Deadly Force

Today we learned how to hurt a prisoner. We also learned how to kill them…use deadly force. I’m sweaty and slightly stinky from this exercise. My friend from my last job, Sarah, was with me. It is her third day at the prison. We had been taught for years about how to non-violently contain a patient: how to break holds, how to hold somebody with the minimum of potential for damage. We certainly had never been trained to kill somebody. At the hospital, we had hands on patients as an almost weekly occurrence.

Early in my career in the hospital, a couple of memorable “take downs” happened. One was a floor below the main unit, in a locked space. Me, Kathy and a very angry borderline woman. We hit the emergency button as she rampaged through the room, throwing chairs and ripping at her arms with her fingernails. As we got her to the floor (we were both in skirts and nylons) and were draped over her bucking body (I was kneeling on one shoulder with an arm and Kath was on her thighs; she was face down), the insouciant voice of our male nurse comes singing out of the intercom, “And how may I help you today?” I believe I told him to get his fucking ass down here before the patient succeeded in getting free again. Apparently my tone was quite communicative, as he arrived barely seconds later as the code was called over the hospital loudspeaker.

The second was upstairs in the main unit, again with Kathy. We were co-therapists, so often together. This was a person that fancied himself to be Jeffrey Dahlmer. I don’t remember why he had to go to the floor, but she and I each had a shoulder, again wearing nylons and skirts. Someone else was on his legs. She had kicked off her heals, and as we waited for the shot of Haldol and Valium, I noticed his mouth was open and straining, and about an inch from her big toe. Kathy still has her toe.

I would mention we worked in a very conservative small town hospital. The director’s secretary would actually be dispensed to our work place to clarify the near intolerance of slacks on women. I would also mention this was the early 90’s, not the 50’s or anything… I don’t work there anymore.

So there were these terrifying rubber torsos on posts, attached to heavy weights at the bottom to keep them from toppling over when you practiced your strikes. The faces were the classic nightmare of a felon, lantern jaw, lowered brow, aggressive beak of a nose. I haven’t met anybody yet that even comes close to that look. Maybe all of those guys are at higher levels. The scariest guy I’ve met was a gorgeous man, classical features, beautiful eyes, muscular but not that look of hyper chest muscles from too much time in the weight pit.

I practiced nerve shots to the neck, arm, trapezoids and chest. You must strike from a high defensive posture and yell orders in a loud and carrying voice from the diaphragm. Years of theater make the voice the easiest aspect for me. Your violence level is dictated by the perceived danger and force necessary to neutralize it. Deadly violence is allowed if you believe yourself in danger of death or serious injury. This apparently includes rape. We are given a couple of throat strikes which are considered deadly force.

My friend, Sarah, now referred to as the “blonde 12 year old,” was making delicate strikes and squeaking out the commands. I hope she can find the voice of death if she needs it, has her Personal Protection Device within reach, and feels free to knee him in the balls if necessary (a deadly force move). I hope this is all just a safety exercise, and I never have to put hands on another patient.