There are few things sadder than the sinking realization that the
"Thwump!!"
you just heard
was a bird
hitting the window.
Unless you are in a locked psychiatric unit when you hear it.
In my other lives, before I was an Iowa housewife, I worked in three psychiatric hospitals. In three different states. Two of the three hospitals had large windows in the common area or "day room" as we called these parts of the psych ward. The third hospital was a converted nunnery annexed to a down-town Catholic hospital. Small rooms, austere conditions, small windows...those nuns. But the other two...HUGE windows. Now in most instances, you can count on some pretty common elements in hospital day rooms: heavy vinyl couches (read: hard to throw at you), shelves of partial board games and puzzles with missing pieces, and big tinted windows.
This windows serve a lot of function because most patients in the hospital had chemical imbalances. The effects of these imbalances could be lessened by insuring that people got healthy food, plenty of restful sleep, timely medication dosing, maybe a little exercise, and exposure to light...But we were a locked unit. So instead of a walk outside, most people got to sit in the sun in front of large windows...But these patients also had a right to privacy. Without their consent, the staff couldn't even confirm or deny their presence in the unit. So how do you solve the privacy issue? Dark tinting on these floor-to ceiling windows so that the light streams into the day room, while keeping visibility from the outside to a minimum. It kind of turned them into giant mirrors.
Too bad for the birds.
I guess these glistening, mirror-like expanses were just too irresistible on sunny days.
One day in particular I was sitting next to a patient in crisis. She was having intrusive, well-planned thoughts of ending her life. And it was my job to sit next to her and make sure she did not complete her plans on my shift. We discussed the pain of life circumstances, and I fought to add some perspective and hope into the conversation. We talked off and on for most of the afternoon. As we discussed the beauty in the struggle to find meaning in pain...
"Thwump!!"
and it slid down the glass,
sending up a rustle as it landed in the ivy below...lifeless.
We sat in silence after that.
And I have no answers. No answers for the smashed bird. No answers for what's going on in our live right now. Sometimes life is absurd and darkly humorous. Sometimes I'm the bird.
"Thwump!!"
you just heard
was a bird
hitting the window.
Unless you are in a locked psychiatric unit when you hear it.
In my other lives, before I was an Iowa housewife, I worked in three psychiatric hospitals. In three different states. Two of the three hospitals had large windows in the common area or "day room" as we called these parts of the psych ward. The third hospital was a converted nunnery annexed to a down-town Catholic hospital. Small rooms, austere conditions, small windows...those nuns. But the other two...HUGE windows. Now in most instances, you can count on some pretty common elements in hospital day rooms: heavy vinyl couches (read: hard to throw at you), shelves of partial board games and puzzles with missing pieces, and big tinted windows.
This windows serve a lot of function because most patients in the hospital had chemical imbalances. The effects of these imbalances could be lessened by insuring that people got healthy food, plenty of restful sleep, timely medication dosing, maybe a little exercise, and exposure to light...But we were a locked unit. So instead of a walk outside, most people got to sit in the sun in front of large windows...But these patients also had a right to privacy. Without their consent, the staff couldn't even confirm or deny their presence in the unit. So how do you solve the privacy issue? Dark tinting on these floor-to ceiling windows so that the light streams into the day room, while keeping visibility from the outside to a minimum. It kind of turned them into giant mirrors.
Too bad for the birds.
I guess these glistening, mirror-like expanses were just too irresistible on sunny days.
One day in particular I was sitting next to a patient in crisis. She was having intrusive, well-planned thoughts of ending her life. And it was my job to sit next to her and make sure she did not complete her plans on my shift. We discussed the pain of life circumstances, and I fought to add some perspective and hope into the conversation. We talked off and on for most of the afternoon. As we discussed the beauty in the struggle to find meaning in pain...
"Thwump!!"
and it slid down the glass,
sending up a rustle as it landed in the ivy below...lifeless.
We sat in silence after that.
And I have no answers. No answers for the smashed bird. No answers for what's going on in our live right now. Sometimes life is absurd and darkly humorous. Sometimes I'm the bird.
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