Day 14

There are days that keep you smiling for hours after leaving. Today was one of those days. I haven't been feeling too well due to stress and being fairly ill, but I managed to forget it all and have a wonderful time with the individuals in the hospital. I felt like I was of service to people, and that is entirely accomplishing my purpose there.

I have bonded more with Shirley than anybody else at the hospital. Speaking with her is a struggle sometimes, given that her medication fluctuates her mood and ability to interact, but I have managed to have great, uplifting conversations with her. It's disheartening to see her usual smile clouded by a face of over-medicated, blank apathy, and each time I see her, I hope to see her, and not simply an image of her.

Today, however, I noticed she was exhibiting neither a smile nor an expressionless face. She looked sad. I convinced her to get up and shoot some hoops with me, and she expressed rather quickly that she did not feel like herself lately, due to the psychotropic drugs she is taking. She asked me if I would listen to something she wanted to talk to me about, and we sat down and discussed what was making her sad.

After a deep discussion, I could see her mood had been lifted. I felt... therapeutic, in a sense, and did whatever was in my power to bring her to a better state of mind. The serious discussion transitioned into chit-chatting, and soon she decided she'd like to join the ongoing volleyball game. She left me with a smile on her face, and I can't describe how that made me feel.

As she left, Justin took a volleyball break in a seat nearby. Justin has only been at the hospital for a few months. We exchanged hellos, and I could sense he was deciding whether to speak or not. Finally, he began: "Every week, I'm given a taste of freedom when I'm allowed to go out, and it just reminds me more of how much I want to escape this place. I just want to get out. The world outside is so much better."

A moment passed in silence as I took in the disclosure that just took place, and planned what I would say. I couldn't imagine how he must be feeling. "Well Justin," I began, surprising myself, "you seem to have the advantage of appreciating the world outside, knowing what gifts lie out there. That means when you're discharged, you'll never take its beauty for granted, and you'll do everything in your power to not have to return. Is that right?" He paused, staring off. I waited nervously, hoping I hadn't thrown some cliched remark he's heard a million times at him. Finally, he smiled and nodded his head in understanding. "Yeah, you're actually right. Thanks for reminding me. I'll never do what I did to get in here in the first place." He returned to the volleyball game, seemingly more energetic.

These two exchanges may seem very minuscule, but they are world-shattering to me. I see very little disclosure and proactive discussion going on during the outside group, and to acknowledge that I am seen as trustworthy enough to have these sorts of talks with people is so humbling. I came to the hospital with goals of being involved, even though my range is very limited as a volunteer. I quickly learned that volunteers, especially interns fulfilling credit at universities, do not care to do much or have many interaction with patients, and I did not want this for myself. I feel there is a little confusion and surprise on the part of the permanent staff because they see that I am invested in the people at the hospital. I even feel a little hostility from less friendlier staff because of it. Regardless, my goals here are beginning to be realized, and I am happy for it.

Note: I have to supplement this post by stating that I realize my limited power and knowledge as a volunteer. I do not have proper training to be conducting therapy with anybody, so I try and keep my responses as safe as possible. Sometimes, however, all somebody needs is unconditional positive regard and active listening to feel a little better, and I will try to carry this along in my everyday life.

Day 13

Thursdays are quickly becoming my favorite days at the hospital. School of Rock is loads of fun for all involved, and everyone gets a spotlight position at least once, whether it be on an instrument or singing.

Shirley was a lot less sedated today and decided she wanted to sing. One of the older staff members on guitar asked her if she knew "Bo Diddley" and began playing the melody. The drummer (an individual residing in the hospital) joined in amazingly. Shirley froze, shook her head, and laughed nervously. "Well, just go along with the music and make something up!" he said. A little hesitantly, she began rocking to the beat and looking around. To everybody's surprise, she suddenly started to improvise lyrics into the mic that were better than what some people could write in hours. She sang about suicide and overcoming those types of thoughts, about having support even when it doesn't feel that way, and more. Her style was a fusion of jazz-punk and she didn't stumble once.

When she was done, the guitar blared out into a solo, leading into the final, diminishing portion of the song. The drummer, who has at least twenty years of experience with a drum set, ended with a spectacular finale. We all broke out in an applause, and I gave Shirley a high-five and a, "Did you really just come up with that on the spot?!" She nodded and asked if it was any good. "Are you kidding me?" I responded. "I couldn't do that if you gave me an hour to prepare!" Shirley was surprised by all the attention she was receiving in the room and went back to her seat behind the keyboard, elated.

This is generally an experience everyone gets to have at some point, and I absolutely love it.

Day 12

I found out that a lot of the borderline women in the hospital are addicted to the sedative drug they are injected with upon acting up. It's no surprise, then, to hear that many do crazy things simply to be poked by their beloved shot. And there's no limit to what some will do to feed their desire--- oh no. A psych tech told me about a woman who did everything in her power yesterday to be sedated with no luck. Finally, she felt it necessary to walk around absolutely and entirely naked. She did so, but still was not reinforced.

"If we just keep giving her what she wants," the psych tech began, "we're only feeding into her addiction. That's why we chose to ignore her antics and find alternate ways of keeping her under control. Other units in this hospital wouldn't do that. They'd choose to make their jobs easy by submitting to the patient's addictions, and that's not productive at all." I nodded, and he continued, "And there is no stopping someone when they're out to feed their addiction. Things will be swallowed, body parts will be cut, all in the name of their lovely sedative."

His words were a haunting reminder that while treatment is sought, treatment itself can become problematic. Perhaps sedating people who are out of control is understandable in very specific situations, but it should be a practice reserved only when absolutely necessary, given its addictive nature. I'm glad that at least some staff realize this, and hope it's a practice under close supervision and scrutiny.

Day 11

Remain genuine.

One difference I have noticed between those that are effective with individuals in the hospital and those that are not is simply genuineness. Are you being real, or are you performing at a bare minimum to keep the green paper stuffed securely in your pocket? Of course money is always a factor with work (you essentially work to receive money), but if you're faking your enthusiasm or concern, people will notice. And no enlightening or knowledge-driven words coming out of your mouth will prove meaningful.

I have mentioned before that workers who are the most genuine in the hospital also happen to be making lower wages. Is it a coincidence? Maybe. But it may say a thing or two about money and its power of corruption, or at least its power of enticing someone away from their original purpose.

The psychiatrist, in particular, amazes me. He has at least eight or nine years of intensive medical training and practice under his belt, but other than renewing prescriptions and upping doses, he has no involvement. His group sessions, which should be health-geared and proactive in nature, simply consist of showing old action movies and making as little eye-contact as needed. Surely this wasn't learned in med school, so what brought it about?

Let's contrast him with one of the social workers. He is making less than half of the amount he was making in his previous career, but carries a smile that cannot be erased. His sessions are focused, goal-oriented, and have led many out of the hospital. He knows everyone in his groups by name, and they are very excited to see him each day. This is where he wants to be and he is doing what he wants to do, and his demeanor shows it.

At the end of the day, being genuine is required, no matter what career or life path you venture down. And you can't be genuine if you dislike what you do. Is success defined by being genuinely involved in a career, or making a lot of money? That's your decision, but Viktor Frankl puts my outlook nicely: "I want you to listen to what your conscience commands you to do and go on to carry it out to the best of your knowledge. Then you will live to see that in the long run-- in the long run, I say!-- success will follow you precisely because you had forgotten to think of it."

Are you the psychiatrist or the social worker?

Day 9 and 10

I anticipated conflicting feelings about being present at this site. I knew it, but I didn't expect it to come on so strongly. I was aware that I would witness things that I am morally against, but not to the extent that I have. Every day spent at the hospital is an extreme: there are either really bad or really good experiences.

A psychologist who is supposed to be leading a recovery action plan group simply reads stories aloud to patients who clearly cannot focus on her. At the conclusion of her recitation, she went around the room and asked everyone their opinion on what she just read, and reacted strongly when no one could give her anything to work with. "Did anyone even hear my story?!" she said, agitated. A shy man, Arnold, responded apologetically: "We can't pay attention Ms. Faye, we're very sedated." A few others in the room nodded in agreement, hardly able to keep their heads up.

What was probably more disheartening than this was Shirley's state when I saw her. She was clearly heavily drugged, hardly capable of keeping her head up, let alone her eyes open. She was flat, spoke in a monotone, and slipped in and out of focus. It was difficult to keep a conversation flowing with her. She told me that an older lady tried attacking her the night before, but that was really all I could comprehend from her. I tried offering her some encouragement, but she was clearly out of touch. I felt so horrible for her. I wanted to do something, but helplessly realized my futility in the situation.

Just when I felt I couldn't take much else, I joined the school of rock group. It was uplifting, and to see so many people have fun with instruments, singing, and music made my day a little brighter. This group is no joke. We were led into the music room, which houses two electric guitars, one electric bass guitar, two keyboards, a drum set, various percussion instruments, a conga drum, and several microphones. There is a full-on set of musical instruments in there, and I was blown away when I heard the group leader cue everyone to play "Knockin' On Heaven's Door". Before I knew it, the whole room transformed into a rock stadium: guitars were blaring in unison, the drummer was keeping the beat, and multiple singers began harmonizing the lyrics. I was so impressed, I almost forgot to play along with them.

You could tell everyone loves this group. They are eager to assign themselves roles, and many like the attention they get when behind the mic. It's nice to see people enjoying themselves. I'll probably need to make my way in there more often.

On my way out, I was warned never to open bathroom doors for individuals in the hospital. A few days ago, a woman broke a porcelain toilet seat and used the shards to cut herself. This same woman, in her suicidal fury, has swallowed pens, coins, batteries, and whatever she can get her hands on. There really are no bounds for someone who has decided against living, unfortunately.

Day 8

I must remind myself that, despite not being too happy about a majority of the staff members at the hospital, I am there for the individuals. They make my trips worthwhile, and the discouraging realities that I notice fade briefly when taking into consideration the enjoyment I receive from my interactions with various people.

I've noticed that those who carry higher titles in the ward -- such as the M.D., Psy.D., and Ph.D. holders -- don't take their positions as seriously as they should be. The M.D. and psychologist consistently show movies in their groups instead of conduct discussions (I don't think Batman and Merlin really have any intrinsic value in a therapeutic session). Considering those present do not get much individual therapy, these groups should be held in a higher regard, as it is one of the few opportunities to discuss recovery in a structured setting.

A social worker jokingly asked the doctor a few weeks ago what showing Batman does to help people in his group, and he merely shrugged, laughed, and replied, "It's easier." It's frustrating because those with advanced degrees have the most training and should, technically, be of the most help. Their knowledge is invaluable and hopefully it is being used in areas that I am not seeing. Otherwise, I am severely disappointed.

Putting what is bothering me aside, I was not surprised to find out that one of the individuals I spent much time with at the hospital, Jorge, is being discharged. He was extremely well-behaved, stable, and I always wondered what he was in for. He told me he has big goals for himself, such as going back to school, and making a name for himself. "I better not see you here again," I jokingly said as I shook his hand. "I'm proud of you".

"I've been in the system for over 8 years," he stated. "I've been at this hospital for the last 4, but I'm done. I'm gonna do good so I never have to come back again." We said our last goodbyes and I went back to supervising the hip hop dancing that was taking place.

I really wish the best for Jorge.

I met a girl by the name of Shirley who has also been in and out of hospitals for a lot of her life. She spoke to me of growing up without a family. "I never had parents. I was in a board and care for most of my life, and those people behaved like family. I managed to stay out of mental institutions for many years because of them, but then I went to jail, and now I'm back here." I gave her some encouragement, telling her that if she managed to stay away for years, there is hope that she will be able to leave for an even greater period of time or for good. She nodded in agreement. "I'll leave this place soon," she said, looking off into the distance. There was a brief period of silence.

"People beat me up here," she said quietly and sadly. I was taken back by her sudden disclosure. "Why in the world would they do that?" I replied. "They make fun of my short hair, and say I must be a lesbian. Staff has also beaten me up, too." I became silent, at a loss for words at her circumstance. She lifted her sleeve up to reveal healing cuts and fresh bruises. I had so much I wanted to say at this moment, so much confusion and mixed emotions, but I knew I couldn't say too much. I looked off into the corner to see staff suspiciously looking over in our direction. I encouraged her to be strong, told her she would be out again in no time, and she began speaking about more light-hearted subjects. I stayed enthusiastic with her throughout the conversation, but could not help ruminating about what we had briefly discussed. Why was she attacked so often by other individuals in the hospital? Is staff properly supervising? And why is staff harming her? Is she becoming violent?

Needless to say, I left that day with a lot of unanswered questions, but a hope that my new-found bond with Shirley can prove to be healthy and beneficial to her. She patiently taught me how to do the electric slide, so I'd say we're off to a good start.