Monday, September 17, 2012
Back to School…
Ahhh… I went back to school this past week. Not as a student; I have the privilege to be an educator at two university/colleges in my area. I teach in their addiction counseling education programs. The ages range from 18-88 (yes, 88!).
When I have a student that tells me he does not know how to use the internet or email system I refer him to our 88 year young “Wonder Guy.” At first, the student will be taken back. Then they usually will say something to the effect, ‘well, if he could learn how to, I guess I can to…’
I spent all morning Tuesday before my first evening class trying to locate my “Smurf” lunchbox. Alas, no luck. However, I did find an old “Transformer” one – good enough. So I packed it with a couple of Met-Rx bars, some hard-boiled eggs, and bottled water. Then off to work.
What I love the most is seeing minds open up: students discussing the material, their experiences, hopes, and aspirations. Most of the students are older, working, have family responsibilities, etc. My main course is, “Substance Abuse & Co-Occurring Disorders.” The majority of the students are in recovery themselves and the co-occurring disorder piece is new to most of them and they have had limited experience from either a clinical or academic viewpoint.
I give them ‘High Kudos’ for making the time to further educate themselves; not only to their benefit, but the population that they are either already serving, or, will be shortly.
When they arrive to my classroom I usually have the “Rolling Stones” or “AC/DC” cranked-up to welcome them. Many look around in amazement. “Hey, you’ve had a long day at work, come on in, have some coffee, kick your shoes off, and I will get this class going in a little while.”
I am not above them. I am there to educate them, answer their questions, sometimes debate with them, and always to share my humanness with them. It is all about ‘human to human.’ Not, I am above you, I am the teacher.
Yes, I am their teacher. This is a great responsibility and I take it seriously. But I educate with a comic flair due to my previous life in comedy. This helps to maintain their attention and enthusiasm (yes, I really am human, lol). The class is four hours long so I feel the need to make it fun as well as educational.
When people complete my course I always tell them my responsibility does not end there. I want them to feel free to call me anytime they have a question or want to run something past me.
I am very fortunate, I love what I do for work and people say it shows.
Truly Blessed.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Addiction Guy – Back from Nova Scotia
After a refreshing week in Nova Scotia with my wife I have returned ‘locked & loaded’ for the fall semester of teaching.
I love Nova Scotia and I cannot believe the number of years that I let slip by before returning there for a vacation. There was no excuse really. My wife and her older brother own the home that was their parents.
Maybe it was the fact that the last time I went “Down East” was to bury my father-in-law whom I loved deeply. Or, maybe it was my thinking it was just too far to go. I don’t know.
What I do know however it that I truly love it there. It is the kind of environment that automatically ‘slams’ on the brakes for a person (yes, even me, lol).
Some friends are amazed that I do not go out of my mind from boredom with so little to actually do there; reading a couple of good books, going for walks on country roads, going out to enjoy such dishes as lobster Nova Scotia (which is lobster stuffed with lobster in a thick lobster bisque).
Bored? I think not. This is a place where I can charge the batteries and get some deep restorative peace and tranquility.
To start the day I would head to the local YMCA (Yarmouth) to work out. After that, anything we decided to do; which could include doing nothing.
Cousins are numerous and close by to where we stay. People down there just walk into each other’s homes as they are announcing their entrance. Some might find this practice a bit un-nerving. We don’t. They have a sense of community; something that back home can be missing when our pace of life gets steam-rolling along at a higher and higher level (if we allow it to).
It reminded me of growing up in the sixties when people in the neighborhood knew everyone in the neighborhood and would get together on a daily or at least a weekend basis.
I have a friend from college that lives outside of Quebec City. I love seeing her photos on her Facebook page; beautiful shots from around the rural area where she lives. Wonderful photos of sunsets and nature shots of all types and kind, of her friends and family. I can feel her joy of being alive.
I mention her because I love her attitude that life is about living, not just about working. It is revealed through her photos.
Yes, this fall will be busy. I will stay cognizant of the true need for ‘down time’ throughout the semester and schedule such time with my wife.
We both have the same need to get to the ocean from time to time…Life, Living…
I love Nova Scotia and I cannot believe the number of years that I let slip by before returning there for a vacation. There was no excuse really. My wife and her older brother own the home that was their parents.
Maybe it was the fact that the last time I went “Down East” was to bury my father-in-law whom I loved deeply. Or, maybe it was my thinking it was just too far to go. I don’t know.
What I do know however it that I truly love it there. It is the kind of environment that automatically ‘slams’ on the brakes for a person (yes, even me, lol).
Some friends are amazed that I do not go out of my mind from boredom with so little to actually do there; reading a couple of good books, going for walks on country roads, going out to enjoy such dishes as lobster Nova Scotia (which is lobster stuffed with lobster in a thick lobster bisque).
Bored? I think not. This is a place where I can charge the batteries and get some deep restorative peace and tranquility.
To start the day I would head to the local YMCA (Yarmouth) to work out. After that, anything we decided to do; which could include doing nothing.
Cousins are numerous and close by to where we stay. People down there just walk into each other’s homes as they are announcing their entrance. Some might find this practice a bit un-nerving. We don’t. They have a sense of community; something that back home can be missing when our pace of life gets steam-rolling along at a higher and higher level (if we allow it to).
It reminded me of growing up in the sixties when people in the neighborhood knew everyone in the neighborhood and would get together on a daily or at least a weekend basis.
I have a friend from college that lives outside of Quebec City. I love seeing her photos on her Facebook page; beautiful shots from around the rural area where she lives. Wonderful photos of sunsets and nature shots of all types and kind, of her friends and family. I can feel her joy of being alive.
I mention her because I love her attitude that life is about living, not just about working. It is revealed through her photos.
Yes, this fall will be busy. I will stay cognizant of the true need for ‘down time’ throughout the semester and schedule such time with my wife.
We both have the same need to get to the ocean from time to time…Life, Living…
Sunday, August 19, 2012
"Rampage In The Kitchen"
This incident happened many years ago when I was working in the ‘locked’ inpatient psych/addiction scene. We had a patient whom I shall Timmy throughout this story.
Timmy was a regular at our facility; as he was at many other facilities throughout the area since his early adolescent years. At this point in time, he was 33 years old.
When he arrived to us this time he had lost a substantial amount of weight. He was down to a svelte 400 hundred pounds. During a lengthy commitment to one of our state facilities he had shot up as high as 600 pounds. They decided at that point to more closely monitor his food intake (good idea huh?)
His primary diagnosis was schizophrenia coupled to recent episodes of binging and purging. He I.Q. had been tested out over the years to be that of an eight to ten year old; his behavior was indicative of this range.
Timmy liked to hang-out with me on the unit and tell me all his jokes and stories (he knew I was still performing on the comedy scene a couple of evenings a week). I would laugh heartily after almost every joke or story he would tell me; not so much due to the content, but rather for the way he would crack himself up!
At this particular hospital the patients would order their meals for the following day when they were having breakfast the day before.
I had come in to work a day shift on the morning of the incident (7am start). Breakfast usually arrived around 8:30.
On this particular morning the patients were pulling their trays from the food cart and heading into the dining room. Timmy had just sat down and had lifted the cover off the top of the tray when I could hear him in an uproar.
I raced over to him. Timmy what is the matter? Willy, I ordered Coco Puffs and they didn’t send them up! I told him I would call down to kitchen and have them sent up. He was annoyed but seemed satisfied with my response.
I went into the staff room and phoned down to the kitchen to request that “Coco Puffs” be delivered to our unit. They informed me that they were out but that they were expecting a shipment that afternoon so he would be able to have them the next morning for breakfast.
I had a feeling (and not a good one) of what was going to happen next when I went back to tell him the news. As I did so I could see his face get beat-red and he started to breath heavily. I’m sorry Timmy, I said to him. He did not respond he just kept staring at his tray.
As I walked back to the front desk area that is when all hell broke loose. Timmy had decided that if he could not have what he wanted for breakfast, then no one could have breakfast.
He jumped up and started racing around the dining area flipping over everyone else’s trays and knocking over tables and chairs. As the patients ran out of the dining room I knew I had to take some sort of action.
The dining area had three columns on the outside edge of the main area. Knowing his intellectual age level and his love of humor I did the following: I would jump out from behind a column and yell, ‘pick-a-boo,’ and wiggle my fingers at him with my thumbs in my ears then jump back behind the column. After about the third time doing this he stopped his rampage and he yelled to me, ‘Willy don’t make me laugh!’ After several more times doing this he began to laugh uncontrollably.
I figured it should be safe to enter the kitchen with him in that state of mind and it was. ‘Timmy, why don’t we go down to your room and talk for a while. What do you say? ‘O.k. Willy, we can do that.’
So ended the ‘rampage.’
I could not help chuckling later on that day thinking that for Timmy the Coco Puffs slogan in addition to, “I’m Coo-Coo for Coco Puffs,” could also be in his case, “I’m Coo-Coo WITHOUT Coco Puffs.”
Peace, Out
Timmy was a regular at our facility; as he was at many other facilities throughout the area since his early adolescent years. At this point in time, he was 33 years old.
When he arrived to us this time he had lost a substantial amount of weight. He was down to a svelte 400 hundred pounds. During a lengthy commitment to one of our state facilities he had shot up as high as 600 pounds. They decided at that point to more closely monitor his food intake (good idea huh?)
His primary diagnosis was schizophrenia coupled to recent episodes of binging and purging. He I.Q. had been tested out over the years to be that of an eight to ten year old; his behavior was indicative of this range.
Timmy liked to hang-out with me on the unit and tell me all his jokes and stories (he knew I was still performing on the comedy scene a couple of evenings a week). I would laugh heartily after almost every joke or story he would tell me; not so much due to the content, but rather for the way he would crack himself up!
At this particular hospital the patients would order their meals for the following day when they were having breakfast the day before.
I had come in to work a day shift on the morning of the incident (7am start). Breakfast usually arrived around 8:30.
On this particular morning the patients were pulling their trays from the food cart and heading into the dining room. Timmy had just sat down and had lifted the cover off the top of the tray when I could hear him in an uproar.
I raced over to him. Timmy what is the matter? Willy, I ordered Coco Puffs and they didn’t send them up! I told him I would call down to kitchen and have them sent up. He was annoyed but seemed satisfied with my response.
I went into the staff room and phoned down to the kitchen to request that “Coco Puffs” be delivered to our unit. They informed me that they were out but that they were expecting a shipment that afternoon so he would be able to have them the next morning for breakfast.
I had a feeling (and not a good one) of what was going to happen next when I went back to tell him the news. As I did so I could see his face get beat-red and he started to breath heavily. I’m sorry Timmy, I said to him. He did not respond he just kept staring at his tray.
As I walked back to the front desk area that is when all hell broke loose. Timmy had decided that if he could not have what he wanted for breakfast, then no one could have breakfast.
He jumped up and started racing around the dining area flipping over everyone else’s trays and knocking over tables and chairs. As the patients ran out of the dining room I knew I had to take some sort of action.
The dining area had three columns on the outside edge of the main area. Knowing his intellectual age level and his love of humor I did the following: I would jump out from behind a column and yell, ‘pick-a-boo,’ and wiggle my fingers at him with my thumbs in my ears then jump back behind the column. After about the third time doing this he stopped his rampage and he yelled to me, ‘Willy don’t make me laugh!’ After several more times doing this he began to laugh uncontrollably.
I figured it should be safe to enter the kitchen with him in that state of mind and it was. ‘Timmy, why don’t we go down to your room and talk for a while. What do you say? ‘O.k. Willy, we can do that.’
So ended the ‘rampage.’
I could not help chuckling later on that day thinking that for Timmy the Coco Puffs slogan in addition to, “I’m Coo-Coo for Coco Puffs,” could also be in his case, “I’m Coo-Coo WITHOUT Coco Puffs.”
Peace, Out
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
The Girl With The Basketball
I remembered her from a couple of previous stays at our detox. When she came into treatment I always wondered why she would have a basketball with her. After her assessment was done I decided to sit with her and listen to what she had been up to recently, and maybe ask a few questions of my own.
So Melissa, what brings you into detox this time, I asked her. “I guess two grams of heroin a day qualifies me for treatment, huh?” She then let out a slight chuckle. Yea, that’s a pretty good habit you’ve got going there, (or should I say quite an unhealthy habit).
What have you been up to besides the obvious, I asked her. She responded, “Just hanging around Boston, booting and shooting hoops.”
You know, the last couple of times you were in I meant to ask you, what’s up with always having a basketball with you? Usually opiate people just want to nod off after they boot. I could sense uneasiness before she answered. “When I’m high I like to shoot hoop all day at the playgrounds around Boston.” Why? “B-Ball lets me feel o.k. with myself and everything else.”
How long have you been doing that? “Since my high school days.” Did you play basketball in high school? “Yea, I was on the varsity squad from freshman year on.”
Where did you grow up, from your southern accent I can tell it wasn’t around The Boston area.
“I grew up in South Carolina.” “How did you end up in the Boston area?” “One of my teammates from college was from around here so I came back with her after graduation.
Then when my habit grew, she asked me to leave, I can’t say I blame her though.”
Teammates? So you played college ball? There was a pause on her part and then a silence that seemed like hours. The look on her face was distant, as if she were in another time and place. Then she responded, “Those were the best times. We were National Champions in 19--and 19--.” A slight smile came across her face, and then she looked down at the desk.
Part of me was questioning the validity of her statements. However, the longer I worked at the detox the more incredible the power of addiction became apparent to me. Never discount anything a patient says to you until you check it out.
What was family life like, I asked her. Her head came up from staring at the desk; she looked me right in the eye, and said, “Hell, a living fucking hell. My daddy use to like to tuck me in at night a little too much, if you know what I mean.” I just nodded my head; she didn’t have to explain anything further.
So what do you think Melissa, are you open to maybe a half-way house as part of your discharge plan this time? “I don’t know Willy, I don’t think I can take the rules and all the bullshit that goes with being in a half-way house.” Melissa, this is what, your third time here, it seems to me that you really don’t have anything to lose by trying a half-way house, huh?
“I don’t know,” she stated again. I’m thinking that a half-way house might give you a chance to work on your trauma issues in a safe supportive environment, right? I could sense her brain working through what I had just said to her. I was hoping that the fear of change would not sidetrack her.
I am still amazed after all the years I have in the field to see people not make changes due to their fears. They often times will stay in an unhealthy situation simply because they know what to expect, or, what not to expect from day to day. I will have XYZ amount of misery today but that’s what I expect. Sort of the certainty of uncertainty.
Melissa did go to a woman’s half-way house when she left us. To this day I do not know what became of her after that. I would like to think that she got herself squared away; maybe she is even coaching a woman’s basketball team somewhere.
By the way, I did check out her basketball background and son-of-a-gun, Melissa was on two National Championship NCAA teams in Women’s Basketball.
So Melissa, what brings you into detox this time, I asked her. “I guess two grams of heroin a day qualifies me for treatment, huh?” She then let out a slight chuckle. Yea, that’s a pretty good habit you’ve got going there, (or should I say quite an unhealthy habit).
What have you been up to besides the obvious, I asked her. She responded, “Just hanging around Boston, booting and shooting hoops.”
You know, the last couple of times you were in I meant to ask you, what’s up with always having a basketball with you? Usually opiate people just want to nod off after they boot. I could sense uneasiness before she answered. “When I’m high I like to shoot hoop all day at the playgrounds around Boston.” Why? “B-Ball lets me feel o.k. with myself and everything else.”
How long have you been doing that? “Since my high school days.” Did you play basketball in high school? “Yea, I was on the varsity squad from freshman year on.”
Where did you grow up, from your southern accent I can tell it wasn’t around The Boston area.
“I grew up in South Carolina.” “How did you end up in the Boston area?” “One of my teammates from college was from around here so I came back with her after graduation.
Then when my habit grew, she asked me to leave, I can’t say I blame her though.”
Teammates? So you played college ball? There was a pause on her part and then a silence that seemed like hours. The look on her face was distant, as if she were in another time and place. Then she responded, “Those were the best times. We were National Champions in 19--and 19--.” A slight smile came across her face, and then she looked down at the desk.
Part of me was questioning the validity of her statements. However, the longer I worked at the detox the more incredible the power of addiction became apparent to me. Never discount anything a patient says to you until you check it out.
What was family life like, I asked her. Her head came up from staring at the desk; she looked me right in the eye, and said, “Hell, a living fucking hell. My daddy use to like to tuck me in at night a little too much, if you know what I mean.” I just nodded my head; she didn’t have to explain anything further.
So what do you think Melissa, are you open to maybe a half-way house as part of your discharge plan this time? “I don’t know Willy, I don’t think I can take the rules and all the bullshit that goes with being in a half-way house.” Melissa, this is what, your third time here, it seems to me that you really don’t have anything to lose by trying a half-way house, huh?
“I don’t know,” she stated again. I’m thinking that a half-way house might give you a chance to work on your trauma issues in a safe supportive environment, right? I could sense her brain working through what I had just said to her. I was hoping that the fear of change would not sidetrack her.
I am still amazed after all the years I have in the field to see people not make changes due to their fears. They often times will stay in an unhealthy situation simply because they know what to expect, or, what not to expect from day to day. I will have XYZ amount of misery today but that’s what I expect. Sort of the certainty of uncertainty.
Melissa did go to a woman’s half-way house when she left us. To this day I do not know what became of her after that. I would like to think that she got herself squared away; maybe she is even coaching a woman’s basketball team somewhere.
By the way, I did check out her basketball background and son-of-a-gun, Melissa was on two National Championship NCAA teams in Women’s Basketball.
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