Psych Humor

I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, It's a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope. Which is what I do, And that enables you to laugh at life's realities.--Dr. Seuss



Working in a psychiatric hospital can be very funny. Don’t get me wrong, psychiatric hospitalization is a serious, sometimes traumatic, but hopefully worthwhile experience. To laugh at what happens from time to time does not make one an insensitive clod. As a matter of fact, one of my most useful tools as I work with patients is my humor.



I am not the kind of person to stand up and rattle off a bunch of jokes. I am someone who sits back and pounces on straight lines. The thing is, to me every line is a straight line. Some straight lines are too easy and I let them go, some straight lines are potentially dangerous, but I usually take the risk.



Our particular hospital currently treats the chronic mentally ill. These are the people with schizophrenia primarily. They are disabled and cannot work. Their thinking is disturbed and can be quite bizarre. Many of them live in group homes or are homeless. They are the disturbed of the disturbed.



Like emergency room humor, psych humor is a way to acknowledge a reality and to relieve your own stress. Staff can let off steam and tension when they laugh then be more attentive and helpful to the patients. So psych humor is very necessary. Staff who are “tight asses” don’t usually last long. One must be careful not to laugh at a patient or joke while patients are in earshot. However, in the daily intake meeting or in the staffing room all bets are off.



Having presented a brief disclaimer / explanation I will proceed with a few funny events and situations. It should be noted that some of this may not translate, but I will try anyway.



• Once we had a patient whose first name was “Jack.” You can imagine the lines. What was funny was how so many staff played along. I said to the head nurse, “We have been discussing whether Jack should be on visual contact, should we let Jack off?” “Is Jack on visual contact?” someone would ask, “no, Jack’s off.”



• One patient followed me around giving me numbers scribbled on scrap paper he swore were the winning lotto numbers. He always made me promise to give him 50%.



• Once a patient was admitted for doing a self-circumcision (ouch, I have to lay in the fetal position just thinking about it.) I am not kidding. He had schizophrenia and read up on the circumcision procedure. One day he anesthetized himself with booze and began to cut. He passed out and woke up in a pool of blood. Eventually he was taken to the hospital and finally came to us for psychiatric treatment. Anyway, I asked him, “why did you perform a circumcision on yourself?” He told me, “I always prided myself in having a high threshold of pain.” I told him, “brother, I will never question your pain tolerance.”



• One patient had the delusion that her psychiatrist loved her and was going to marry her. She went so far as to place a wedding announcement in the local newspaper. This came as some surprise to his wife.



• At one time on our unit we had two Gods. We worked at keeping them apart. We did not want to see what would happen when two supreme beings met.



• I was once propositioned in a very vulgar way by a patient who lost her temper. The proposition was complete with dropped pants and hand signals.



The real laughs are the combinations of patients, staff, and families over the course of a day. One of my favorite times is when the music therapist breaks out the karaoke machine. You talk about “no shame” and “tone deaf.”



The bottom line is “laugh”. Laughter is medicine. It is a common language that can bridge the gap between people whether patient, staff, or anyone else.



Until the next time,



John Strain

It’s Monday Again

On Monday mornings I am dedicated to the proposition that all men are created jerks.

H. Allen Smith, "Let the Crabgrass Grow"



It’s Monday again. You did not need me to tell you that, one look at the faces of your coworkers would give it away in a second. Monday morning is usually the worst. It is the transition from the freedom of the weekend to the long work days ahead. You are probably more likely to get into an argument on Monday morning. Monday morning is usually quieter. People pass in the hall and if they speak at all it is usually to say - “I hate to be here.”



Compare Monday morning with Friday morning. People bring in donuts on Friday morning. They have all kinds of patience and tolerance. “Oh that’s OK,” they will say, “tomorrow is Saturday.”



In my observations about Monday, I have realized that you are less likely to get complimented on new clothes on that day than any other. I wear wild ties that gather consistent compliments. Partly because there is no competition. Most of the hospital staff is female. But I cannot tell you the last time I got a Monday clothes compliment. I won’t even wear new clothes on Monday anymore. So if you have an outfit you have to wear, but do not want anyone to see it - then wear it on Monday.



My advice for dealing with Monday is shake things up. Take the donuts on Monday for a change. Make Monday special. Resist bitching about having to work all week. Instead remember how much worse Monday is if you are unemployed. Compliment someone on their wild tie for once. Break the day into chunks. Look forward to your morning break, then lunch, then the afternoon break, then, guess what? you get to go home.



So hang in there folks. It is possible to be happy even on a Monday, the second day of the week, the day of the moon. It is very much what we make it. As a matter of fact, that’s how life is too.



Until the next time



John Strain

After One Week of Blogging . . .

I started to blog hoping it would be a way for me to get back to writing. So far it has worked. However, true to the laws of serendipity, I have made some fortunate discoveries.



Writing is introspective, but blogging is public. I have made the acquaintance of at least one person so far who has been quite helpful with my blog building and encouraging about my writing. I have emailed my friends and family and have gotten feedback from them. The result is that when I write now I have these people in mind. I am talking to them to express my thoughts and feelings. Writing before for me had no such identified audience. I think this is a good thing.



My awareness has been heightened. I have a thought now that reminds me to drink in events. I observe more specifically with my senses and think about what it means on the spot. This incubates in my mind and heart and hatches in daily blogs. (Man, I could go for an omelet right now).



The last thing I have gotten is an education in web design and HTML. I like to know how things work. I started out with computers in the early 80’s. I remember the satisfaction of producing a document on a dot matrix printer with bold and italics type. You can do so much more now it boggles my mind.



One week behind me - hopefully many more before me. Thanks to those of you who have given me help and support. My goal is to express myself in a way that makes people want to read it.



Until the next time,



John Strain

A Full Saturday

A good balance of work and play is what I define as a full Saturday. I got up about 7:00AM today. That is late for me. I ran 4 miles, made coffee, walked the dog, surfed the net awhile, then watched Lance Armstrong kick ass - yeah! All of this was my way of wasting time instead of getting on the yard work early.



Yard work consists of mowing, weed eating, and blowing off the driveway. Our yard is 120 X 140 but it is about 40 feet bigger when you count the alley in the back and ditch area in the front. Most of the time I like to do the yard since I am inside all week. I like to get physically tired and work up a good sweat. My son usually helps out, but today he gave me the slip and went fishing with a friend. He caught about 7 bass and one 2’ alligator. They let the alligator go though.



Anyway, I like to use rewards to give myself incentive to get my work done. When it comes to yard work my reward is beer. Come to think of it my reward is often either beer or Jack Daniels. Today the beer was especially good. It was really hot and by the time I was finished, I was good and tired.



That brought me up to about 1:00 PM. The rest of the day I played around with online HTML tutorials and figured out how to post an animation of an American flag and my own picture on my blog. I can sit for hours in front of the computer.



For supper we ordered a pizza from Papa John’s and watched “About Schmidt” on the pay per view. It is almost Sunday now so I better get this posted.



Today was a typical Saturday. This is what I look forward to all week.



Until the next time,



John Strain

Snake!

When I got home from work last night around 6:00 PM I decided to water my plants. Without changing clothes I began walking to our detached shed where I keep the watering can and the miracle gro. On the way I noticed some dog poop on the driveway. Hobo is opting to poop on the driveway every now and then. I don’t know if he is too lazy to walk an extra 10 feet to the grass or if he just cannot hold it. Somehow I think it is his way of showing attitude. He is 12 now and you know how 84 year old people are. They have an attitude something like this. “I am 84 years old and I will do whatever the #@$! I want.” I can understand that attitude because that is close to the way I think and I am only 46.



I grabbed the shovel and broom and scraped the land mine off the driveway. I found a few more piles in the lawn so I grabbed them too. Once I have a shovel full of poop, I carry it to the end of the driveway and throw it in the culvert that runs beneath it. We have the swail ditches. Underground drainage here is a recipe for flooding with the rains we get.



I dumped the poop in the big pipe and headed back to the shed to begin the watering job which was why I went to the shed in the first place. As I neared the shed, I saw something hanging out the doorway. It looked like the hose of my sprayer and I thought to myself, how did that get there? Then it moved slowly into the shed around the corner of the doorway. I kept walking toward the shed as the realization hit me - it is a SNAKE.



The snake was huge. It made the snake on anaconda (the movie) look like an earthworm. I mean this thing was big. Actually, judging from what I saw of the tail, I am guessing it was 2 - 3 feet in length. It was black, but I have poor vision and I did not see it for a long time only a few seconds so - who knows??? It is times like these I really hate not being able to see very well. Times like these and times when there is cleavage nearby. I could go on about the things I wish I could see better - I am sure you could guess what would top the list.



I reacted like an “ante crocodile hunter” (Steve, the guy on Animal Planet). I backed up and my heart was pounding. I was not afraid. I was anxious and on edge. I got my son for a good set of eyes. He was no help though. He would not get near the shed. Opting to hang back and possibly go for help if I were savagely attacked by the serpent was his contribution to the emergency.



I demonstrated bravery and tried to rally my son’s courage. “Come on, the snake is more afraid of us than we are of him,” I said. I worked my way up to, “Don’t be a chicken . . I can’t believe you are afraid of a little snake.” Of course, this was all said in “guyeese”. Guys encourage each other by calling each other wussies and the like. Even though I am a counselor, I cannot quite explain it. It seems wrong from the education I received, but experientially there is nothing better to increase my bravery than to have another man call me a chicken.



With John being no help, I was back to going it alone but with a spectator. I added a flashlight to my arsenal and ventured back in the shed. I began pulling things outside. The lawnmower, the ant killer, a mop bucket. . . each thing I grabbed I was ready for the vicious beast to lash out at me like some bad horror movie. If your shed or garage is anything like mine you can understand how many places there are for a snake to hide. All of the boxes and things from the floor to the ceiling are would be refuges for the scaly visitor.



I could not find it. I did not want to kill it - just chase it away. I don’t know if he is still there or what, so Saturday I will remove everything from the shed just to make sure. It needs cleaned out anyway.



I have to rethink some things about my lifestyle. No more barefoot walks in the dark to the shed to get a screwdriver. No more reaching around things on shelves looking for something. To do so is to invite the wrath of the fang wielding creature that now inhabits my shed.



I had a great idea while sitting in the safety of the den later that evening. I was watching TV, Barbara was asleep on the couch, and John (the snake chicken) was with friends watching a movie. I had an epiphany. “Why not put a fake snake in John’s room to greet him when he comes in late?” He will walk in his room, turn on the light, see the snake, and freak. Scaring people is another “guy thing.” I don’t know why, but I love to do it. Scaring women is too easy - it can also be dangerous. The few times I scared Barbara brought about undesired results. We have different views on the humor of scaring folks.



The problem arose, I could not find the fake snake. We have always had a few fake snakes laying around, what with having a boy and all. Where is a good fake snake when you need one? I searched all over the house. I did not know when John was coming home so time was a factor. This joke had a narrow window of possibility. John was already paranoid and the startle factor would diminish as time went on. It had to be tonight.



Then I realized there might be a fake snake in the shed. I still had some things from Mardi Gras in boxes I needed to put in the attic. So my desire to scare my son overcame my fear of the shed serpent. I put on some shoes and went to the shed. A bit on edge I moved boxes around and got to the Mardi Gras stuff. At Mardi Gras parades they throw beads and all kinds of toys. I thought we might have a snake. I opened the box and put my hand in to fumble through the contents and THERE IT WAS - the fake snake, but it fooled me and I jumped. I scared myself trying to scare someone else.



I calmed quickly, put the stuff back, and headed for the safety of the house. I planted the snake in his room. I had about 10 inches of the tail exposed and the rest under a dresser. This would match the mental image he probably already had from my earlier description. It was near midnight so I went to bed half expecting to hear a blood curdling scream in the middle of the night when John stumbled on to his worst nightmare.



When he woke up this morning he greeted me with, “You’re sick.” I am taking that as a compliment. It is a backhanded acknowledgment of a good scare. He would never admit it and I will probably never know the true impact. Guys do that too - minimize the emotional affect. I think I got him though. I am also pretty sure that fake snake will turn up in my space soon. Payback can be a bitch as they say.



Well, that is my snake adventure - at least for now.



Until the next time.



John Strain