes but the few I have posted make me quite anxious and I feel a huge responsibility if you my readers have issues with the recipe. Is that nuts or what ? The three tablescapes I have posted on the patio have been big hits. I suppose I should do more but lack space for dishes so tablescapes may only appear here monthly or bimonthly. Olive Out is a reflection of me. I am kind of wacky, fun, and not terribly organized. I have been accused of being too happy before.

 It happened when I was the Director of Nursing at the state prison and had to attend the Wardens meeting which was serious (boring) business and one of the Assistant Wardens told me I was too happy. He then proceeded to have my Jeep searched for drugs. A drug dog walked all inside it. I laughed about it and was sad that the leaders of the prison exhibited no joy in their life while at the prison. Later that Assistant Warden moved to another prison and asked me to organize his medical department. 

I think happy Olive grew on him.

DO YOU BLOG WITH GREAT THOUGHT AND METHOD OR NOT SO MUCH?

 DO TELL ME

happy thoughtful blogging

Olive

A Guardian Angel in Prison

I was a Director of Nursing at a large prison in the state of Georgia. It was not a glamorous or a overly important job position. I believe I had six employees. We did care for fifteen hundred inmates and I used many agency nurses to assist us.

One of my duties was to order and then to pick up the monthly supplies for the medical unit. It was usually quite the expedition. I was required to have an officer with me at all times. I also took an inmate orderly with me to lift the boxes.

One of the medical orderlies, Mr. N had attained Trusty status which means his security risk was the lowest. Trusty inmates have not been in any trouble for many years and have no discipline reports. Which is good. We liked Trusty orderlies to work in medical and places like the Warden’s office. Mr. N was also a Christian. He was one of the rare felons who would look you in the eye and tell you he was guilty and deserved to be in prison. Everyone else was innocent, of course.

One day Mr. N, the officer, and myself took off with a huge buggy to the laundry to get supplies. You had to go through the hot laundry room to get to the warehouse area. Before the warehouse is an anteroom.  Almost a cage really. A prison is full of locked cages.

I picked up the supplies. The buggy over flowed so a supply orderly was helping us. Several inmates and I were in the anteroom and the officer left me. He left me there in the anteroom with four felons and no one else. It was an awful breach of protocol. Yes, I was afraid. Then Mr. N stepped closer to me and said, “Nothing will happen to you as long as I am here” with quiet confidence. You see, he was respected because of his faith and how he served others in that place. He was also six feet tall and had huge biceps.

Size is not always a factor however. I saw little guys fight like crazy in the prison system too. I witnessed the aftermath of stabbings and many terrible things I will not discuss further.

My being left in that cage shook me. After that I demanded a radio. Which I was given reluctantly. A radio can save you in a bad situation and keep you informed of the happenings in that walled and gated city. I kept that radio with me. It was my buddy.

Mr. N, though it was not planned, actually was moved to the prison I transferred to just before I retired. It was such a blessing to see him care for the sick inmates in our little prison hospital. He became a Certified Nursing Assistant via classes my supervisor taught.

He has been released. He is home with his wife who stood by him through sixteen years of incarceration for robbing an ATM machine. They have nine children.

He was my guardian angel that day. The reality of what could have happened is unspeakable. He stood in the breach. God placed him there for me that day. He was an answer to a quick prayer.

I am linking with Cindy at I Owe It All to Him for her link party. Please visit and read the other accounts of how people have made a difference in the most special ways.

To better understand Christ’s view of the care and treatment of prisoner’s read Matthew 25:31-46. 

 

grace surrounds us

Olive

 

Painting at the Old House is Not For Wimps

When one of the infrequent tropical storm systems that make it to central Georgia came through several years ago it brought rain and lots of it. Joe and I were painting the central hallway. I can look back on our years together and mark them in paint! Painting in the old house is not for chumps or lazy folk. The plaster is covered with forty or fifty year old wallpaper and must be ever so gently removed.  The bead board makes me crazy. Frankly, I just paint over small spiders. All those little grooves are mind numbing.

On the day of the storm, the outside of the house was wet from blowing rains. We were rinsing brushes on the front porch. I stepped onto the porch to rinse a brush and went STRAIGHT DOWN  through the porch. I was stunned. I broke the fall with my right wrist. My right shoulder was already injured and needed surgery but I was waiting for oh I don’t know maybe a porch.

 

Joe immediately wanted to pull me out. The nurse in me said hold on a second. I checked myself for something like an avulsion injury. It seemed everything was intact. Joe pulled me out. The boards were wet and had original hand forged nails. I had not one scratch, nail or piece of wood in me. My good friend and doctor said I was fortunate in this regard. I did have a twelve inch bruise on my right hip for a long time. Man, was I sore. The warden at the prison where I was a nurse administrator asked who I had been boxing with. I replied “a house.” He never got me. You know?

The next week I fell again in front of the washing machine. I suspect this time it was because I was sore from the first fall. Joe was about ready to request a CT of my head! However,  not one surface of our old house is level. I can trip on a flat surface. Just saying.

Joe replaced the porch floor.

grace surround us

Olive

What Do a Razor, Staple Gun and Pliers Have in Common?

Have you ever known anyone who stapled their own leg wound, cut off their own hemorrhoid and pulled out their tooth with pliers? I have. These folks are amazing and special. I worked with a CERT team officer at a prison whose nick name was Stone Cold. He loved to fish and hunt when he wasn't working at the prison sixty hours a week. He was hunting one morning and jumped a barbed wire fence and filleted his calf. He had about a seven inch long wound. He went home and stapled it himself. He did not know if his tetanus was up to date. Hence the nick name.

Linda, an advanced Nurse Practitioner, tied her hemorrhoid off with a rubber band and sliced it off with a razor. Words cannot express the pain involved here. How did she do this? I imagine she injected herself with 2% Lidocaine first to numb the area. But still. I don't wish to visualize this. What position does one get oneself in to do this? Anyho I am afraid of her. She is the woman.

Cruella, Cruella, my dearest Cruella. She is my friend as well as the person who does my nails. One of her upper large teeth broke off over the weekend. She had an appointment for Monday to see the dentist. She could not wait as the pain was excruciating. She simply cleaned a pair of pliers with alcohol and pulled out that tooth. She thought nothing of it. It took immediate care of her pain and saved her money. Simple. She does not understand that ninety-nine per cent of the population would not do this. She did have oral surgery on Monday to finish the job. This explains a lot actually. She has not one iota of sympathy when doing my nails.

These three are not ordinary individuals. They take charge of their bodies, much like people in our recent past had to before we became such a nanny state. I am not recommending this behavior as a course of action for anyone to take under similar conditions, however I admire their spirit immensely.

grace surrounds us
Olive Out

A Riot of One

A prison has certain sounds. They are rhythmic. The prison usually sounds the same at the same time every day. A prison is all about routine and sameness. The two I worked at were both operated like military organizations. I was always getting those military titles confused. It is frowned upon to call a Lieutenant a Sergeant. I had always worked where people were terribly informal so I had a challenge when trying to use all those proper titles. The nurses did not allow the inmates to call them by their first names.

I was in the habit of arriving early to work every day. This worked well for me. I did not feel rushed going through all the locked gates, the x-ray machine, and the metal detector. You also need to stop at the front desk and trade a chit for your prison door keys. Everywhere you go you must unlock and lock the door. It requires thought. A bathroom key is critical.

One morning I arrived early. It was about six-thirty am. I was in the first cage with a Sergeant. The inmates would have been eating breakfast in shifts by this time. The officers were changing shifts. The noise inside the prison was wrong. It was loud. Too loud. The Sergeant said something about the noise being off and I agreed. He said "It sounds like a riot". It did. Not that I had any expertize in the matter but I just knew it did. The officers controlling the gates left us in the cage for a while. I imagine they were calling people in charge. At that time not a lot of officers are present on the yard. When we got in the front door they let the Sergeant in. Not me. I was left in the office part of the prison. I could see through expansive windows onto the yard.

The prison has a couple of mental health dorms called J1 and J2. The mental health inmates are classified according to severity of mental disorders and level of supervision needed. There are a large number of level three inmates in J2. Level three mental inmates need close supervision. They see the mental health staff frequently. One particular level three inmate named Sam was a fairly tall well built man. He was known to be quiet and respectful. He had been working out for months. Buffing up. Muscular. That morning he asked a Lieutenant a question in the dining hall. I heard it was a simple request. I don't know the truth because I wasn't there. The officers are trained in dealing with mental health inmates but that doesn't mean they listen. I am just saying a staff member has to be mindful that these guys are not stable by any degree. Sam took the Lieutenant's billy club away from him.

Then it was on. The full force of the officers were on Sam. Sam went out onto the large grass yard. The inmates in the yard were cheering for Sam. I witnessed this from the office windows. He was pacing with the billy club. He looked angry and fierce. He had been working out for this moment, planning it. It was his and he owned it. Four officers jumped on him. Then a fifth. He was the Sergeant who was in the cage with me earlier. All I could see was arms flying. Eventually, Sam was subdued and taken to the Medical Unit. It felt as if this scuffle took a long time but it took a few seconds in reality. I viewed it in slow motion it seemed.

The officers at the front let me onto the yard. I went straight to the Crisis Stabilization Unit. Since it was still the night shift there was one night nurse on duty. I helped him with Sam. Sam was on the floor bucking. All the officers had some sort of minor injury. Sam had NONE. The night nurse and I, after calling the doctor, gave him three injections. Which was no small feat. The officers used the shock shield on him. It's a Plexiglas shield that covers the torso with a built in taser. It was effective. He calmed enough to have the injections in his buttocks.

Meanwhile out in the yard there were about ninety mental health inmates virtually unsupervised. They were too dumb, stupefied, and starstruck to act. But they could have taken over that yard. One of the more irritating occurrences that morning was that the Warden did not Lock Down the prison. I would have. I would have put every inmate in their cell for the remainder of the day. But I am a simple nurse not security. After Sam was put in a CSU cell I called Joe. I told him it would be a swell day to mail my retirement package.

Olive Out

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