As I was reading about safety concerns at a State Hospital in Napa California where I used to work, I reflected on my initiation into the field of mental health, working with the mentally disabled. Many of us have interesting stories about how we came to our profession. I find that these fascinating stories are often the foundation of the professionals passion, that translates into motivation, that helps them persevere to find professional success.
Here's an example of a story based on my initiation into the field:
What feels like many lifetimes ago I stepped in the door of Unit 30 at Fairview State Hospital as a Psychiatric Technician trainee. I was a single, young mother looking for a better life through education using the CA State educational program for welfare mothers. The first evening I was there, yes they assigned me to the PM shift, I was put in C-Group, alone, during the dinner meal. I was in a room of 15 mentally and developmentally challenged adult women who were in the lowest performing group at a state hospital, and then they rolled in the dinner cart. These women were not allowed in the dining room because they were too disruptive. I’ll let your imagination roam a bit before I continue......
The door to the room was always kept locked, and luckily I had a key but was told I could not leave the room unattended by at least one nursing staff person. It was not OK to leave it attended with one of the housekeeping staff. The group room was a large cement walled room with plastic chairs and one bathroom and a nursing room to keep my purse in. The nursing room, which was really a closet, was supplied with towels, self-care supplies, and any medications or first aid supplies that were required.
First the dinner bell rang. I didn’t know what the sound meant, but the clients clearly knew something was up. Many had been wandering around the room lost in ritual behavior, some were sitting in chairs with their knees under their arms. When the buzzer went off they ALL looked at the door, and of course, so did I. We heard the sound of A and B groups running and lining up at the door to the dining room, being told to calm down and get in a straight line, and finally led into the dining hall to eat. There was a few minutes of silence and then we heard something approaching our door. Two kitchen staff rolled in a 5 foot cart that was loaded with metal containers of things like pudding, mashed potatoes, gravy, beets, thin slices of dried out beef and of course bread and butter or some kind of yellow stuff that was a metaphor for butter. The metal tubs were all sealed with a thin sheet of tinfoil and were surrounded by plastic plates that you could drive over with a car without breaking. There were also napkins (a nice touch), and spoons, milk and plastic cups. There were probably other things on the cart but it’s a bit of a blur.
The kitchen staff rolled the cart in the door, gave it a shove, closed the door and locked it. You ALWAYS lock the door behind you at a State Hospital. The aroma of food rolled off the cart and before I could think, the more aggressive of the 15 women ran to the cart, punched through the tinfoil sheaths, grabbed a handful of food, and shoved it into their mouths. I knew in minutes others would follow and I opened the door and called for help, none came, I figured they were all in the dining room and no one could hear me. Instantly I realized I would have to handle this frenzy and the testing of my ability to manage this group of mentally disabled women without anyone getting hurt. What to do?
I'll continue this story when I hear from you about what you think about how important our own healer story is. What brought you to the field and what were your first experiences?
You can look forward to more of this story about chocolate pudding, choking, wearing dinner and of course clean-up in the future unfolding of one healer's story and how it informs her current practice.
Warmly
Linda
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