"Roses are Red,
Violets are blue,
I'm a schizoprhenic,
... and so am I." ~ Bill Murray in What About Bob
I worked as direct care staff in our very own State Hospital here in Cambridge, Mn for about 4 years. The entire time I worked with a man who has schizophrenia, I'll call him Mr. Peterson. Mr. Peterson, my first day working, I was 19 years old, was physically held down by staff 13 times. Number one, that is a lot of times on an 8 hour shift, and number two, well, the number 13...not a good number. I used to think he was posessed by demons and then later had been told by another staff, "Nope, that's what we call a classic example of a schizo."
Over the years here are the things this man did to me: put poop (yes his own) on the door knobs of our office, threw poop through our little office/medication window, slapped me in the face, jammed a phone in my mouth, slapped me some more, made me (by his behavior) take him down after his bath (so yeah, he was completely naked and wet), threw food on me, and eventually, threw a cup of his urine all over me. To others he's taken chunks out of there skin via biting, scratched, head butted, punched, spit in their face, peed on, and well, the list is endless. To himself: cracked his head open I don't know how many times (literally thousands), bit the biggest chunks of his own skin out of his wrists, smacked himself in the face until he was black and blue, took his own eye out the socket with a spoon when in a psych ward, made his nose bleed countless amounts of times (sometimes his finger was so far in there I thought maybe he'd re-adjust his brain just enough to get better), and screamed so loud he's lost his voice.
And through all of this abuse and self abuse, he is one of my most memorable and enjoyable clients I have ever worked with. The day he leaves this Earth, I will cry my eyes out. He's 37, and will not live past 60 years for sure. He had a really traumatic crappy life all before the age of 3 years old. He never had a chance. But he has one of the most magnetic personalitys that I have ever been around, and can have such a child-like enthusiasm, it sucks you right in. Even if he just smacked you.
I still office out on the State Hospital grounds, so I still get to see him every now and then. I got to see him today, and he was in such a great mood! I got to watch him suck on this little, gumby like pink bunny that he had received earlier from his "grab bag". I asked him if he really felt it necessary to torture the poor bunny by sucking it. He laughed and said, "No I guess not!"
He told me about his birthday, he actually went out for dinner which is huge! And he ended up getting to go to another dinner in public a week later. I asked him jokingly how he managed that one and he busted a gut giggling. He knew what I meant.
He wants a pink casket when he dies. I think the song "Afternoon Delight" should be played as well, because I heard him sing it once, out of the blue. I didn't realize he retained "songs" in his memory, it was a neat experience to hear that come from such a maniacal mouth.
So that's Mr. Peterson, the man who can put a smile on my face any old day.
Violets are blue,
I'm a schizoprhenic,
... and so am I." ~ Bill Murray in What About Bob
I worked as direct care staff in our very own State Hospital here in Cambridge, Mn for about 4 years. The entire time I worked with a man who has schizophrenia, I'll call him Mr. Peterson. Mr. Peterson, my first day working, I was 19 years old, was physically held down by staff 13 times. Number one, that is a lot of times on an 8 hour shift, and number two, well, the number 13...not a good number. I used to think he was posessed by demons and then later had been told by another staff, "Nope, that's what we call a classic example of a schizo."
Over the years here are the things this man did to me: put poop (yes his own) on the door knobs of our office, threw poop through our little office/medication window, slapped me in the face, jammed a phone in my mouth, slapped me some more, made me (by his behavior) take him down after his bath (so yeah, he was completely naked and wet), threw food on me, and eventually, threw a cup of his urine all over me. To others he's taken chunks out of there skin via biting, scratched, head butted, punched, spit in their face, peed on, and well, the list is endless. To himself: cracked his head open I don't know how many times (literally thousands), bit the biggest chunks of his own skin out of his wrists, smacked himself in the face until he was black and blue, took his own eye out the socket with a spoon when in a psych ward, made his nose bleed countless amounts of times (sometimes his finger was so far in there I thought maybe he'd re-adjust his brain just enough to get better), and screamed so loud he's lost his voice.
And through all of this abuse and self abuse, he is one of my most memorable and enjoyable clients I have ever worked with. The day he leaves this Earth, I will cry my eyes out. He's 37, and will not live past 60 years for sure. He had a really traumatic crappy life all before the age of 3 years old. He never had a chance. But he has one of the most magnetic personalitys that I have ever been around, and can have such a child-like enthusiasm, it sucks you right in. Even if he just smacked you.
I still office out on the State Hospital grounds, so I still get to see him every now and then. I got to see him today, and he was in such a great mood! I got to watch him suck on this little, gumby like pink bunny that he had received earlier from his "grab bag". I asked him if he really felt it necessary to torture the poor bunny by sucking it. He laughed and said, "No I guess not!"
He told me about his birthday, he actually went out for dinner which is huge! And he ended up getting to go to another dinner in public a week later. I asked him jokingly how he managed that one and he busted a gut giggling. He knew what I meant.
He wants a pink casket when he dies. I think the song "Afternoon Delight" should be played as well, because I heard him sing it once, out of the blue. I didn't realize he retained "songs" in his memory, it was a neat experience to hear that come from such a maniacal mouth.
So that's Mr. Peterson, the man who can put a smile on my face any old day.
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