In my role as a Psychiatric Technician, the goal is to care for patients with professionalism and warmth while maintaining boundaries, within that working relationship.
But sometimes, there are certain people who touch your heart in a way you do not expect.
The reason may not be clear; they remind you of someone dear from your past, or present; a grandfather, aunt, cousin, friend. Sometimes, the answer is as simple as watching a transformation; from lost, to hopeful, to whole again, and the epic gratitude expressed by that patient as they reach their destination of wellness.
Once a patient is discharged, you know not of their future and can only hope for the best. Other times, you have the good fortune to witness it. The following are three patients, I have cared for (names changed), all of different circumstances, and personalities, who left an impression I will remember.
Glen
It is always difficult entering a hospital for the first time. Emotions run the gamut. Fear, anger, anxiety, shame. But one middle-aged gentleman arrived so dejected, he could hardly speak. As the days went by, I searched for any positive change in behavior, without success. Glen would walk around the unit, head down, the only hint of optimism that peeked through was when he spoke to his wife and family on the telephone. One afternoon I sat with him, attempting to pry even a few words out of him. Nothing. We sat in silence as he blinked back tears. About a week into his stay, the day room began to fill up for one of the hospital’s more popular groups, Yoga. It was a beautiful summer evening and the doors to the patio were, as is the rule when not in use, locked. One patient asked if we could open them to allow more air into the room and because we had extra staff, were able to accommodate. I noticed Glen standing in the hallway, peering in through the window as patients positioned their mats on the floor. I motioned to him to come in and join the group. He hesitantly entered, was given a yoga mat, and lay down with the others. Fifteen minutes later, I glanced around the room. The class was in full swing. A faint scent of lavender filled the room and a warm breeze billowed through the open patio doors. I glanced at the patients before me, and spotted Glen. Eyes closed with an expression that conveyed complete calmness, he lay among the other patients performing a set of deep breathing exercises and for the first time since his arrival, seemed to at last be enjoying a moment of peace.
Three weeks later, I sat in the Silver Hill library, filling in for our librarian, who was out that day. As I pressed the buzzer to allow a visiting patient inside, a gentleman entered whose face, I could not at first, place. He was clad in a vibrant, tie-dyed tee shirt. Glen! He had left the ACU inpatient unit to begin our Transitional Living Program a couple of weeks before. “Great shirt!” I greeted him. He responded brightly: “You are the third person today that asked me about this shirt. I made it yesterday in group.” I smiled back at him, amazed that this was the same patient I had cared for last month. Whether due to medication, therapy, or just sheer will and strength, before me stood a new man, transformed and whose journey to recovery, was well on its way.
Vanessa
Upon arrival on the inpatient unit, she was angry and frustrated, which is not uncommon for new patients. “I don’t need to be here!” she bellowed as she swept down the hallway to her room. But her frustration disappeared shortly, and her enthusiasm and brightness became a magnet to other patients and staff alike. She came from a line of artists who had clearly passed down an obvious talent. Her solace was sitting quietly, drawing or painting, with whatever materials were available to her. She often sketched other patients or staff members then presented the recipients with her work of art. Vanessa also loved poetry and carried a small book in her pocket which she would pull out and quote whenever the occasion presented itself.
Beautifully dressed in flowing vibrant colors, her personality was infectious. Entering her room, an aroma of an exotic spice filled the air, from where it had originated was a mystery. She told stories of her world travels that held everyone on the edge of their seat. She was a fountain of knowledge in describing the different cities she had seen and the special magic they held for her. I often wondered if these travels were fact or fiction, but it mattered little, her descriptions and tales made you feel like you too were in Paris on the banks of the Seine, right alongside her. When I first met Vanessa, we discovered a mutual love of Irish Music. During the Art Therapy group, the instructor would often allow a patient to pick a song, dear to their heart and play it for the group. Vanessa never failed to choose an Irish ballad and would sing along in abandon sometimes accentuated with a little jig as well. On the day of her departure, she packed her suitcases filled to the brim with stuffed animals, silk scarves, and various lotions and potions from her world travels. We sang one last Irish tune together before she left. I will not soon forget her free spirit and joie de vivre and picture her, at this very moment, in a gondola in Venice, charming her fellow travelers.
Alex
A young man with a gentle soul, Alex stayed on our Acute Care inpatient unit for several weeks. During this time, he delighted all who encountered him, with his kindness and caring nature. He excelled in Math and could perform any complicated equation in a matter of seconds. “I don’t like to tell a lot of people” he confided to me shyly one day, “but my IQ is of genius level.” I had little doubt. Alex’s other talent was the art of Origami. He delighted in creating figures of animals and birds and then gifting them to other patients on the unit who had been kind to him. I recall one patient, denied an origami creation, due to an argument with Alex the day before over the TV remote. He would sit for hours in the day room, his brow furrowed in concentration, folding and unfolding, perfecting the colorful, delicate tissue into exquisite works of art. One afternoon, I was the recipient of not one but two, cobalt blue, elegantly crafted origami swans which to this day, sit on my kitchen window. When I thanked Alex, complimenting him on his masterpiece, he replied with a nonchalant “oh that’s nothing, I once made 2,000 origami figures in one afternoon in my kindergarten class…”
On each unit, a locked wooden box with a one-way slat hangs on the wall. Beside the box is a neat stack of blank cards in the shape of “stars” allowing each patient the opportunity to write a note known as a “Silver Star,” to a specific staff member. The messages range from simple words of thanks to a more comprehensive note of gratitude. The morning he was leaving, I noticed Alex carrying a huge stack of cards in his hand, written painstakingly in his neat penmanship for almost every staff member, including housekeeping. A reflection of Alex’s huge heart.
I read a quote recently which said, “Somewhere out there a stranger remembers you, because you were kind to them, when no one else was.” I like to think this sentiment is true and just maybe, I am remembered too💛