Friday was an interesting day, a day that I'm still processing.
It was quite exciting! There was mud flinging. Some kicking and screaming. Hitting. Biting. Urinating on walls. Cursing. Two capture/escorts. Three restraints. Two protective safety room seclusions. A ride in the back of a police car!
One of the featured acts in the circus-that-was-Friday needed hospitalized. The devil was telling him to hurt other people. And to kill himself. Our supervisor is out, so I was able to kinda spearhead the process, which I loved. I miss the aspect of professional interactions from previous middle management positions.
Making observations. Evaluating information. Finding patterns. Making educated predictions of upcoming behaviors. And then discussing it with A) people who give a crap B) people who actually understand what I'm talking about C) people who actually believe I might know what I'm talking about.
It was a pleasant blast from the past, from a time and place where my professional judgement was valued and appreciated just as much, if not more, than my ability to entertain and win compliance.
These types of conversations, they give me a rush. What's happening? Why is it happening? What's likely to happen next? What's the best realistic resolution? I love it!
But then... but then there is the other side of it all...
The kid I took to the hospital in the back of a police car is MY kid. That one kid that just finds a place in that one staff's heart? That one kid you just can't pray for enough? That kid. My kid.
Waiting with him for over three hours in the ER. Holding his hand. Telling him its okay. Assuring him the doctors are there to help. Comforting him. Speaking on his behalf. Advocating for him.
Then watching him be strapped into a gurney and wheeled into the back of an ambulance to be transported to a mental hospital.
"Are you coming with me, Naty Poo?"
"No buddy. I can't."
Sigh.
He's my kid. But he's not my kid. And that's a tough line to walk. A difficult line to find. And a heartbreaking line to follow.
The doors closed. He smiled at me with a tear in his eye as he waved goodbye. Damn lines.
It was quite exciting! There was mud flinging. Some kicking and screaming. Hitting. Biting. Urinating on walls. Cursing. Two capture/escorts. Three restraints. Two protective safety room seclusions. A ride in the back of a police car!
One of the featured acts in the circus-that-was-Friday needed hospitalized. The devil was telling him to hurt other people. And to kill himself. Our supervisor is out, so I was able to kinda spearhead the process, which I loved. I miss the aspect of professional interactions from previous middle management positions.
Making observations. Evaluating information. Finding patterns. Making educated predictions of upcoming behaviors. And then discussing it with A) people who give a crap B) people who actually understand what I'm talking about C) people who actually believe I might know what I'm talking about.
It was a pleasant blast from the past, from a time and place where my professional judgement was valued and appreciated just as much, if not more, than my ability to entertain and win compliance.
These types of conversations, they give me a rush. What's happening? Why is it happening? What's likely to happen next? What's the best realistic resolution? I love it!
But then... but then there is the other side of it all...
The kid I took to the hospital in the back of a police car is MY kid. That one kid that just finds a place in that one staff's heart? That one kid you just can't pray for enough? That kid. My kid.
Waiting with him for over three hours in the ER. Holding his hand. Telling him its okay. Assuring him the doctors are there to help. Comforting him. Speaking on his behalf. Advocating for him.
Then watching him be strapped into a gurney and wheeled into the back of an ambulance to be transported to a mental hospital.
"Are you coming with me, Naty Poo?"
"No buddy. I can't."
Sigh.
He's my kid. But he's not my kid. And that's a tough line to walk. A difficult line to find. And a heartbreaking line to follow.
The doors closed. He smiled at me with a tear in his eye as he waved goodbye. Damn lines.
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