My First Job in Psych

I did not go to school to be a counselor. When I started college I felt led to be a minister. I graduated with a BA and a double major, religion and psychology. Next stop New Orleans to attend seminary. I completed my Master of Divinity and took a job in Rock Island, IL. After having studied seven years and working summers in various capacities as a minister I realized I was in the wrong line of work for me. It was a growing realization.



This realization came when I attended a seminar to learn how to administer a personality test called the Myers-Briggs and a marriage counseling test named Prepare / Enrich. I was very fascinated with the counseling side of things and partially based on my personality test results realized I was not really pastor material. A valid position, but it was not for me. Some day I will go into more detail about this, because it was not a simple thing or clear choice. It was a process that took several weeks if not months.



Well after two years in Illinois, Barbara and I returned to New Orleans. I enrolled in the an Ed.D. program in counseling and psychology at the seminary. I never graduated, but I completed all of the requirements except writing my dissertation. Believe me I have been ragged about that over the years. Anyway, before I could qualify for the doctoral program, I had to earn about 18 hours of masters level psychology courses to complete all of the admission requirements. During that time I applied for my first job at a psychiatric hospital. What follows is an account of what turned out to be a very trying time for me.



When I returned to school in New Orleans I entered familiar territory. My former room mate, now married was working at a psychiatric hospital as a clinical associate. Other names for the position are aid, tech, mental health worker. This job falls under nursing. It is entry level and you work directly with the patients. Psychiatrists, psychologists, and social workers come and go as they please, but the techs have to stay with the patients. They maintain the levels of observation like visual contact. They give the patients their sharps (toiletries) and check them back in. They monitor their whereabouts, walk them to meals and therapies, accompany them on outside appointments, and take vital signs.



Richard told me they needed more clinical associates so he would speak to the nurse manager about me and try to get me a job. I had hope. Not only did a job look promising, but it was going to be in my field of study. What a great deal. Sure enough, Richard got me an interview with Kathy the nurse manager. Kathy was a nice lady, very outgoing and proud of her Italian heritage. The interview went well. She let on that she would recommend me for hire, but I still had to interview with the medical director and the administrator.



I figured I was in. With a friend vouching for me and the person who would be my boss liking me what could go wrong? The medical director was a young guy. He wore a leather jacket and proclaimed himself "the Miami Vice of psychiatry." He had the kind of ego that made Narcissus look like he had an inferiority complex. He came from wealth and trained at one of the ivy league schools back east. He focused on my eyesight a lot. I was used to people having questions, but I normally set folks at ease. I am resourceful and adaptive. By this time in my life I knew my limitations and did not attempt something I did not know I could do where work is concerned. I did not expect any special treatment or accommodations on the job. He continued to ask me what I would do if an adolescent patient made fun of me and how would I get to work if I could not drive. He asked questions that to me were not even issues, but my answers did not seem to end his inquisition. Funny how the people who should be most understanding are sometimes the least understanding.



I did not get the job. I thought for sure I had it, but no dice. I heard from Kathy that the medical director and administrator thought I would be a liability due to my poor eyesight. I was angry, but mostly hurt. I can handle failure, but not "getting a chance to swing the bat" tore at me. It was a familiar scenario. I was often told I could not do something I knew deep down I could do. I had also learned that some people see far worse due to their self-imposed limitations they accept. I am not talking about eyesight, but vision of the mind. I had to move on and find another way.



This was in October of 1985. Nothing emerged right away. Eventually I had a promising lead at a rescue mission in New Orleans to work with an alcoholic treatment program. Before I had accepted the position officially I received a call from the administrator of the hospital that turned me down for the psych tech job.



Sam hemmed and hawed to say something to the affect, "sometimes you make a mistake by not giving a person a chance and we would like to give you a chance." He did not say this exactly, but it was the meaning I understood. Then to my surprise, Sam offered me a job as a security guard. Without thinking I blurted out, "wouldn't I need to have better vision to be a security guard than to be a psych tech?" I was told that if I did well as a security guard, I could eventually move to the clinical associate job. Security guard was a generous term for what I did. No gun or uniform - just a name tag and a vague job description. The new building for the hospital was under consruction so that was my post. Walking around in a nearly completed building.



I started working nights as a security guard at a psychiatric hospital. Barbara dropped me off for the 11 - 7 shift, then drove back to the apartment. We had to get John out, now 9 months, each night since there was no one at home to watch him while she drove me to work. In the morning I took the bus to school, rode the bus home in the afternoon and got some sleep before getting up about 10:00 PM to get ready for work and replay the process.



I began in January and only because of my bugging them was I able to switch to a psych tech job. In March of 1986 I was given my first position in psychiatry. I should not have had to jump through all of those hoops, but I am glad I did. We do not often get a lot of say so about our journey. I would have been justified to tell them to shove the security job, but by taking it, I eventually got what I first sought. Life is about settling for close enough a lot of the time.



One of the morals of this story is to break your goals down into smaller goals. Be flexible. Keep in mind what you want and be willing to crawl a bit to get it. So far it has worked for me.



Until the next time

John Strain

Life Is Tough

Life is tough. Take tonight for instance. I got off of work about 4:15 PM. We went by the local grocery store and bought some beer and ice. Next we drove home and changed from the slacks, shirt, and tie to shorts, t-shirt, and hat. After putting some beer in an ice chest and icing it down, we loaded it in the car and drove 1.5 miles to the river and met our newly wed friends Neal and Angelique who were putting their new boat in the water.




We averted disaster when Angelique side swiped my cooler full of beer when she pulled the boat trailer out of the river. Like in the movies, I saw it unfold in slow motion. My ice chest was sitting in the parking lot, the SUV turning too sharp for the trailer to clear - noooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!! But too late, the awful sight of the chest turning over and skidding on its side will no doubt be permanently etched in my memory. By a stroke of luck the beer stayed in its place. I did not even lose an ice cube.



This incident is in stark contrast to one of our famous limo rides from the North Shore to New Orleans. Occasionally about four couples rent a limo and ride into the Big Easy for a night of bar hopping. This particular night the limo experienced problems driving across the causeway - the "World's Longest Bridge." The Causeway is a 24.88 mile bridge from Mandeville on the North Shore to Metairie on the South Shore. Anyway, the limo we were riding in just quit and we coasted to a stop in the darkness. The car had no power at all, no headlights, no taillights, nothing. We were sitting motionless on a two lane bridge in the dark. I could just see us getting rammed from behind bringing a tragic conclusion to an otherwise fun evening. We decided to disembark the limo and wait on the side of the bridge. As we hurriedly evacuated the vehicle tragedy struck. When it came my turn to get out, my foot drug a big bottle of Jack Daniels out of the limo onto the hard concrete of the bridge. I will never forget that awful sound of breaking glass on the bridge in the stillness of the Louisiana night. That Jack Daniels was so young, so innocent, now the precious liquid was pooled on a bridge amidst shards of broken glass dripping into Lake Pontchartrain. It was a Florida bottle of Jack Daniels, 1.75 liters. We call the biggest size bottle a Florida bottle since that is the size we take with us when we go to Florida.



The sound stopped everyone in their tracks. What was to have been a festive evening was now a tragic nightmare. We were thirty minutes from New Orleans and no Jack Daniels. All we had to drink was wine. We began to question if we would be able to make it, but we pressed on courageously. At least my friends were understanding about the whole thing. They knew that at that time we were trying to save ourselves from a fiery crash. What was one bottle of Jack Daniels compared to a saved life? I remember Brian's words of comfort. "Way to go you $u#)ing A$$#o*%. Are you some kind of *&%$@#& spaz or something?" Brian was courageously covering up his pain with some humor. I felt so supported. I reminded them the limo driver warned us not to put the Jack Daniels by the door, because it could fall out. Marty offered support to go with Brian's heart felt words. "I can't believe you're stupidity - you blind M*(He^ F#&%e@." He was joking too. They all knew it could have been any one of us. The limo driver finally got the car started and we took what seemed like the longest ride to New Orleans ever. The limo quit a few more times that night and they finally got another car for us.




Well, back to why life is tough. After the drama of the near miss with the beer, we got on the boat and headed down the Tchefuncta River toward Madisonville - a little town at the point where the Tchefuncta empties into Lake Pontchartrain. The ride was pleasant enough. It was a little cloudy, but cool for this time of year. The cyprus trees lining the river were green and lush. The water was smooth due to no breeze and light river traffic.



It is about a two beer ride from 4th Street in Covington to Madisonville. We arrived, tied the boat down and walked a short distance to one of the several restaurants which face the river. Amidst the live oaks adorned with Spanish moss are several quaint buildings that were once homes. Now they are eateries. The one we chose is called Anna Lisa's. Anna Lisa is the daughter of some local successful restauranteurs. The food was great. I had a cup of turtle soup and for the main course - veal panne'. Barbara had trout almondine. No complaints about the food.



As we sat in the riverside restaurant, the skies opened up and dumped rain like we had not seen in awhile. Lightening was extra active and a real light show ensued. When we finished eating, it was still raining so we called my son who drove the 8 miles or so to pick us up. Neal will come back in the AM to get his boat.



So life is tough, huh? What will I do this weekend?



Until the next time

John Strain

The Plastic Bag

After reading this post, download this MP3. It is a pretty song about a lady in a nursing home. Listen to the words and see if you can put yourself in her place. The song is "Look Out My Window" the artist is Beth Lodge-Rigal. NOTE: If you have a fast connection the song will download in about one minute. 56K modem may take 5 minutes or so, be patient, the song is worth it.

---

The lobby of our hospital is often the place where patients are transferred from the ambulance crew to our hospital staff. This day was no different and routine by previous standards. An elderly lady was lying on a gurney and held to it by three wide belts. She was confused and mumbling something I could not understand. Her hands reached out in seemingly purposeless motions. She was a typical geriatric patient being admitted for medication stabilization.



I always greet whoever is brought in by saying their name. "Hi Miss Clara, my name is John." I diverted my attention to the attendant with his clip board and signed to accept the lady. Then he handed me a brown envelope with Miss Clara's recent medical records. The last thing I was given was a big blue trash bag with a few clothes items and sundry possessions. "Here's her things," he said in a matter-of-fact way. We thanked each other and went our separate ways. I to the unit with Miss Clara and the ambulance crewman back to his job.



Every now and then something routine penetrates my familiarity and I can see it differently. Holding that plastic bag containing Miss Clara's personal things was one of those times. She had come from a nursing home and could not return. Usually when a facility does not want the person back they say something like. "Miss Clara is going to need a different level of care, we can no longer provide for her needs." What they are really saying is, "hot potato, you've got her, don't call us." The bag I held was all of her possessions. No family or anyone else to keep up with her, to visit her. She was alone, confused, and lying on a gurney in the lobby of a psychiatric hospital.



I wondered what her life had been like. Had she been married? Did she have any children? What did she do for a living? Maybe she was a secretary or a teacher. I bet she never expected to end up here, I thought. I wondered if someday I would suffer a similar fate. Alone, confused, and passed from one institution to the next with my welfare a lower priority than some institution's cost report.



She was dehumanized a little bit at a time until her dignity was a distant memory. Without communication she could not relate what was no doubt an interesting life. They are all interesting you know. Without family or friends to advocate she lacked connections we all find absolutely necessary in life.



Seniors are easy targets for humor. Their bodies have weathered years of life and show it. Their minds may not remember like they used to. Their voices may be weak and shakey. My grandfather would laugh at someone when sensing he was the butt of an "old folks" joke. "You'll be old too," he said "if you live long enough." This statement was usually followed by a patient and knowing laugh. My mother once spotted an old timer sporting a big button on his overalls sitting at a Wal-Mart snack bar that read, "Old Age Ain't for Sissies." Someday seniors get to the point they need the same level of care they needed when they entered the world. That care too needs to be delivered with gentleness and love. If we begin raising the standards of care for our seniors today - maybe it will be acceptable to us the day we need it. Just a thought.



Here's to the old folks. May we turn our love your way and may it bring you comfort in your last days.



Until the next time

John Strain

Backing Off Is Hard To Do

John is starting college in one week. College is a topic I know something about. I spent about eleven years in higher education. That makes me a wealth of information for my son, but is he taking advantage of it? No. As a matter of fact, he is correcting my misconceptions and false beliefs about the whole thing. I guess I expected him to come up to me and say something like, "Dad, you really know a lot about college, in your massive accumulation of knowledge, would you please give me some advice about the college experience?" Or maybe I thought he would say, "Dad, I realize more and more each day how your past experiences can teach me so much. I would like to learn from those experiences - please share with me what you think I should know."




That did not happen. Now I have been miffed a few times in this process, but I got to thinking about some differences between me and him regarding starting college. I was not involved in high school. I had nothing to leave behind. My friends had already scattered to the point I rarely saw them. I was glad to get out of high school. College was the hope of something better - it had to be. My dad had always told me. "Son, high school is the happiest time in your life - enjoy it." Man, I thought, if this is the best . . .life is going to be a drag.



Now for John. He was a big shot at high school. He was the captain of the basketball team. He always had a girlfriend. He was close to three other friends and they had all sorts of fun together. He was popular and he had fun. He would like to stay in that mode. So college for him can only be as good as high school - but maybe worse.



We had different experiences. As he transitions from high school to college freshman he may begin to ask the questions I have been trying to answer. I will be there if he needs me, but I am going to back off and give him some growing room. He won't make any major mistakes - I will be close enough to sense that.



Parenting John has been pretty easy. He has a naturally easy going demeanor. Here are a few things I have learned about parenting.

• Try to say "yes" as much as possible. Then when you have to say "no" it is better accepted.



• If what you are trying is not working, try something else.



• Laugh, keep things light.



• Do not take things personal. Kids are trying to get their way they are not trying to insult you-develop a thick skin.



• If you demand respect from your child - show respect. Give them privacy. Treat them as a person not a possession.



• Know their friends - as go the friends so goes your child.



• Show love by giving your time and attention.



• Don't try to get your needs met through your child. You are responsible for your own happiness.



• Be their parent not their buddy. They need direction and they need limits.



• Make life as fair and predictable as you can. Avoid arbitrary rules that make no sense.



• Enjoy them, drink in the moments because your time with them is short.



• Teach them. If you are wrong-say so. If you need to-apologize, say you are sorry.

Children are people entrusted to parents for the purpose of preparing for life. They are not possessions or apprentices. I realize that to help John now I have to back off a bit but I won't be far away. What a wonderful thing to be a parent.



Until the next time

John Strain

History

Have you ever thought about what was on your property 100 years ago? 200 years ago? If you have you were thinking about history. This picture is part of my history. On the right is my great grandfather Hans Christian Andersen (not THE Hans Christian Andersen) with his two brothers, still in Denmark sometime in the 1890's. It blows my mind to look at this picture and think I descended from him.



On another note New Orleans is celebrating the bicentennial of the Louisiana Purchase. This 800,000 square mile area became some 13 states and more than doubled the size of our country in 1803. The history in Louisiana is rich. The cultures of the French, Spanish, Native Americans, and Cajuns along with the events of several wars make for endless learning.



What about where you live? What of your local history? I bet there is something interesting there. Why not take in a museum or read a book of local history. It will increase your appreciation for where you live and hopefully make you see your place in your area's history.



The lack of history is evident in many political and news debates. Armed with the knowledge of history helps expose the difference between truth and fiction. Knowing history avoids the wasteful pursuit of reinventing the wheel. We are not that different from people who have lived before us. So before you go too far ahead, look back awhile. Learn from the past and help forge a better future.



Until the next time

John Strain