Trinity
VIP Member
- Jun 16, 2004
- 1,286
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Found this online
Mama, don't let your babies grow up...
...to be helpless slugs!
Two patients I had to deal with today were real works of art.
Although one was male and one was female, they both were 14 years old and each of them weighed more than my 6"1' large-and-in-charge overweight ass.
Mostly it was the guy who bothered me. In certain cultures, no matter his age, boys are considered superior to girls. Even if a boy is 4 years old and hasn't quite mastered toilet training yet, without the dad around, he is the master of the house, lording over even his own mother.
What this means is that mom caters to his every desire, and about the time he turns 14, he has been enabled into helplessness. He has been getting along so long on the industry of others that he no longer knows how to do things without them. He ends up turning into a blubbering mass of chewed bubble gum every time someone puts any sort of tasks upon him. Tell him to sit in a chair as opposed to lying in bed, and he starts crying and screaming "I caaaaaaaan't."
It made for quite a scene. The nurse was basically fighting with this kid trying to get him to sit in a wheelchair to take him to X-ray, and he was bawling his eyes out about how he couldn't do it, and how he wanted to just ride on the bed instead. He was weeping and pleading so much that the mother of another patient came over and tried to help the nurse and the patient's mom. There they were; two mothers and a nurse trying to get one beached whale into a wheelchair. It went on and on. Him screaming and crying about how he couldn't do it, while the three women pleaded and reassured him that he could. At some point I had an idea. It occured to me that this was a boy, and there were three women tending to him. I am a man. A kind of big, built like an anvil guy. Maybe, if I showed up on the scene, he would feel the need to prove some sort of machismo, butch up, shut up, quit crying, and sit in the damned chair. So, I walked up behind these women, and, towering over them, looked this flabby sack of cellulite in the eye, and gave him a look that said "you outta be ashamed."
He didn't miss a beat. He saw me, and through his tears he asked the nurse "why isn't he helping?"
I almost lost it. I could feel every wayward wannabe drill Instructor fiber in my body straining at the leash to be let loose on this kid. I wanted to start calling him every name in the book, and not stop until he tried to choke on his own tongue in an effort to escape my wrath by suicide.
Instead, I just gritted my teeth and with all the restraint I could muster said "Boy...you do not want my help." Then, I did an about-face, and walked away.
There is where any dreams I have of being an ideal physician hit the wall. There are some patients which need what I call "Gunny therapy." Gunny therapy is where you start smacking someone and yelling at them until they STFU and start making some sense. Most people who have ever appeared on Jerry Springer need a good dose of Gunny therapy. When some "out of control teen" comes marching out on stage dressed like a Harry Hines Hooker, flicking people off, and calling her mom a bitch, she needs Gunny therapy. She needs someone to come along, smack her briskly about the ears, and berate her for her poor behavior until she finally figures out that the beatings will continue until morale improves.
This child doesn't need to talk about his feelings. He doesn't need peer counseling. He doesn't need "A
self affirmating environment producing synergistic moods conducive to realizing his full personhood." He needs someone to stand tall and give him a good, swift kick in the ass.
And before anyone gets the wrong idea, he did eventually get his butt in the chair, and tolerated it quite well until the nurse refused to compy with his request for her to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead whem he got a little warm. When this already harried and overworked nurse heard that she basically handed him a box of tissues and left it at that, he decided the double wide wheelchair was uncomfortable and started whining again. What a brat.
Mama, don't let your babies grow up...
...to be helpless slugs!
Two patients I had to deal with today were real works of art.
Although one was male and one was female, they both were 14 years old and each of them weighed more than my 6"1' large-and-in-charge overweight ass.
Mostly it was the guy who bothered me. In certain cultures, no matter his age, boys are considered superior to girls. Even if a boy is 4 years old and hasn't quite mastered toilet training yet, without the dad around, he is the master of the house, lording over even his own mother.
What this means is that mom caters to his every desire, and about the time he turns 14, he has been enabled into helplessness. He has been getting along so long on the industry of others that he no longer knows how to do things without them. He ends up turning into a blubbering mass of chewed bubble gum every time someone puts any sort of tasks upon him. Tell him to sit in a chair as opposed to lying in bed, and he starts crying and screaming "I caaaaaaaan't."
It made for quite a scene. The nurse was basically fighting with this kid trying to get him to sit in a wheelchair to take him to X-ray, and he was bawling his eyes out about how he couldn't do it, and how he wanted to just ride on the bed instead. He was weeping and pleading so much that the mother of another patient came over and tried to help the nurse and the patient's mom. There they were; two mothers and a nurse trying to get one beached whale into a wheelchair. It went on and on. Him screaming and crying about how he couldn't do it, while the three women pleaded and reassured him that he could. At some point I had an idea. It occured to me that this was a boy, and there were three women tending to him. I am a man. A kind of big, built like an anvil guy. Maybe, if I showed up on the scene, he would feel the need to prove some sort of machismo, butch up, shut up, quit crying, and sit in the damned chair. So, I walked up behind these women, and, towering over them, looked this flabby sack of cellulite in the eye, and gave him a look that said "you outta be ashamed."
He didn't miss a beat. He saw me, and through his tears he asked the nurse "why isn't he helping?"
I almost lost it. I could feel every wayward wannabe drill Instructor fiber in my body straining at the leash to be let loose on this kid. I wanted to start calling him every name in the book, and not stop until he tried to choke on his own tongue in an effort to escape my wrath by suicide.
Instead, I just gritted my teeth and with all the restraint I could muster said "Boy...you do not want my help." Then, I did an about-face, and walked away.
There is where any dreams I have of being an ideal physician hit the wall. There are some patients which need what I call "Gunny therapy." Gunny therapy is where you start smacking someone and yelling at them until they STFU and start making some sense. Most people who have ever appeared on Jerry Springer need a good dose of Gunny therapy. When some "out of control teen" comes marching out on stage dressed like a Harry Hines Hooker, flicking people off, and calling her mom a bitch, she needs Gunny therapy. She needs someone to come along, smack her briskly about the ears, and berate her for her poor behavior until she finally figures out that the beatings will continue until morale improves.
This child doesn't need to talk about his feelings. He doesn't need peer counseling. He doesn't need "A
self affirmating environment producing synergistic moods conducive to realizing his full personhood." He needs someone to stand tall and give him a good, swift kick in the ass.
And before anyone gets the wrong idea, he did eventually get his butt in the chair, and tolerated it quite well until the nurse refused to compy with his request for her to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead whem he got a little warm. When this already harried and overworked nurse heard that she basically handed him a box of tissues and left it at that, he decided the double wide wheelchair was uncomfortable and started whining again. What a brat.
