Memoirs of a Seasoned Nurse: The Psych Ward

It was the first day of our psych rotation. We were at a mental health facility in a neighboring community. Not a lock-down unit but, we needed a key for everything: the unit, the nurse’s station, the bathroom, everything.

We met just outside the unit at 0800. We were let in by one of the night nurses. The person who took us on a tour of the facility was named Jolene. We saw the patient rooms, exam rooms, storeroom, and nurses’ station. I seemed to be the only one who was bothered by the fact that WE had to unlock the doors and let Jolene in, and she was not wearing shoes.

When we returned to the main lobby at the end of the tour, several staff members were gathered around and were having trouble stifling their snickers. It seems that Jolene was one of the patients………duh!! The staff thought it was insanely funny to watch this manic-depressive patient, fully “ramped up,” scurrying around the facility with all these dumb-struck nursing students in tow.

Please don’t think that we used to lock up people for being manic-depressive. I think the term is now bipolar, and there is no crime in being bipolar. No, Jolene’s “crime” was impatience: she couldn’t wait to pick up her burger and fries so she pushed the car in front of her in the drive-thru out of the way. Note to impatient people: do that to a police cruiser, go to jail! She also went to test drive a new car once: fortunately, the car salesman walked behind the car after helping her get into the driver’s seat. Before he could get to the passenger door, she was gone, clocked at 100 mph on Main Street. We really liked Jolene: she did the things we wanted to do but we were too chicken.

Back to my story: after the tour, we were escorted downstairs to the basement conference room to meet the facility director. As he began his presentation about mental health nursing, I couldn’t help but raise my hand. “Excuse me, sir, I know you SAY that you are the facility director but, do you happen to have any ID?” Unphased by my question, he produced both his California driver’s license and his California nursing license and showed them to all of us. Satisfied that this was not another member of the patient population, I settled in to listen to his lecture.

One of the “perks” of our mental health rotation was accompanying a Crisis Worker on 5150’s: we accompanied them on call-outs for folks who were a danger to themselves or others. Lucky me: I had the unique privilege of going to the county jail. The patient we saw insisted that he was going to kill himself if he wasn’t let out of jail immediately. After interviewing him, the Crisis Worker arranged ambulance transportation to the mental health unit.

Back in those days, it was always better to be crazy than to be in jail. The mental health unit included semi-private rooms, television, a pool table, crafts activities, and group counseling. And they had the best food of any hospital cafeteria I had ever been in!

One day, just after lunch, the patient I mentioned above from the county jail, went a little nutsy. He lunged at me with his pool cue and yelled that he was “gonna take you out, b***h!” Before he could get to me, another patient punched him in the stomach and knocked the wind out of him. The male staff was on scene by then and further subdued him before his trip back to county jail (threaten the staff: go back to jail). Apparently, the girlfriend he had tried to kill was a blonde and, since I was the only blonde female in the facility that day, bingo! My turn to die…not.

In thirty years of nursing I have had to deal with a few nut cases—but they were all surgeons! I have never changed my mind about mental health nursing: it is vital, it is a community service, and it is so not for me!