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psycho killer, qu'est-ce que c'est? current song: psycho killer by the talking heads. it's appropriate, read on. i can't seem to face up to the facts i'm tense and nervous and i can't relax i can't sleep 'cause my bed's on fire don't touch me i'm a real live wire psycho killer qu'est-ce que c'est fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better run run run run run run run away psycho killer qu'est-ce que c'est fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better run run run run run run run away you start a conversation you can't even finish it you're talking a lot but you're not saying anything when i have nothing to say my lips are sealed say something once why say it again psycho killer qu'est-ce que c'est fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better run run run run run run run away psycho killer qu'est-ce que c'est fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better run run run run run run run away ce que j'ai fais ce soir la ce qu'elle a dit ce soir la realisant mon espoir je me lance vers la gloire ok we are vain and we are blind i hate people when they're not polite psycho killer qu'est-ce que c'est fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better run run run run run run run away psycho killer qu'est-ce que c'est fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better run run run run run run run away wrong was i. patient was a 24 year old kid fresh out of the army - 11 bravo company. he's ambulatory on the scene, and the doctor, the case worker, and the security guard all are standing there, telling us that he's no problem. ok, sure. he seems like a nice guy, but we don't know why he's going and no one is saying anything in front of him. it was then that i noticed that he's wearing a wallet chain. we get him in the truck, and i'm talking to him, and he's seeming pretty oriented at this point. we get on the highway, and i pull out his paperwork. and in big, handwritten block print it says: PARANOID SCHIZOPHRENIA, DEPRESSION, HOMICIDAL/SUICIDAL TENDANCIES. he's wearing a wallet chain. i start asking him questions, like when his birthday is. he gives me the wrong date. 10 minutes later he tells me that he made a mistake and that he accidentally gave me his sister's birthday. he can't remember how long he was in the hospital last time, he thinks that it was for 4 months. he gets agitated, because he doesn't want to go to ann arbor, and because he doesn't want to stay there long. he also tells me that he thinks about killing people, and then killing himself. i calm him down and talk about video games. a little later he notices that the clock in the back of our rig doesn't work. he askes me why, and i tell him that i don't know but i could probably fix it if i wanted. he asks me why i don't fix it, and i tell him it's because i don't have any tools. he pulls a leatherman out of his pocket. so, the guy who wants to kill people and himself has not one but TWO FUCKING WEAPONS in the back of my rig, and we've got no county radio. in fact, with as far into michigan as we were, the only link we had to the outside world was in my pocket. i hide the panic and the fear, i take the leatherman from him and i begin to play with the clock. i don't want to take it apart while the truck is moving, and i sit back down, and he asks for the leatherman back. i freeze for about .5 seconds. and then, instictively, i hand it back. at this point it was the only option - i can't not give it back to him, because that will piss him off and this guy is much bigger than me. we chat a little more, the knife-plus-many-other-implements-of-distruction disapears back into his pocket, and he's seeming calm but still confused a bit. finally, as we hit north of dundee he says that he'd like to sleep. i turn most of the lights off, i turn the heat up, and i give him a blanket and he's out. i'm guessing that the meds they fed him at 1700 are kicking in. i begin to breathe a little more deeply. we get in the va, and up to the 8th floor, and they tell us to go back down to the e.r. the patient becomes a little more scary, and a lot more agitated. we get in the tiny little elevator, and i hold my breath. we get out of the elevator, check him in, and he's a direct admit to the 8th floor. basically, they give me a slip of paper and a hospital bracelet for the man that is now mildly flipping out. we get back in the tiny elevator. eric and i are both holding our breath. we get out at the 8th floor, and hand him over to the kind nurses that are standing there. they ask him to empty his pockets, and he smiles at us and waves goodbye. we leave, and get back in the same tiny elevator. this is when i tell eric about the leatherman. i didn't tell him earlier because i didn't want him to flip out, and because it hadn't become a problem. he accepts my reasoning. the ride home is pretty quiet. we tell ronnie. ronnie shits a brick, and tells us that he'll take care of it. we fill out the necessary paperwork and go home. i can't believe that the va, with this kid's diagnosis and prescribed medication would allow him a wallet chain (that he could have easily used as a garrote), let fucking alone a fucking pocket knife swiss army tool. what the fuck were they thinking? it's a damn good thing that i can talk almost anyone out of anything. and it's a damn good thing that i had something to talk about with him that he enjoyed. he noticed that i had my pant legs bloused, and asked me why, and wanted to know if i was in the military. i don't know, but that seems like a pretty trivial thing for someone to notice. he made 10 out of 11 runs in the last 2 days that were psych of some sort. and i am flipped out, slightly. good thing i've also got a great sense of humour. tomorrow i'll laugh about it. i hope. ~*~ immediate yesterday. ~*~ divination. ~*~ get your own guestbook here |
