I sat in a room last friday.
We sat in a circle.
A circle of stocking feet...some stockings, a few pairs of slippers, and many in hospital-provided, litigation-imposed gripper socks.
And one pair of shoes.
Only one of us had sneakers with laces.
That was me.
You rarely take profound notice of someone's shoes, except with the occasional compliment. Last friday in that circle, I felt 17 pairs of eyes burning and boring into my feet.
You see it wasn't just a difference of shoes vs. socks. To the patients, it's just another reminder of what they had taken away. Belt, wallet, cell phone, will to live, internal motivation....and laces. I was the only one in that circle who could get up, walk out of the room and down the hall. I was the only one in the room who was getting paid to attend an AA meeting on a Friday evening, and I was the only one in the room not fighting for their life. But on Friday, everyone in the circle was just primarily focused on the shoe laces.
I know what some of them were thinking because over the past four years I have had this conversation. Three different states, Three different hospitals, various ages, same line of thought: "Man it's bad enough I've get to be in here with my life falling apart out there. Now you're telling me I've got to have droopy pants and floppy shoes too?" Life falling apart and clothes falling off. What's supposed to keep them together...
Me. The one with the laces.
Noted: Staff maintained Level II, moderate suicide precations. Room check negative for sharps. Staff encouraged pt. to attend and participate in groups. Staff encouraged pt. to express feeling to staff. Pt. verbally contracted for personal safety this shift.
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