Feeling Funky, Part 1

So, now I’ve been here about four months. I’ve settled into the patterns, made my peace with the medical record and my family has stopped overtly worrying. Today is Tuesday, and the afternoon is winding down toward formal count (everybody back to their bunks to make sure nobody has wandered off). I’m feeling content as I’ve just finished a satisfying group. Then the phone rings.

One of my guys is, according to his guard, “feeling funky.” Which, I guess means, he needs to talk to me. *sigh* At least it isn’t Friday afternoon. I have him sent over to my office.

I don’t know him well; he recently came to the facility from a higher level. All I’ve done is his intake, and frankly, with 150 men on my caseload, it takes a couple of visits before I start to spontaneously remember most of them. His history has nothing unique to jump start my memory. *sigh*

He’s depressed. He reports suffering a lack of energy, he has trouble staying asleep, his appetite is decreased, and he doesn’t really enjoy anything. He sounds like he’s recently read the DSM and is quoting the diagnostic criteria for Major Depressive Disorder. When asked, he is startled, and loudly denies suicidal thoughts, however. *sigh.*

He does not like the dorm setting in this lower level, and wants to return to two-man cells. He does not want to talk about anything he is responsible for doing to alleviate his depression. He would like me to write an assault ticket on him so he can get bumped up a level. I would like him to go down to the Control Center and sit until he accumulates enough tickets to be bumped up a level, if that is his wish.

He’s depressed, he just knows it.

It is possible I’ve lost you in the midst of this story from sheer boredom. Certainly while it was occurring, I was bored. Forty minutes had passed, count was almost upon us, and the secretary had just left. Mildly sensing I was missing something, but tired of trying to drag it out of him, I began to excuse him. Then I noticed the strangest thing: he had a plastic penis on his lap. WAIT, I bet it isn’t plastic, I bet it’s real. I press the magic button on my GPS device to call emergency back up.

I had thought a lot about when I should push this button. I had come to the conclusion it was when somebody crossed over the line into unacceptable behavior. For instance, if a patient does not follow direction when he is getting loud or threatening, if I am touched, if the patient doesn’t direct away from inappropriate behavior. And I guess, if somebody feels like waving his penis at me. ESPECIALLY since he was asking for an assault ticket earlier.

Okay, penis in the lap, button pushed, what next? I should say something. Those who know me do not find it difficult to imagine that every choice I can think of is inappropriate. Most contain the word, “fuck.” Probably not a good choice… I finally settled on, “what’s that???” in my best disbelieving voice.

“Oh, my bad,” he says, crossing his legs.

Three seconds have passed. Where is everybody?? What do I do next? I directed him out of the office and into the hallway to await reinforcements. Either seven seconds or ten minutes have passed at this point; I’m not so sure which. So I hit the button again. As I’m sticking my head into the boss guy’s office to keep him up to date with my learning experience, the pounding of feet can be heard from both ends of the hallway.

I don’t really recall what I said, but they immediately cuffed him and took him down to Control. Lt. O’Mally, my new best friend, ran all the way up from Control, making it at the same time as the unit and yard officers. He was solicitous and concerned and helped me write the sexual misconduct ticket.

I wonder, how long he was exposing himself, so hopeful of a good response, and frankly, I just didn't notice.