I must be ‘crazy’
Life of a Psych Nurse
Returning to work as a mental health nurse after annual leave is always a shock to the system for me. It’s like walking directly into a hurricane. I enjoyed two weeks on a much needed staycation to recharge myself after a hectic few months. It’s amazing how even in mental health things move in cycles.
Prior to going on leave, we saw an influx of male patients experiencing mania followed by weeks of female admissions experiencing mania. Aggression, self-harm, forensic and ice intoxication all moving in cycles.
One of the sad things about my job is that I get to know many patients extremely well because they frequently come and go. It makes my job a little easier because I already have a rapport with them but it’s disheartening that their determination to remain well was not lasting.
One lady, who I will call Mandy, had been admitted a few days prior to my return to work. She had bipolar affective disorder and was experiencing a manic episode. She was always highly aggressive when unwell and I wasn’t looking forward to what awaited me.
First day back and not in the unit for even a minute when I saw her just about the same time she saw me. I won’t repeat the filthy and derogatory names she screamed at me while I attempted to get into the nurses station for safety.
Now, I’m not new to abuse and aggression such as this but I instantly felt overwhelmed and nauseous, my head pounding like a jack hammer. You see, normally my tolerance level is high because it’s built up over years and months but when you step away for a period you remember that life isn’t a constant stream of abuse.
I’d let my guard down and relaxed into a happy and peaceful environment that I call home. There is never any yelling or abuse in my home and we treat each other with respect. We can, for the most part, control our behaviours; others are not so lucky.
When patients become well again they live with the guilt and shame of remembering how badly they treated another human being whose only desire was to help make life a little better while they were recovering.
Nearing the end of my first shift back, I was exhausted and couldn’t wait to go home. As I was completing some paperwork I heard a knock at the nurses station door. I looked up and realised it was Mandy. She was asking to speak with me and to my surprise she wasn’t screeching abuse.
Contemplating whether I had the energy to deal with a barrage of abuse for the umpteenth time that shift I noticed the sad and vulnerable look on her face. ‘What the hell’, one more verbal attack couldn’t make me feel any worse than I already did so I walked over to her.
She politely asked if I would sit with her which I did and she began to cry. Apologising profusely, she said she didn’t know why she became that person and felt ashamed of how she had treated me for the majority of an eight hour shift. She asked if I could forgive her for her behaviour.
What Mandy had forgotten was that we had been through this many times before and I always told her that not for a second did I hold her responsible as I knew who she was when she was well. Although her behaviour had effected me I could always differentiate between the mental illness and the beautiful person fighting to regain control of her life. When she asked for a hug I happily obliged.
My shift is over and I am finally home. I’ll be back to do it all again tomorrow but with a little more resilience to back me up.
