I’ve worked in the field of mental health for a long time. Or at least it feels like a long time. In reality, it’s been 13 years since I first started and ten years since I got my first independent clinical license. Through the years I’ve had at least 20 jobs (conservative guess). Some good, some not so good, and some that were off the chain. However, the job that was probably the wildest was working in the admissions department at a psychiatric hospital (technically a behavioral health hospital). It was my first job out of grad school and I wanted to do a good job. I was adjusting to what it was like to provide assistance to people who fit the diagnostic criteria for a mental health. Not just those who saw a video on social media and decided that they needed a cool new label.
eeded a cool new label.
The great thing about working in admissions (also known as intake) was that there was always something going on. People came in for mental health assessments and were also transferred to our hospital from some of the other hospitals in the state for mental health stabilization. We accepted adults and children as young as five. The nice thing was that the hospital never closed so there were constant opportunities to work. The tough thing was that the hospital never closed so things could get busy without any advanced warning. Kinda like a hospital emergency room. It was a job where you had to answer the phone, call insurance companies, admit patients, conduct assessments, and answer the emergency calls from the units.
Other than a discount on the cafeteria food, the job didn’t come with a lot of perks. One of the occasional downsides was getting physically assaulted by patients experiencing a mental health crisis or psychotic episode. When we would accept patients from other hospitals one of my tasks was to read the paperwork and determine if the individual was appropriate for an inpatient level of care. It usually didn’t take a long time to make a decision but the assessments were always eye opening to read. While we could never share the details of said assessments due to privacy, we created a scrapbook called “The Book that Doesn’t Exist.” In the book we would write down or share excerpts of the assessments we received that crossed the line on normal human behaviors and take out the identifiable details.
One notable story that comes to mind was that of a poor soul who was having a rough time. He was struggling and made the decision that he wanted to experience the afterlife — or whatever came afterwards. However, he didn’t have the means or access to anything that would make his heart stop beating. So, this individual went into the woods of a state park known for black bears and covered himself from head to toe in deli meat in the hopes that a bear would see him as a source for food and his sacrifice would not be in vain. However, the implementation of his plan failed as no animals ventured near him as he sat in the woods covered in bologna. He was found by fellow hikers who became concerned and alerted local authorities who determined he was in need of mental health stabilization.
Stories like this were the ones that made it into the book. It was a reminder that the work we did was important and that everyone has a bad day sometimes. I don’t know if something like this exists in other hospitals but I am appreciative of those who still work in these settings providing care and intervening in times where someone just needs a reset and support. We don’t thank them enough. After all, who else has stories they can’t tell in a book that they can’t talk about?
Alisha's Angle 