May 5, 2011

On psych wards, the really crazy ones wear scrubs

Back when I was in high school, I had the opportunity to do a co-op placement at one of the local hospitals. Essentially, the hospital got a grunt for free and I got a credit towards my diploma. For the most part it was fairly uneventful. I mainly stayed in the library digging through various medical journals looking for obscure articles for the doctors and delivering mail. I got sent up to day surgery a few times where I got to do a lot of the running around for the nurses and the things they just didn't have time to do (bringing patients juice, popping in to see if they needed anything, keeping a chemo patient company during treatment, etc). The nurses were very welcoming despite me being a useless little teen and even took the time to explain their check-in procedures and such. It was a positive experience but very quiet, so I got really excited when the powers that be decided to send me up to the psych ward to help for a the day.

I had no idea what to expect going in there, but I was just happy to not be delivering mail. I had never even been to that floor of the hospital before, but I got a bit of a lump in my throat when I got to the doors of the psych ward and fumbled for my key card. The charge nurse immediately swept me into the nursing station and set me to work with getting some of their paperwork organized. It was pretty unsettling to say the least. There was an emaciated woman curled up in a doorway sobbing as a nurse tried to coax her into eating. One of the patients started wandering in and out of the nursing station to inform me of a childhood of severe sexual abuse. He became very agitated very quickly, but thankfully there was a very large nurse that was keeping an eye on me and put himself between the patient and I. After gently guiding this gentleman away from the nursing station and calming the patient, he had a word with the charge nurse and I was scooted off into a little office to continue my tedious work.

I spent the majority of the shift in the office and it was surprisingly quiet. Anytime I had to return to the nursing station the previously agitated patient was very pleasant. About ten minutes before the shift ended though, there was an bloodcurdling shriek and the sound of various equipment smashing against a wall. I had no idea what to do. I looked out the window of the office and saw the female patient flying like a bat out of hell into another patient's room and barricade herself in. The charge nurse threw open the door to the office, asked if I was OK, then locked me in the office. All I could do was watch the scene across the hall from me, only occasionally breaking my bug eyed stare to glance at the emergency button on the wall that I hadn't noticed before. My shift ended as maintenance arrived to help pry open the door to get to the patient.

The charge nurse walked me out. I must have been white as a ghost because she was laughing when she asked me what I thought. Just as the doors to the ward click shut behind me, there was a another panicked scream and banging on the doors. I jumped and looked back to see the male nurse pounding on the doors, screaming "OH GOD HELP ME! GET ME OUT! UNLOCK THE DOOR!"
The locked buzzed and he hobbled out of the ward, doubled over with laughter. "I love doing that", he said before skipping ahead of me towards the elevator.

Over the years, I've come to appreciate his sense of humour.

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