25
August
2006
Since Monday, the work has me again. It isn’t too bad though - there are few patients since the Handicapped Persons’ Comission is on vacation until the beginning of September. I’ve had two encounters that remained in my mind this week - one with a crying girl, the other with an unlucky byciclist.
The teary patient was in her early thenties, and she started sobbing almost immediately after she entered my room. The fact that both her mom and her grandma reprimanded her for crying, while telling me repeatedly that neither the other two psychologists nor the comission could make her cooperate didn’t help much. However, the good old sixth sense started soon whispering in my ear that the girl could be autistic, even if no previous diagnoses said anything about it. Confiding in it, I started approaching her by the way you should do with frightened patients that have the big A - not forcing eye contact, not making her do things for me directly, speaking with a low, calm voice, chatting about her animals, what she does each day, her sister’s baby … in about 4 minutes I made the sobbing stop, and she was cooperating. After a while, she even left her hand down from her face and looked at me. Careful not to scare her, I directed a quick examination of her cognitive state, wrote the results down, chatted with the now smiling girl some more, and gave some advices to the mom, who’s jaw dropped when she saw me performing apparent magic on the girl. When they left, I was smiling too.
The biker was an entirely different story. A typical Transylvanian peasant, now in his 50s, with a face full of deep sun wrinkles and hands that have seen more physical effort than three stadiums full of bodybuilders, he came with a diagnose of post-traumatic personality disorder and epilepsy-like crises. His story made me cringe. Seems that he was riding his bike one day when a speeding car got out of control, hit and dragged him for almost 30 meters before dropping his body on the concrete. He has been in a coma for two weeks and woke up not being sure if he’ll be able to move again. By the time he got out of the hospital, he found out that the accident was deemed his fault, thanks to certain large envelopes full of money that exchanged owners.
He cried when he described what it feels like to be transformed from a hard worker to a jobless infirm and how stuck he felt, not having money to start a lawsuit and maybe see justice. “I go to bed thinking of what a burden I’ve become to my wife and my boys .. if I wouldn’t have prayer I would have probably started drinking by now..”
No smiles when he left.
Posted: hospital
27
July
2006
*Oh, and not only there’s no baby, but Julia’s MIB had no chance to get to the hospital - the Forensic Comission is on vacation from this week until the end of August, so there weren’t any cases for examination. She came back today from camping in Sovata looking fresh and tanned and said she’s in no rush. I’ll keep you updated if there’ll be any news about them.
*Timi has a newfound love for seashells. Proof:
*Neil Gaiman has a blog. To say that I find it fascinating would be an understatement. The guy just kicked Stephen King’s ass from the pedestal in my brain reserved for The Most Interesting Writer. If you’ve read the Sandman series or American Gods, you know what I’m talking about.
Posted: Timi, hospital, stumbled upon
24
July
2006
Around 10 AM a full-figured woman entered my office. I was in a good mood, thanks to my last two Hospitality Club guests - tall, funny german girls sporting a beautiful knowledge of Hungarian language - so I was all smiles and chitchat. Soon I managed to get the bud of a smile on her face, despite her diagnosis, which said “severe depression”. It’s not her case or her symptoms that make me write about her, though - it’s the story of how she got sick.
The lady was born in a poor family, the first of five brothers. Between a too severe father and an absent-minded mother, she had to grow up before she went to school. Between all that washing, baking, butt-wiping and smacking the foul-mouthed, she never got to highschool and married soon after she turned sixteen. The washing, baking and wiping didn’t change much, except for the fact that it was now done for less people. “I married more to get away from my parents’ home … it wasn’t such a smart move, in the end”.
The marriage was loveless and beatings started soon after the birth of their first child, the fact that her partner befriended the bottle didn’t help much either. She loved her kids though, so she coped with things and years went by until she passed 45. Then the husband had a car accident and she became a widow. The kids were now grown ups, they had jobs and married and moved away. For the first time in her life, she had nobody to take care of.
Two years after the death of her husband, she met another man. I wish I could show you how this down-to-earth looking, massive woman with a scarf on her head, dressed in deep shades of grey, talked about him. It was Juliet talking about Romeo, Beatrice shouting to the world the beauty of her Dante. It sounded a lot like I still talk about my miracle of a husband - the woman was transfigured with love.
She described a gentle, introverted man who never did her harm and was always looking for ways to make her feel cherished. They almost never argued, and he somehow always knew just what to tell her to cheer her up after a hard day. He was a divorcee with kids, the first marriage being just as miserable as hers. They wondered sometimes why the Almighty gave them that much bliss, so late in life. So passed 12 years.
The one day, she was phoned and told that her husband had a car accident, just like the first, but instead of dying he was sent with both legs broken to a clinic in Cluj. She found a neighbour to take her there and stayed near his bed for a few nights, sleeping on the chair because there were no beds available and agonizing between hope and despair until all the surgeries of her husband were finished. She befriended one of the doctors, who told her that things were looking just fine and in a few weeks they’ll be able to send him home with casts on his legs and a prescription for long restings and grandchildren hugs. They made the doc promise he’ll be visiting them when he’ll hike in the mountains where they lived. The weeks passed quickly and the day he was supposed to be discharged from the hospital arrived.
They spent the morning discussing how they’ll sell the cow and the horse, buy a small used car and he’ll show her the country, stopping to visit every monastery and tourist attraction they’ll see. She then started to pack his clothes when he out of nowhere cried out something unintelligible, convulsed his hands in the air a second and lost conscience.
She rushed to him, tried to wake him up by screaming his name and pouring water on him, then started rubbing his chest vigorously because he looked like he wasn’t breathing anymore. Meanwhile, a football player that occupied the next bed while waiting for his knee surgery jumped out of his bed and went out on the hall, screaming for the nurses. By the time they got in, the husband was awake and responsive, and asked the wife with a lot of anger why she was shouting at him like a lunatic.
“But you lost conscience”
“That’s nonsense, and you know it, woman”
The nurses then shouted at her for making a big deal out of nothing and wanted to get out. Before the last one exited though, he lost conscience again, bubbles appeared on his lips and in a few minutes, despite electroshocks and intensive resuscitation manoeuvres, he was dead.
The autopsy discovered he died because of a blood cloth, caused by the prolonged bedrest. The trombus stopped first in his heart, causing the loss of conscience she saved him from by heart massage. The second, and final stop, was in his lungs. She was depressive ever since .
I know this story sounds a lot like a Hallmark movie script, but she had he papers to prove it. And Hallmark-ish, my dear readers, might sound also what she said before leaving - but since it was truth and not fiction, I see no cornyness in it :
“I know I was luckier than most people for having what I had, even if it was so late in life and after so much suffering. And I feel him watching me from up there. But it’s still hard, because it’s such a long time until the distance between us will shorten.”
Posted: hospital
22
July
2006
Lately your mails contain mainly requests for more forensic expertise stories. Here you go:
Last thursday I had four inmates from the local prison coming for a check-up. Their guard escort consisted of three tall muscular guys, all dressed in black, with masks on their faces. For some reason, masked people creep me out more than handcuffed ones, so I was a bit nervous when they came. I mean, come on .. would you like to see three of these in your office?
The tallest of the MIBs (men in black, that is) stayed inside with the first guy I examined, while the other two waited in the hall with the rest of the inmates. Julia (my apprentice) was with me also, and I’ve let her do the tests for the first guy. Meanwhile, I told the MIB to get himself some freshly made coffee from the filter, and he silently pointed to his mask while shaking his head in a “no”. He also could not be convinced to sit down, prefering instead to look over the shoulder of the inmate at the Raven test.
After fifteen minutes, the situation changed - our MIB was sitting down, sipping from a big mug of coffee and has requested permission from his superior to remove his mask. Surprise surprise- the face under the mask was more than handsome. He wanted to know everything about me until he saw my wedding ring, when his facial expression changed and he turned his attention to Julia, as he should have done from the start (I’m the type that enjoys looking at a gorgeous guy every now and then but I’m also a very married, very husband loving chica, so he was just wasting his time on me).
After the inmates were tested ( two healthy simulants, one slightly mental deficient and one true psychopath whom I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley - nor in a well-lit one, for that matter) and the MIBs left with them, we both started giggling like highschoolers and as you probably have guessed it, the next hour’s chit-chat contained numerous references to a certain example of extreme police hotness.
This Wednesday, I had the Police coming angain for some expertises, and before the second fellow was brought in, the prosecutor came in and told me that “This guy we’re bringing in is very dangerous, miss .. we have to have a SPIR (rough translation would be “Police’s Rapid Intervention Service”) inside during the examination .. is that ok with you?” I looked outside, saw a tall MIB frantically waving and bursted into laughter ” It’s definetely ok with me” He looked out, saw the source of my amusement and grinned: “Oh, the two of you know each other - I’ll make sure you get sent from now on to escort all the expertised jailbirds here. What do you think?” “I’d love to, sir” said our MIB.
I didn’t pay much attention to him during the examination, since the guy they brought was a tough nut to crack. (I cannot say too much about him since he’s been involved in *ahem* some state security troubles and I’d like this blog to continue. Let’s just say he’s a very bad guy.) At the end while I was filling my report, the MIB started to clear his throat.
“Yes?”
“I wouldn’t want to sound rude but last time I was here your apprentice has left me a very good impression .. how come she’s not here now?”
“Oh, she’s having an exam - but I can say you left the same impression to her”
His face was lit with an ear-to-ear grin.
“You think I can ask for her phone number?”
“I’ll tell her you asked for it”
Julia was thrilled to hear the news. I have now her mobile number written (and underlined, heh) on my appointment sheet. Let’s just hope, for the sake of romance, that there’ll be at least one jailbird to have the brilliant idea of pretending he’s insane. And for the sake of my own mental health, that he didn’t commit anything close to what this last guy did.
Posted: hospital
11
July
2006
Remember the whitewashing scene? (for you, my less-culturated readers - Tom is put to paint a fence. He doesn’t feel like it, but when a friend of his passes by, he starts acting extatic about the task. Soon the friend wants to paint too but Tom plays hard to get and accepts only in exchange for a bribe. The final result is a long line of boys waiting to paint a part of the fence, a lot of loot for Tom and a few layers of paint that get applied.)
Today was my first day alone in the Ambulatoriu. Not for long though, as both Danas came just to see how I was doing (an drink coffee and gossip a little). The surprise was Mia (the othe psychologist of the building), who entered martially, kicked the poor psychopath I was examining out and announced:
“I have a big problem and you’re the only one that can save me”
/*Uh-oh*/ thought I.
“I received an invitation for two weeks in Germany starting from the 21th of August and thought that we should exchange vacation periods - so you instead of going from the 14th until September 3rd, switch to 1st- 20th of August”
Stop! Hammer time! - this is heavenly music to my ears. Robi is on vacation that whole month, so instead of having only two weeks in the same period he has, I have three. I’m suddenly extatic. On the inside.
“Well, I don’t know .. This is too short of a notice - I say, with a face so straight, it belongs on the Texas hold’em worldcup. I’ll see if I can exchange the hotel reservations . (there ain’t any hotel, nor are there reservations) .. I dunno. You should have told me this earlier”
“But.. but.. please! You’re my only hope!”
/*Ada-Wan Kenobi, at your service*/
“Mia, I’ll see what I can do, but I cannot promise you anything.”
“Please! I’ll be in debt to you .. in a lot of debt! I have no other option! Can you phone me today after you talk to the hotel?”
“Hmm.. ok. But don’t get your hopes too high.”
I phone Robi, tell him the good news, spend the rest of my day working my ass off and get home. I decide to phone her after two hours.
“I managed to convince them, but don’t ask how long it took me”
“Oh thank you, thank you! I’m so grateful!”
If you feel bad for ol’mackerel face.. don’t. She’s the reason I almost got no vacation in the summer. She and the other older psychologist of the hospital split the July/August period between the two of them and I, being younger, am left with June or September. I had to almost throw a fit to get the two weeks I got, and that’s because the other (Erika, I haven’t talked about her yet) finally had pity on me and promised to return earlier so that I can get some summer freedom - Mia couldn’t care less at the time. I could have turned her down just out of spite - but my mom didn’t give birth to idiots.
Anyway, final results - three weeks of summer holiday instead of two, one ticket to Germany purchased and both parties happy. Ain’t this a wonderful thing?
Posted: hospital
7
July
2006
I’ve had my first two forensic psychology expertises this week. One was for a young car thief that claimed he was retarded (nope), the other for a truly retarded guy that killed one of his pals because he was slapped by said pal. Observation: keeping your pocket knife on the table while heavily arguing with a not-that-bright friend that gets angry easily is never a good idea.
The poor idiot got into another argument with his cell mates while avaiting trial, and they set him on fire in his sleep. Unfortunately for him, when he woke up he also got a few matresses thrown at him by the other inmates, and his shirt got previously imbibed with alcohol (Why was any kind of alcohol available in the cell? Why the guards never got questioned about the alcohol’s presence ? Why do I feel that “we live in Romania” is a good enough answer for the first two questions ? ) . Both arms and his nose got seriously burned. I wonder if he’ll survive prison with his big mouth and execrable luck.
Posted: hospital
5
July
2006
Three- probably unrelated- events that happened yesterday:
*I accepted another apprentice beside Julia, the one I already had. Her name is Ioana, she’s a nurse on the Neurology ward and studies Psychology by long-distance learning. She approached me today while I was examining a lady that recently had a stroke, and asked if she could assist, and if I could take her for a clinical psychology practice stage. Since I’m not greedy with my knowledge, I said yes. Dana B told me she went jumping to the nurses’room, screaming joyfully “Ohmigod, ohmigod, I saw the younger psychologist examining!!! And it’s so interesting!!! And she said yes!!! Yay!!!” She forgot to tell the other nurses what I said yes to, though. I wonder what were their guesses.
*One of our psychiatrists’ mom came by to the Ambulatoriu today, trying to find out where the local Caritas offices were. Me being friends with a few of the girls that work there, offered to help her. Turns out she was looking for somebody that would be able to come and help her with her disabled husband, 2-3 times/week. They had no available nurse, but I remembered Babi, our ex-babysitter, had also experience with elderly people - so I told the old lady about her. We agreed that I’ll anounce Babi about the offer and we’ll talk about it the same evening. I searched the whole house for the %$&%ing piece of paper with Babi’s mobile. I couldn’t find it. I phoned my mom and the lady that made us the connection with her. Neither of them had it. I still hope I’ll find it, since she’s a fine caregiver and the old lady seemed nice too.
*Our bank loan for the car was approved today. Citroen C3, snookums, cutiepie, darling sweetheart of mine, here we come!
Posted: hospital, chestii
