Stay Away from MY ER and Other Fun Bits of Wisdom: Wobbling between Humor and Heartbreak by Jones MD Rada

Author:Jones MD, Rada
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: APOLODOR
Published: 2020-01-13T00:00:00+00:00

Wishing your loved one a speedy recovery and hoping your visit goes well.

* * *

Originally published 21 April 2019 ©RadaJonesMD

Crazy!

* * *

“I can’t pee,” he says.

“How come?”

“They froze my urethra! They got mad that I didn’t listen to them. To punish me, they froze my urethra. Now I can’t pee.”

“Who froze it?”

“The voices.”

The voices froze his urethra.

He’s a good-looking man, with his tan setting off his silver buzz cut and nonblinking eyes. He’s wearing blue paper scrubs, our mandatory mental health outfit, and he’s wearing them well.

The blues help, even though many hate them. They remove the risk of hidden weapons that could harm them or others. They prevent them from overdosing on the pills stashed in their underwear. They set them apart from the other patients, those who can come and go as they please. Blue patients only get bathroom privileges. Plus, the paper is too flimsy to hang yourself with and it saves on laundry.

He smiles. I smile back. I like it better than being cursed, punched and spat at, as usual.I probe further.

“How did they freeze it?”

“By remote control. They put in a chip.”

How I wish I had that technology! It would work wonders. No more adult diapers. No more Foleys. It would even help heal decubitus wounds. What a dream!

I sigh. I get back to here and now. It’s time to ask the question. The danger question.

“Have you had any thoughts about hurting yourself or others?”

“No. Not me. The wolf-pack.”

“The wolf-pack?”

“They told me to kill myself. I didn’t. That’s why they froze my urethra.”

Sometimes it’s the FBI, sometimes it’s Jesus, sometimes it’s the devil. Today it’s the wolf-pack.

I’m working a blue shift today. I get my usual share of heart attacks, STDs, and diarrheas, but I’m also in charge of half a dozen or so mental health patients. They’re all waiting. For medical clearance, mental health evaluation, a psychiatric bed, a safe place to go.

In my ER, we have three “mental health safe” rooms, stripped of everything but the stretcher. That’s seldom enough, so many blue patients lay in the hallways in plain sight. They sleep, they eat, they get bored, they watch the action. Until they become the action.

Some are sick, like Mr. Wolf-Pack. Psychotic, manic, catatonic, despondent. Like Cat-Woman. She thinks she’s a cat. She won’t talk. She refuses to eat anything but cat food, and there’s no cat food in the cafeteria. I tried milk. She hissed at me.

Some metabolize yesterday’s liquor - they got drunk and got into a fight. They said they’ll kill themselves, so somebody called 911, and they’re here, waiting for a mental health evaluation.

Kids out of control, some as young as five. They had a temper tantrum, so their adults called police to bring them over. They hope for a magic potion to make them into little angels. But since we’re not Hogwarts, that doesn’t happen. That’s why twelve-year-old Johnny, who has developmental delays and autism, has been with us in the ED for 23 days. There’s nowhere else for him to go.

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