Wednesday, April 25, 2007
And The Hits Just Keep On Coming
Literally. I think it's time I start looking into a new line of work. This in-patient thing is becoming hazardous to my health.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Life Happens
Sometimes life happens. And there doesn't have to be any rhyme or reason to it. To say that tougher gun laws, tougher immigration laws, or better administrative procedures are to blame for what happened at Tech is a farce, a red herring. There was no one thing that could have been done that would've prevented this tragedy from taking place. To say that there was is like saying we can build buildings that will withstand airplane collisions.
Life happens. It's sad and it's tragic and it's surreal and it's chaotic all at once. It's not about blame but about mourning. Life still happens. And it goes on.
Go Hokies.
Life happens. It's sad and it's tragic and it's surreal and it's chaotic all at once. It's not about blame but about mourning. Life still happens. And it goes on.
Go Hokies.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Hokie Proud, Hokie Strong
As a 2004 Virginia Tech alumnus, it's particularly hard to see places I used to walk through and had classes in plastered on CNN in connection with such a tragedy. Words can't begin to express the sadness I feel about what happened today. I think the following post says it all:
From MySpace VA Tech message board, posted by Gary of Lake Anna, VA:
From MySpace VA Tech message board, posted by Gary of Lake Anna, VA:
Indeed.
My thoughts and prayers go out to all fellow Hokies and their families affected by today's tragedy. I don't know what to say, other than I'm just completely devastated hearing about the news in Blacksburg.
Hokie, Hokie, Hokie, Hi!
Tech, Tech, VPI!
Sol-a-rex, Sol-a-rah!
Poly Tech Vir-gin-ia,
Ray, Rah, VPI!
Team! Team! Team!
Hokies United.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
...And How Does That Make You Feel?
Tomorrow I am scheduled to have the second of three counseling sessions at the request of my co-workers, my supervisor, my family, and Meredith. Luckily, my employer is picking up the tab for the sessions, but the irony that I’m involved on the couch-end of therapy isn’t completely lost on me. Here’s what went down.
I may have mentioned before that my job carries with it a certain degree of volatility, meaning that I go to work not knowing whether or not I’m going to meet the business end of one of my patient’s fists. Some people go to work and expect that at the very least; they’re called police officers. And they have cool utility belts to handle such situations. I, on the other hand, have received 3 hours of training on how to non-violently deflect said punches. Given my track record here and here, the training is about as useful as an empty roll of toilet paper. This constant state of unpredictability is the very reason why I can’t poop unless it’s my day off.
About three weeks ago we had a patient on our unit who was grossly psychotic with a generic violent history; that is, a violent history existed, but we didn’t know to what extent. His medication was only slightly effective when he would take it, but on this particular Wednesday morning, all hell broke loose. He was extremely agitated and focused on one of the doctors. The doctor was sitting towards the back of the nurse’s station when the patient walked up to him, pointed at his head and said “BANG!” We quickly ushered him to time-out with a special dose of medication. Ten or fifteen minutes later he was back in the hallway, still agitated, still focused on the doctor. When he approached the doctor a second time behind the nurse’s station, he unleashed his fists on the doctor’s face. I was there and helped pull the patient off the doctor and walk him backwards. After we separated the patient from the doctor, the doctor went ape-shit and charged at the patient, throwing punches left and right at the patient.
At this point in the story, people have inevitably had the same reaction: the doctor did what?!
I remember things now in snapshots. I remember the patient pummeling the doctor. I remember grabbing the patient around his torso and walking him backwards. I remember my coworker yelling at the doctor to stop punching us. And I remember turning around after it was all said and done and seeing the floor covered with the doctor’s blood.
THIS is where I work. And it was only Wednesday. Two days before, I witnessed a nurse get punched in the head by a punk-ass teenager, another nurse suffer a broken elbow after being knocked down by a patient, and then Wednesday came. This is why I feel constantly drained and exhausted, why I'm still at work mentally long after I punch out, why I'm in a state of fight or flight 24/7.
And this is why I'm in counseling now. I feel like Tim Robbins' character from The Shawshank Redemption--he had to go to prison to become a crook. And I had to work in a psychiatric hospital to need counseling.
I may have mentioned before that my job carries with it a certain degree of volatility, meaning that I go to work not knowing whether or not I’m going to meet the business end of one of my patient’s fists. Some people go to work and expect that at the very least; they’re called police officers. And they have cool utility belts to handle such situations. I, on the other hand, have received 3 hours of training on how to non-violently deflect said punches. Given my track record here and here, the training is about as useful as an empty roll of toilet paper. This constant state of unpredictability is the very reason why I can’t poop unless it’s my day off.
About three weeks ago we had a patient on our unit who was grossly psychotic with a generic violent history; that is, a violent history existed, but we didn’t know to what extent. His medication was only slightly effective when he would take it, but on this particular Wednesday morning, all hell broke loose. He was extremely agitated and focused on one of the doctors. The doctor was sitting towards the back of the nurse’s station when the patient walked up to him, pointed at his head and said “BANG!” We quickly ushered him to time-out with a special dose of medication. Ten or fifteen minutes later he was back in the hallway, still agitated, still focused on the doctor. When he approached the doctor a second time behind the nurse’s station, he unleashed his fists on the doctor’s face. I was there and helped pull the patient off the doctor and walk him backwards. After we separated the patient from the doctor, the doctor went ape-shit and charged at the patient, throwing punches left and right at the patient.
At this point in the story, people have inevitably had the same reaction: the doctor did what?!
I remember things now in snapshots. I remember the patient pummeling the doctor. I remember grabbing the patient around his torso and walking him backwards. I remember my coworker yelling at the doctor to stop punching us. And I remember turning around after it was all said and done and seeing the floor covered with the doctor’s blood.
THIS is where I work. And it was only Wednesday. Two days before, I witnessed a nurse get punched in the head by a punk-ass teenager, another nurse suffer a broken elbow after being knocked down by a patient, and then Wednesday came. This is why I feel constantly drained and exhausted, why I'm still at work mentally long after I punch out, why I'm in a state of fight or flight 24/7.
And this is why I'm in counseling now. I feel like Tim Robbins' character from The Shawshank Redemption--he had to go to prison to become a crook. And I had to work in a psychiatric hospital to need counseling.
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