"You cannot get through a single day without having an impact on the world around you. What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make."- Jane Goodall
top of page
All POSTS
"Ramblings on the Psych Ward"
Room 120: Ernie, who had been incarcerated three times for aggravated assault, shows me: “Look, doc, I can do 50 pushups!”
“Impressive, Ernie; do you think strength is based on biceps?”
“Hey, Doc, go to hell.”
Room 121: “I’m sick, Dr. Guterson, real sick.
I gotta get disability and they told me I need three psychiatric hospitalizations to qualify.”
“Hmmm…” (I think to myself).
Room 122: “The bugs are controlling me, they control the weather, they control everything! They’re all over, Dr. Guterson .
There’s really no escape.”
Room 123: Frank, a gentle 54 year old, was found on the bridge, dazed and confused and suicidal: “Doc, it’s freezing in this place; can you please turn up the heat?!”
It turned out (via a blood test) that his thyroid was way out of whack. So we gave him the appropriate medication and voila!, a total turnaround, a new lease on life.
(Know that the first ‘law’ of psychiatric diagnoses is to do an organic/physical work-up before jumping to conclusions.)
Room 124: I ask Jill what brought her to the hospital.
She responds: “I’ve got PTSD, OCD, ADHD, MDD, BPD, and SAD.
“But why are you here?”
“I just told you.”
Room 125: “Purpose?? My purpose? You want to know what my life’s purpose is?
I never thought about that.
But I’d love to talk about it sometime.
What time is lunch?”
Room 126: Twenty nine year old Tina had ingested an unknown substance. Her desperate parents visited with her for two hours. After their visit, I asked Tina how it went. She answered: “those weren’t my parents. My parents are dead.”
Room 127: Brian is distressed and talks real loud: “Dr. Guterson, Dr. Guterson, the Bible says right here that God brought the flood because the whole world was corrupt. Looks like that could happen now.”
Me: “Not with fellows like you around, Brian.”
As I look back on my delightful morning of ramblings on the psych ward, I am privileged to share life with those who are struggling and suffering, whether it’s through their bravado, malingering, psychosis, innocence, or a low acting thyroid.
Life is difficult, on all sorts of levels, for all of us.
Room 110: Seeing this patient for the first time, I greet him with: “Good morning, Joseph, what brought you into the hospital”?
“Doc, my name is ‘Big Joe’, that’s what everyone calls me.”
“OK, Big Joe, I got it; thanks.”
Room 111: Sarah tells me her mother hates her and so she feels so rejected that she cuts her arms and her thighs.
I ask her what her talents are. Her eyes light up, for a second.
Room 112: “Thirty years ago I found myself in an elevator with Stevie Wonder, you know, that famous blind singer. Well, he stepped on my foot as we were getting out. He said he was sorry but he did it on purpose. He’s not really blind, I know it.”
Room 113: “Doctor Guterson, there’s this new patient who says I should call him ‘Big Joe’. What should I do?”
“Call him ‘Big Joe’.”
Room 114: As I walk in, Rebecca is sitting by her bed, her hands folded, praying. She turns and looks at me and says she’s been asking the Lord for peace in the world.
“That’s beautiful, Rebecca. I wish more people would pray. Thank you.”
Room 115: “All I wanted was to fly to England to visit the Queen and Ralph The Bunny but my therapist said I’m acting manic and told me to come into the hospital.
I’m telling you - the Queen is going to be SO DISAPPOINTED when I don’t show up, and I’M NOT MANIC!”
Room 116: “Why did I try to kill myself, doctor? Well, you see, I’ve been trying to make peace with those poets who write about the beauty of life, but then Shakespeare says this whole stage we’re in is a big nothing. Sound and fury; sound and fury. I mean, there’s falsities, falsities everywhere! Surely you know that, doctor, don’t you?
It’s all unanswerable.
So why go on?”
Room 117: As I open this patient’s door, Jim lunges at me, connects his fist with my nose, and then is immediately stopped by two psych techs. A fight breaks out. I yell to the nurses who give him a shot of Haldol and Ativan and, as Jim continues to be violent, we place him in restraints…
A few minutes pass and, with lots of emotions flowing on the ward, I gather all the patients together in the meeting room.
As I’m holding a towel with blood dripping from my nose, I assure them that I am fine, that all is under control and safe.
Another day in paradise!
(P.S. - please know that I have “only” been hit three times in my 28 years working in a psychiatric hospital.)
bottom of page