Cast of Characters, Part 2: The Perv

From Getty Images, by Tristan Paviot.

Perhaps my favorite patient of the whole motley crew was a young Hispanic male who was present in the ward before my admittance and remained past my discharge (i.e. he had issues that kept him there past the average five days). We'll call him Patient X.

He spoke only Spanish. It's hard enough trying to communicate with psychiatric patients in the same language; add a language barrier on top of that and it's next to impossible to convey even the simplest idea. The staff really struggled to treat him. There was occasionally an interpreter for Patient X, but not always. With or without an interpreter, he had to be watched by a staff member at all times.

Why, you ask? Well. Patient X was a pervert.

He would come into female patients' rooms while they were changing and give inappropriate hugs. Physical contact between patients isn't allowed anyway; a lingering hug with a hand drifting toward a boob is definitely not allowed. Thankfully, outrage is an emotion easily conveyed across all languages. Patient L frequently threatened violence, and he seemed to get that.

Patient X was strange in other ways. The staff always referred to him as "confused." I'm not sure why he was in the ward (The Big Three, schizophrenia, bipolar, whatever). Even when he had an interpreter translate for him during groups, his comments weren't entirely coherent. Something about "healing his wounds". Nice and poetic, but doesn't actually say much.

When he wasn't watched, he'd move mattresses from room to room, rearrange the furniture in the TV room, or just crawl on/under the furniture. During an evening wrap-up group, without warning, he did an army-crawl under the coffee table and had to be escorted from the room. Another time, during a morning community meeting, Patient X climbed on top of a chair, peeled an inspection sticker off a ceiling tile, and ate the sticker. Things like that. Therapist Hard Stare yelled at him, "[Patient X name], down!" -- like he was a dog. It's easier to get through to a dog than it was to get through to Patient X. I suppose when you're particularly frustrated with the failures of communication it's easy to devolve into such base methods. Down, boy!

He also made a complex tower of Jenga blocks in one corner of the unit. For someone who crawls all over the furniture, I was impressed by the detail and care that must have been put into the two-foot-tall skyscraper, complete with window arrangements and a lightning rod. The staff summoned the interpreter to ask Patient X about the tower (for it was truly unusual behavior for Patient X), but they couldn't get a coherent answer from him, Spanish or not.

While this "confused" behavior was entertaining (and frustrating), it wasn't nearly as interesting and funny as his more licentious behavior. I saw him drop his pants in the TV room in front of at least other three people, and when I told Therapist Verdigris about it, she just sighed and said, "Again?"

He also dropped trou and whipped out his dick at Patient Y.

While I was not a direct witness to that event, the heightened level of scrutiny over Patient X supports the validity of the story.

Strangely enough, Patient Y didn't seem particularly bothered by the flashing incident, despite being upset by things like Patient L's goth wardrobe. Alternatively, Patient L flipped out every time Patient X tried to touch her or come in her room. Guess you can't predict how people will respond to... "confused" behavior.

At least he wasn't dull.

From Getty Images, by Ghislain & Marie David de Lossy.

"Confused," indeed.

Accommodation

 A typical psych unit room, this one from Cedar Hills. 

Note the uncomfortably thin mattress, which is standard to the field.

Picture taken from the The Oregonian.

It's hard to imagine a hospital bedroom in a psychiatric unit is anything but what it is. There's not much in way of "character," and the character there is only reaffirms the truth of the matter. You are in a psych ward. You are crazy. You are likely a danger to yourself, if not also to others. If nothing else, you somehow disrupt the normal flow of society. The world cannot accommodate your Otherness, so adjustments must be made -- for your own safety, of course.

There is no mirror in the bathroom, for mirrors are easily broken and broken mirror shards make good weapons. The result of this is that everyone's hair looks terrible.

Someone, at some point, had written in Chinese on the wall next to my bed, likely in crayon. It had been painted over again, but in certain light the texture of the letters still show up, a stark matte against a clean, gleaming surface.

I also spent the first few days of my stay being jealous of my roommate, who had two of the substandard pillows instead of just one, and two substandard pillows comes closer to a real pillow than just one, at least in terms of depth measurement. One just has to ignore the weird plastic covering that crinkles with any movement.

The curtains aren't bad, though. They're blackout curtains, so when you completely close them and turn off all the lights, you can't even see your hand in front of your face. Not so good if you're terrified of your roommate standing over you while you sleep, but good if you're a sensitive-to-light sleeper.

If you stay too long in your room, the staff views it as a Bad Sign. They like to coax us out into the open of the unit common area, which is the radial space around the island that is the nurses' station. Ragged books, games and puzzles with pieces missing, uncomfortable chairs -- gee, I wonder why I don't like hanging out in the common area. I'd prefer to stay in my room, 308.