The shift had started out fairly routine on the inpatient psychiatric unit I worked on. After getting my patient assignment I went to speak to each of my patients. One of my patients had very serious substance abuse problems and had told me about being a dancer and an artist* overseas in her earlier years. So, of course, I googled her name and yes, she had, in fact, been a very beautiful model at one time. The years of alcohol abuse, eating disorders, drug abuse, and multiple medical issues had aged her significantly. She had been physically beautiful with strawberry blonde hair, chiseled cheekbones, and clear aquamarine eyes. What remained was shades of her former beauty, wrinkles around those beautiful, now-faded blue eyes and blotchy skin. The most attractive thing about her was a sharp, intelligent and slightly sarcastic wit. I liked her. We talked extensively about her life and I found her charming and brilliant, if not sad and aging in a most melancholy way.
I went to my next patient to check on her. She had no psychiatric history but a dabble in recreational drugs landed her in my psychiatric unit. She was very bizarre and stunningly beautiful. She worked in the government sector,* but could've been a supermodel. She was slender and without one bit of makeup she had beautiful skin and cheekbones with bright green eyes and silky, rich brown hair which flowed over her shoulders in soft curls. She took her hospital issued green pajama top and tied it above her navel and wore tight bicycle shorts. She was rather flirtatious and limits had to be set on her clothing and her behavior. She was also very strange in what she talked about and how she acted. However, when her friends visited her, they were stunningly beautiful as well. They were a sight to see, worried about her, showering her with gifts and expressing worried exclamations. The whole lot of them glowed in loveliness and museum-like paintings of beautiful, perfect people.
The next order of business I was assigned to was to round with the treatment team. This team included, but was not limited to, the attending psychiatrist, at least one or two resident psychiatrists, one medical student, one social worker, a nurse (me) and possibly a nursing student. It was a big group! I was assigned to a team which rounded on a patient whom I was not assigned to. I entered this male patient's room with the rest of the psychiatric professional entourage and, thankfully, was wearing a mask as it was the end of covid. This young male patient was short and rotund, with messy blonde hair and patchy facial hair with spotted acne over his forehead.* His facial features were pleasant, but rather plain from a purely aesthetic view. The resident psychiatrist began asking the patient why he was in the hospital. The patient answered, straight-faced as can be, "Well, I'm a star athlete at the college I go to. I'm also one of the smartest people at that school. And I'm a supermodel." As I mentioned before, I was thankful to be wearing a mask because I couldn't help but smile broadly underneath that thin piece of yellow paper and suppress a chuckle. He didn't look like a supermodel, but adamantly and confidently asserted that he was one. Talk about delusions of grandeur! I exited the room earlier than the rest because I was so worried I'd laugh out loud.
It was an interesting, and dare I assert, beautifully bizarre day on the psychiatric unit.
No comments:
Post a Comment