Sunday, June 13, 2010

Portrait Of An Asshole As A Middle Aged Loser

Here's my weekend at a glance guide to how I masochistically whore myself for money.

Saturday, 1:50 PM, and P, this wiry muscular black guy, decides to smash all the doors in his bedroom.
I intercede, & he begins to kick me.
I let him.
Don't care.
Don't feel it.

When he can't get a rise out of me he heads towards other staff then, finally, he attempts to attack other clients.

I intercede again & begin to restrain him.

Others join & we pin him for his required 5 minute time out.

We let him up and, after a momentary pause, he starts again.
But this time 2 supervisors are present.

Having no desire to fill out the asinine amount of paperwork & face the "post behavior de-briefing" (I'm not kidding. They call it a "de-briefing. Too many Jason Bourne movies I think) I defer to the judgment of management for instructions to begin a new restraint.
Instructions that never come.

They have no interest in paperwork either.
The fact that he's attacking other clients doesn't interest them in the least

Eventually he stops.

For a while.

We have to repeat this restraint deal 2 more times before bed.

& once more after he's in bed.
This last one came with kicks to the belly that, I'm ashamed to say, I felt.

Flash forward to this morning.

B has a fresh stomach tube & he's combative.
He's also got a thick line of his own stomach bile running down his leg.
Therefore, he needs a shower.

(Stomach tubed B has only one interest in life & that's eating.
He'd steal food from anyone.
It's the thoroughly chewing & swallowing category that gave him trouble.
After many bouts of aspiration pneumonia, he was finally tubed.
It's been about a month now.
The liquid meow mix goes directly into his small intestine to prevent B from ruminating his frothy feed & then aspirating that.
In other words, it bypasses his stomach.
Management insists that the liquid Happy Meal they serve up leaves him content.
I oh so beg to differ.
Since B has already ripped his tube completely out of stomach once he has to wear these big white padded mitten like hand restraints.
Today I watched him trying to eat them.
I also saw him repeatedly lick & try to eat his own shirt.
I think the guy is psychologically starving in a completely nourished body.
Staff sit around and make "food collages" with him.
His eyes are big wide saucers as he stares at pies & steaks & burgers.
They hang them around his bed.
I think they're insane.
Although, I do suggest we buy a McDonald's ( B's favorite restaurant)
mobile to hand over his bed.
Big Macs & fries hanging tantalizingly out of reach.)

T also wants a shower.
T is a strange one.
He gave me my 2 most recent pseudo dueling scar face wounds.
Normally he's quite content to wait his turn.
Sits on the commode like a good little soldier.
Its when I pull the shower curtain closed that T becomes frisky.

But not today.
As I'm concentrating on B, out of the corner of my eye, I see T charging me, going for my damn face again.

I block him & he backs off.

At this point, B loses patience & starts hitting me.
I turn my attention to him & when I turn back, T has taken his fingernail & gouged a fairly deep & bloody gash in his own forehead.
As the blood runs down over his nose & lips & drips off his chin
he smiles at me in his own unique & creepy way.

As the nurse attempts to butterfly bandage the wound he repeatedly punches himself in the side of the head. He then starts kicking at both of us.
I have to hold his arms & contort my leg around to inhibit his legs whilst she cleans his wound.

Flash forward again to tonight.

I discover a neato little fact about T. His meds were changed recently. The new meds will initially increase the severity of his behaviors before supposedly leveling them off.

The only problem is that I learned this about 10 hours too late.

Management knew.

They just didn't want to share.

Once you realize that these management fucks view us as, at best, one evolutionary step above what we wipe out the client's butt cracks, it's really hard to give a fuck.

The lesson here is: Mamma, don't let your daughters grow up & marry losers.

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