Tuesday, October 5, 2005

Everyday when I come into work, we're to report to the minikitchen, which is but a conference room full of tables and chairs with a mess of cabinets, sink, fridge, stove and oven to one side of it. We're to go there everyday upon clocking in to have a shift change meeting. This gives the day shift an opportunity to tell the incoming night shift of the days events.

The nurses give us a report on each individual patient on the unit and tell us what they did that day and where we will be stationed. I was placed in the Music Room today.

There is a child at the hospital who is such a danger to himself and those around him that he's not only been placed on 1 to 1 precautions, but he's been placed in the Music Room. He's to have no interaction with anyone but staff. The last incident that actually landed him there is when he removed his clothing and began humping furniture in the dayroom of his unit. He approached staff and peer alike, cock in hand, asking if they wanted it. His name is Charles. Charles is ten years old.

His background is a shaky one. He was taken away from his parents at an early age and placed in foster care. His last foster mother has made it very specific that she wants no contact with him and does NOT want him back. Charles also has an axis II (mental assesment) of mild mental restardation.

To say that this kid is overweight would be a drastic understatement. The kid fucking waddles when he walks. The only way you'd see him run would be if he were after a donut truck.

I entered the Music Room and his eyes immediately lit up. "Heeeeeatherrrrrrrrrrrr!" He said and got up to hug me. He wrapped his fat little arms around me while I returned the hug by giving him a light pat on the back with one hand while looking off at the ceiling. He immediately told me that he didn't get 3pm snack. A quick look in the trashcan showed an empty box of cereal and an empty container of milk. Little lying bastard. The kid eats like he's starving.

I took him to the rec area to play video games for awhile. Then we went outside and played on the swing set. The day was looking to be pretty chill.

We returned to the Music Room where I called to have his dinner delivered to him. The lady that brought it to him is new and forgot his milk and silverware. She returned to the diningroom to get it and I told Charles that he couldn't eat until she came back with his silverware. He ignore me, opened his tray and first grabbed the dessert (which was cake) and began shoving it in his fat mouth with even fatter fingers. I just sighed and began reading my book again, Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead. The lady returned and gave him his milk and such. After she'd left he started complaining that he wanted ketchup for his corndog. I told him that there was in way on Earth he was going to get his ketchup and that I wasn't his slave. He quieted down and ate his corndog with mustard.

After he'd eaten, he threw his trash away and immediately tried to come behind the desk. I'm sitting in this corner with the desk at an angle. Behind my chair is a bunch of toys. I told him that he wasn't allowed behind the desk and anything he needed back there I'd get for him. He tells me that he's trying to get to the hand sanitizer, which is on the WALL on the other side of the desk. I ask him to walk around and he replies that he wont be able to reach it, when it's absolutely obvious that he can. He walks around and begins to squirt the FUCK out of it, over and over and over again. It's squirting off in all directions and he's absolutely pleased by this. I ask him to stop and he refuses. At this point I grabbed his squirting arm and ask him to stop again. He screams "NO!" He then runs over to a box of legos on the floor and throws the box. Legos go flying everywhere. He picks up the now empty box and throws it across the room. It hits the large window with a BOOM. At this point, I'm required to ask "What's wrong, Charles? What are you angry about?" to try to talk him down.

Since he's in the Music Room all alone, there's a special stretcher in ther just for him. He goes over to it and pushes it over. It's quite large and quite medal, safe for the padded arm and leg holders on it, so I ask him to stop messing with it, lest he hurt himself. He pushes it flat on the floor and starts jumping up and down on it saying "no no no no no no" in a little sing song fashion. I go over and grab his arms and pull him away from the stretcher. At this point he spits on me.

The fat little fucker SPIT on me. I walked straight over to the switchboard and pressed the alarm button. The alarm goes off throughout the hospital sending a signal to all available staff to go to the area where they're needed. I immediately hear a high pitched squeel go off. I go back over to Charles and try to put him into a horizontal restraint. He's trying to bite my hands just as other staff (about 7 of them) enter the room. As they take him down, he's screaming that I'm a bitch and a cunt.

The very stretcher that he was jumping on not even 30 seconds before is pulled over to where he is. They place him on it facedown and strap in his arms and legs. The nurse arrived a few minutes later with the tell tale blue box. Inside contains a shot of Zyprexa. Charles receives the shot in his right buttocks cheek, screaming the entire time. I sat in my chair behind my desk and read my book for over and hour while he begged and pleaded to be let out of restraint. I didn't have the authority to release him, so I didn't even bother replying to him during this time.

Due to his excessive diet, overweight problems, and who knows what else, the kid has some extremely terrible gas. I guess he'd been holding it in for the sake of being polte, but while he was in restraint he just let it fly. I had never heard anything so loud, so frequent, and so disgusting. The child literally had Pazuzu in his bowels. He's also known for purposefully shitting his pants to get out of situations (like rehabd and school). SO....sick.

After he got out, he was so groggy that he went to bed. I read for the remaining 3 hours of work. Today wasn't so bad.