Can it really be snowing on March 29, 2008?
Current mood: fabulous
Category: Friends

How can it be snowing in Washington on March 29th? 

It’s no wonder my honey wants to retire to a south western state.  Me, I love the damp gray days, but he suffers from Seasonal Affective Disorder:  usually just abbreviated as SAD.

I can’t even remember when I last checked my page.  Yesterday for the first time I received a blog posting notification from one of my subscriptions.  I hadn’t received any reminders for quite sometime.  Now that the notices are arriving in my inbox, perhaps I can visit more frequently.

Boring health issues continue but some good has occurred.  I’ve lost a LOT of weight.  When I get my photos back from being developed I’ll post one. 

I FINALLY listened to my nephrologist who told me:  Carolyn, you are going to die!  So January 5, 2007 I started a change in lifestyle to help restore my body to health as much as was possible through food and exercise. I lost a substantial amount then realized I needed ’group’ support and joined T.O.P.S. April 12, 2007.  Since January 2007 I’ve removed 127 pounds.  With that accomplishment, I feel like I can remove the remaining 100 of adipose tissue.  Yay for small and large victories.

My goal is to walk 10,000 steps a day and usually do.  We also have some really cool exercise equipment that I’ll write about separately but we have a recumbent Nordic cycle (average is 45 minutes a day - goal is 60 minutes of riding).  That is really helping me tighten up some loose skin and remove a lot of inches even though my weight hasn’t budged for a month or so.  I’m cool with that because I finally realized I’m in this for the long haul, not a sprint but a marathon. Whew!  I’m still long winded. Big smile!  All the faithful friends who sent birthday wishes in November, Thanksgiving and Christmas wishes, New Year’s greetings, Valentine’s day hugs, and Easter good tidings are greatly appreciated.  Hugs and warm thoughts to each and every one of you.  It will take a while to catch up because there are tons of unread messages and friend requests.  I WILL get to it eventually. 

A new project of mine which will also be blogged separately is geneaology (sp?). 

I have the attention span of a goldfish so tend to change the subject a lot and can’t remember a lot of things I used to "know".  For a while I couldn’t remember my log in password for MySpace and after reading some terrific blogs, I’m glad I finally came back.

Enough for now, onward with reading other people’s blogs and to quote Arnold in the Terminator:  "I’ll be back!" 

Hugs and smiles to all.  BTW, I kept you in my thoughts and prayers even when I didn’t check messages.

12:16 AM - 19 Comments - 38 Kudos - Add Comment

First log-in since October 2006
Current mood: happy
Category: Friends

Whew! It's been a long time since I checked my page.  October 2006 was a long time ago and lots has happened.  Some good, some spectacular events and some challenging days have gone by.

You have no idea how much I appreciate all the comments during my extended absence.  Thanks to all my friends for faithfully checking my page.  It will take me a while to 'catch up'.  I'll try to log on a bit more often.

Health issues continue, how boring.

New bullmastiff puppy (now five months old).  Takes LOTS of energy to keep up with Precious.

Car is paid for and only bills are utilities and mortgages.  YAY!  HOORAY!

I'll update more soon.  Gentle hugs to everyone!

9:50 AM - 25 Comments - 46 Kudos - Add Comment

time of day - short poem
Current mood: happy
Category: Writing and Poetry

5-29-7

time of day

crack of dawn
break of day
brilliant stars
fade away
darkness lighter
sunlight brighter
grateful for yet
one more day.

copyright 5-29-7 Carolyn Injoy

9:41 AM - 16 Comments - 26 Kudos - Add Comment

Surreality - a poem for someone else
Current mood: awake
Category: Writing and Poetry

This is not what I feel or where I am, but something I wrote for someone else.

Surreality

My thoughts are stifled in the moonlit night,
yet my soul soars high in the clear starlight.
My eyes are blind to all thoughts of pain,
my spirit searches far, it's not in vain.
I've lost my way and no longer can fly.
My hopes are dashed, left behind to die.
I want to leave this vast dark plain,
learn to reach above thick clouds of rain.
My tears have dried cold upon my face.
I'm still stuck here in this harsh bleak place.

My thoughts don't cease, whatever I do.
Memory clings to a different view.
I ran away many years ago,
with no cares, how could I know.
I am haunted by that pleasant age,
now another season, a sad lonely stage.
Who was I then? What made me stop?
Love didn't prevent even one tear drop.
The "what if's" torture, not immune to time.
There seems no reason, there is no rhyme.

Sometimes I glimpse a faint dim vision,
of who 'we' were before derision
set our hearts at odds with one another,
before we learned how to hate each other.
My dreams tempt me with an imaginary trip
but I'm immobilized with fears that grip.
I can't return to what doesn't exist,
No matter how hard I pray, or wish.
Maybe it's fate to live alone,
without the knowledge of how to atone.

Solitary I stand, my head bowed in shame,
and know I have only myself to blame.
I refuse to suffer and won't stay conflicted,
won't deny much is self-inflicted.
Freedom beckons with this grand discovery,
take a first small step toward healthy recovery.
Release the past, finally let it go,
I cannot turn back, this I know.
There's no music with broken heart strings.
I'll teach myself another way to sing,
and do quick dance to a different tune
drop my shroud of fear under the waning moon.

copyright 10-14-6 carolyn injoy

7:31 AM - 28 Comments - 48 Kudos - Add Comment

A Long Dry Spell - poem written 9-30-6
Current mood: cheerful
Category: Writing and Poetry

A Long Dry Spell

The desert winds leave drifts of sand.
The gambler holds a losing hand.
Relentless is the hot bright sun.
Infrequently the games are won.
Mirages beckon in distant haze.
The player dreams of different days.
Few creatures roam the scorching range,
The gambler hopes his luck will change.
Beetles, scorpions and sidewinders.
Lady Luck, when will he find her?
Spring rain will bring the desert blooms.
The player sits in smokey rooms.
A traveler prays to see a shore.
Card shark mumbles "Just one more."
The night falls fast like a heavy curtain.
"Next time I'll win, of this I'm certain."
When it's dark, living things creep out.
The gambler hesitates and doubts.
All deserts face a long dry spell.
And the gambler makes his own dark hell.

copyright 9-30-06 carolyninjoy

1:59 PM - 43 Comments - 64 Kudos - Add Comment

Hush Child - Poem 8-31-6
Current mood: Very content
Category: Very content Writing and Poetry

Hush Child

Making the choice
to silence my voice.
Stop sharing when
no one's caring
whether I speak or not.
I put them on the spot
by asking "What do you think?"
They sit dazed and blink,
unsure what to say.
"Please ask me another day."

Shhhh, be still little one,
the day is almost done.
The feather comforter waits,
and all unimportant dates
will blur together into the fog of the past.
Merging things of no import which didn't last.
You moved three steps forward.
So what if one step was toward
the past instead of future.

Now is when you live.
You're able to forgive
all things from everyone,
although the initial feeling stung.
You'll get on with life,
best by eliminating strife.
Life is short.
Live it now.

copyright 2006 carolyninjoy

2:42 PM - 40 Comments - 42 Kudos - Add Comment

The Opposite Side of Love (a rough draft) poem 8-30-6
Current mood: accomplished
Category: Writing and Poetry

The Opposite Side of Love (a rough draft)

The opposite side of love is not hate,
that takes too much passion,
and besides it was not my fashion
to hate.

The beginning of indifference toward you was subtle.
It insinuated itself between us about the eighth year.
We no longer called each other dear, felt friendly much
or kind.

I lay in your arms at night opposum-like,
lest you should show any interest in anything more than sleep.
My mind was shallow but my rest was deepened
by my pretense.

When I was awake and stirring started
you became the opposum-like one.
I knew all along by your breathing you
were awake.

Perhaps you knew the same of me
since we both had times of pretense.
I wouldn't let down my defense or anything else for
what 'we' wanted.

I was cruel and cold and increasingly bold
in my disrespect of 'us', there had become no us.
We were merely two strangers living in the same house,
a sad existence.

I'm glad we had stopped the blatant warfare.
That left me tearing out my hair and had you any left,
I would have wanted to pull out yours as well.
Nature stopped me.

Thirty-five years later we became civil again,
not friends, but mature enough to exchange words,
if not affection, for we neither truly cared about
the other.

Divorce can do that I understand
although I wouldn't recommend it as a solution
My resolution is that it never happen again
in my lifetime.

copyright 2006 carolyninjoy

3:07 PM - 18 Comments - 18 Kudos - Add Comment

A Gentle boy not a Gentleman - poem 8-19-6
Current mood: sad
Category: Writing and Poetry

A Gentle boy not a Gentleman

A gentle boy had his kindness squelched
because too many people in his life had welched
on promises made but did not keep.
His trust was broken, his doubt was deep.

A young man grew with suspicious eye
unwilling to hope, or even to try.
Too many people had broken his trust,
left his hopes and dreams in the sandy dust.

A man he was with cynicism galore
not something you find in any store.
Bitter and resentful he often was,
I know it's true.  He had just cause.

A stooped old man, unkind and mean
life cheated him of all good it seemed.
He was harsh and bitter and sometimes cruel
alone he sat, spooning in his gruel.

A lonely grave sits amongst the weeds,
he pushed away all with his uncouth deeds.
There's no tombstone but a metal plate
with nothing on but his name and dates.

I mourn for him for he never knew
the joys of love and a heart that's true.
When I think of him, my heart does yen.
I wonder what might've, would could have been.

copyright 2006 carolyn injoy

2:25 PM - 23 Comments - 26 Kudos - Add Comment

Tea in the Afternoon
Current mood: accomplished
Category: Writing and Poetry

"You have no sense of humor" said she,
with undisguised hostility.
"It was just a joke."
It took great effort to choke
back a harsh reply.
I made no point to deny.
Her concrete opinion wouldn't change.
My attitude I'd rearrange
far quicker than her thought.
"Did you see what I bought?"
extended her manicured fingers flaunting
a new ring and added "It's real!" slightly taunting,
as if a ring
or any other thing
might distract me from her animosity.
I knew of her verbosity
so I needn't search for a single word.
I was silent.  No matter, she couldn't have heard
for her own voice still echoed in her ears
and had done so, for too many years
to count.  "Like my hair?"
And pointing "You take that chair."
Even something as simple as seating, control she must.
She knew not how to trust
anyone else's decision,
which might lead to collision
with the getting of her own way.
I sat, knowing I wouldn't stay
longer than absolutely necessary then would say, "Oh, well,
I must leave or traffic will be hell."
We'd air kiss and bid farewell.
Not really meaning it but try
and wonder when the other one would die,
I thought how sad it was to come to this.
We once been friends.

copyright 2006 carolyinjoy

8:29 PM - 24 Comments - 22 Kudos - Add Comment

Gentlemen's Quarterly (GQ) and the Refinery Getting Sexed - Number Three of a Series 8-27-06
Current mood: Happy to still be breathing
Category: Happy to still be breathing Writing and Poetry

Getting Sexed - Number Three of a Series 8-27-06

Gentlemen's Quarterly (GQ) and the Refinery

Images of lighted refinery are clearly copyrighted by corbis www.fotosearch.com

Names and time frames have been altered to protect the innocent, the guilty or the under-endowed.  I've taken journalistic license with some facts.  I'll let you decide which might be true, false or exaggerated.

Gentlemen's Quarterly hereafter known simply as GQ was a personable, non-tobacco chewing, somewhat well-dressed young man from high school (which meant he didn't have manure on his shoes) who did not congregate with other boys and make rude remarks to any passing female. 

My standards were moderate since I lived in a rough hewn town and the boys were crude and somewhat uncivilized. I usually dated young men from the nearby Air Force Base (long since closed).  For some odd reason, I made an exception for GQ.

He finally asked me for a date and I readily (perhaps too eagerly) accepted.  Our plan was to have dinner and take a drive around the lake.  I'm thinking "Oh, goody!  The lake." for it was a place that many teenage classmates went to 'park' and neck.

We went to a drive in restaurant, had burgers and fries and then drove to the lake.  Dusk was beginning to fall.  Darkness was imminent.  I was anticipatory, thinking it would be at least a slightly romantic end to a rather dull evening. 

So far our conversation went something like this:

Me:  The burgers and fries are great.  Thank you.

GQ:  Sure.

Me:  You want some of my catsup?

GQ:  Sure.

Me:  I'm happy you asked me out. Thinking: (This might have been a mistake.)

GQ:  Sure.

Me:  ::silence:: Thinking: (I've nothing to say to this boy who was beginning to resemble a troll).

GQ:  ::silence:: (I'm clueless as to what he might have been thinking for his face was an unreadable mask).

We drove the remainder of the way to the lake, pulled to a bluff overlooking the town along with a view of the refinery lights.  At a distance they were pretty to look at.

Me:  The lights of the refinery look nice. Thinking:  (Come on GQ, give me a few more of your words to work with.  I'm talking to myself here).  ::sigh::

GQ:  Yeah.

The car is placed into park, the ignition turned off and the ticking noises of a cooling automobile joined the buzzing of mosquitoes.  Then silence returns.

Me:  ::clearing throat:: The stars are beautiful tonight.  (Please God let this jerk have something to say, give me a crumb.)

GQ:  Yeah.

Me:  ::slight sigh with moderate eye rolling:: Have you been here before? (Thinking: How did I hook up with this DUD which was the term used then for the equivalent of current day 'loser'.)

GQ:  ::silence:: (Rather tight-lipped expression.  He might have been perusing pending pearls of wisdom for all I knew or whatever else neanderthal GQ's might think.)

Now some of you may not be familiar enough with oil refineries to know that they can render a powerful stink.  It waxes and wanes with the wind.  Suddenly within the car rose an invisible cloud of toxic gas.  I dared not speak, I knew it was so vile it would taste bad too.

Me:  ::shallow breathing:: Silence.

GQ:  The refinery stinks tonight.

Me:  ::Nodding silently:: Thinking: (What a gift for understatement, my eyes are watering here and I'm not about to open my mouth.)

GQ:  Should I close the windows?

Me:  ::nodding:: Thinking: (If I breath deeply or open my mouth I will die!)

He rolls up the window crank (back then automatic windows were not yet common).  The stench worsens. I feel my nail polish begin to lift and peel.

GQ:  Should I open the window again?

Me:  ::nodding frantically:: Thinking: (I'm going to pass out from holding my breath).

He rolls down the window crank.  The stench is still pervasive but begins to dissapate slightly.

Me:  Thank you. 

I spoke through barely opened lips, lest this dreadful olfactory offense be equally as nasty in my mouth.  I wasn't willing to risk it.

GQ:   You're welcome. 

He retreats into his total former silence.  Suddenly he gets a very 'pained' expression on his face.

GQ:  It's time for us to go.

Me:  Already?  Thinking: (Please Lord let me see my family again.  Let me get home alive).

He starts the car.  We drive toward the highway.  The lake and any potential ideas for Getting Sexed evaporate like a mirage in the desert heat. 

We reach the highway.  Without any warning whatsoever the entire car is engulfed with the scent of hell combined with 100 year old rotten eggs.  We've left the refinery many miles away.

Me:  ::gesturing silently to crank open window::  My mascara is running in streaks down my cheeks and I know that my hair has become straight from this chemical malodorant.

GQ:  Cooperatively opens the window in further silence.  The stench again lessens marginally.  He has a very slight smile but remains silent.

At last the lights of my house are in view.  I may indeed make it home safely when without warning there's a Pop-pop-pop-blatt! Wet sounds from his buttock area. 

This was no SBD (Silent but Deadly) this was clearly a near hit (or miss) depending on your point of view.

Me:  Bye, bye. 

Scrambling rapidly out through the tossed open car door without a look back.

GQ:  Silently drives away.

Me:  ::sigh of relief::

Thinking:  That will never happen again.  I'm not dating another local boy even if he looks like a movie star.  What a night of torture!

At last I dare a look.  The car lights had disappeared.  There was a faint green mist at end of the driveway.

Me:  Day-um!  I wonder if he had brocolli for lunch.

Fact or fiction?  You decide. This is my story and I'm sticking to it.

copyright 2006 carolyninjoy

4:15 PM - 22 Comments - 24 Kudos - Add Comment

hospitalization - Poem 8-27-6
Current mood: Relieved to be at home
Category: Relieved to be at home Writing and Poetry

hospitalization

joint room, no comfort
stranger's traffic
in and out
to and fro
back and forth.
around and around
the fan goes
stirs stale air
cools cheeks
saves mind
at last,
I unwind.
roommate gone
happy silence
earplugs helped, didn't block
spoiled by privacy
time alone
at last televion off
blissful quiet.

copyright 2006 carolyninjoy

12:06 AM - 11 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

Introduction to the Institution Itself
Current mood: Very sad remembering
Category: Very sad remembering Writing and Poetry

The Institution Itself - Brutally realistic - No Humor Here

The picture shown above is a generic institution selected at random from the internet.  It creates a comparatively serene atmosphere of a stately brick building with nice landscaping.  Where I worked differed from this radically. 

The Mental Hospital (hereafter known only as the Institution) where I was employed on two separate occasions had been opened in the late nineteen thirties.  In 1969 I worked as an attendant (aide only) before being terminated for being pregnant.  Later in 1971 I returned as a nurse since I'd completed school.  At the time I worked there it had approximately ten patient 'wards' officially called units.  There was also a central kitchen and cafeteria located over a laundry in which many patients (I often thought of them as 'inmates') worked. The patients did much of the yard work, laundry, housekeeping, and food preparation. But as laws and standards in patient care changed, and the length of hospitalization decreased, this policy changed.

Countless patients over the years since it's initiation were cared for in these various hospital ward/units, depending on the severity of their illness or their specific needs.  It was one of the first in the nineteen sixties to have units for the treatment of adolescents and alcoholics, and both male and female patients in the same unit.

There was a modern medical facility, an adolescent unit, a general population unit which separated the genders, a locked ward for criminally insane or dangerous patients.  It had ten locked rooms within the general locked ward which was the entire third floor.  Bars remained on the windows.  The movie with Jack Nicholson One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest looked like a picnic in the park compared to the Institution. 

There was a unit for alcoholics closest to the unit where I worked the most.  This was one of the more modern buildings which meant it was single story and actually had a 'covered' walkway to the adjoining unit which was the alcholic unit.  The other units were separated by some distances of open sidewalks and some small shrubs.  The inpatient residents of 'my unit' usually included between 50 to 60 females of varying ages and the unequal ratio of between 50 and 55 men of varying ages.  There were many court commitments which meant involuntary placement.  There were some family commitments for patients whose behavior couldn't be managed their family, and lastly there were some people who legitimally came to the wrong place at the wrong time seeking help.

Walking through the front doors of this unit (which remained unlocked during the daytime) you would see a nurse's station directly ahead of you with a general 'population' dayroom which was kept locked.  Both genders were enclosed there during the day.  There were usually 35 to 40 of the total 100-110 patients there.  Circled about the nurse's station were patients tied in restraints in chairs who needed closer attention.

To the left of the nurse's station was the women's unit.  It had five rows with three foot high dividers and ten beds in open bays.   On the right side of this open hall were the 'locked' rooms which had only an uncovered mattress on the floor. Most of them had a small window with mesh enclosed in 'supposedly' unbreakable glass.  Many of the windows were absent and I quickly learned which ones to approach with caution.  I had my nurse's cap knocked free of it's bobby pins before I discovered which one to 'peep' tentatively through the window.  The light switches for these rooms were located on the outside of the locked doors.  The high ceiling had a glass lightbulb recessed into a wired cage.

Next to the last of the locked rooms was the medicine room where the psychotropic drugs were served in 'stockyard' fashion with the patients lining up down the hallway (both genders) and having their names called out for them to step to the half door of the room and swallow their pills or liquids.  With pills we had to do a 'cheek' check where the patient held his cheeks out with his fingers and stuck out his tongue so we could be sure he wasn't 'cheeking' (hiding) the medicine in an attempt to regain his former behaviors.

Next was a 'rest room' as described below in the men's section.  There was a physical therapy room which I never saw because I worked eleven at night to seven in the morning shifts.  Last were two wire cages in which between one to three younger patients were kept in each separate cage at all times.  These girls would not keep on clothing, screamed, whirled in endless circles, smeared themselves with feces and masturbated frantically. In addition they clawed, kicked, pulled hair and bit attendants, orderlies and sometimes themselves.  We were not to unlock those doors without two people present.

To the right of the nurse's station was an equivalent area for men which was another open bay of five with rows of dividers and ten beds.  We often had mattresses placed in between the two beds at the back walls. Along with these five bays there was a large bathroom with doorless, curtainless showers and doorless stalls with metal toilets with no tops.  The mirrors were scratched metal similar to what's still found in some older roadside restrooms. The only tub in each 'bathroom' was a huge tanklike fixture which resembled a horse trough.

Our job was to insure that when we arrived at eleven each night a patient count was made to make sure no one was missing.  If the numbers didn't tally we had to figure out who was missing and when they might have been last seen and of course notify the doctors and administrators.  We hated this because although it took place on a prior shift, we were the ones to catch the venting of frustration of the 'higher ups'.

Other duties included counting 'controlled' medications with requisite forms signed by both shifts in triplicate.  Not an easy task if erratic sounds tended to disturb the one counting.  The units were NEVER silent.  There was sniffling, blatant wailing, screams, groans and the shuffling about of numerous overcrowded bodies.  It smelled intensely of urine as many of the patients who were chemically controlled were incontinent.

Each morning we stripped every bed and tied the laundry for the 'assistant' patients to drag in carts to the laundry room.  We dressed the patients unable to dress themselves and gave early morning medicines.  We then started herding the patients that were not safe to be outdoors into the general population dayroom for security.

When I worked there in the late nineteen sixties and early nineteen seventies the ratio of patient to nurse/aide/orderly was staggeringly disproportionate. There were no compunctions about consigning people to involuntary commitment which often resulted in a 'life sentence'.

While I worked there electroconvulsive shock therapy (ECT) was used. This brutal and oppressive method occasionally seemed to give a termporary respite from the mental turmoil a patient suffered. A padded tongue blade was placed in the patient's mouth, they were restrained and paddles which discharged varying amounts of electricity were applied to their temples.  Sometimes in the resulting convulsive seizures, bones were broken.

Physical straight jackets, chair and bed restraints were prevalent.  A multiplex of psychotropic drugs were used and some lobotomies performed. Much of the treatment due to the over-population of patients became custodial care.  That's why I had deemed myself a mere 'gatekeeper'. There is always memory loss with ECT and when several treatments are given consecutively, the patient was reduced to an inactive, drooling zombie.  When at last I realized the only differences I could make working there were insignificant, it was time to move to another job, but that's a whole 'nother story.

One of the best known patients of ECT was Ernest Hemingway who wrote: "Well, what is the sense of ruining my head and erasing my memory, which is my capital, and putting me out of business? It was a brilliant cure but we lost the patient." 1  He later committed suicide.

ECT was discovered in the late nine thirties via a slaughtering industry in Rome where the method was used to kill hogs. ECT involves tremendous force applied to the body, brain and mind via strong electrical currents, but then so do repeated blows to the head with a baseball bat.  To have made the transfer of ECT to use on humans was barbaric to say the least.
 
A lobotomy destroys all or partially all of the functioning of the frontal lobes (sometimes thought of as the 'seat of the soul'. The frontal lobes are unique to human beings and are the location which govern the higher functions such as love, empathy, self-insight, creativity, initiative, autonomy, rationality, judgment, foresight, will-power, determination and concentration. This was done as a surgical procedure.  Sometimes the 'surgery' consisted of an icepick jabbed above the eye through the socket bone and scrambled around. I don't think it still takes place but it might.

::shuddering at this memory::

One of the best known (rumored) patient/victims of this procedure was Frances Farmer, 1913-1970 the actress portrayed in the 1982 movie starring Jessica Lange 1982 movie Frances.  When she was sixteen she wrote an essay called 'God Dies' and became known as the 'bad girl' of West Seattle.  There has been some dispute whether she was merely treated with psychotropics, had ECT performed or actually had a lobotomy. Or whether she was chewed upon by rats or repeatedly raped by 'visiting' sailors or male orderlies.  I've read reports of various employees of Western State Hospital in Washington State and while I would like to believe them, having worked in a mental institution and observed countless atrocities, I doubt the veracity of their input.

Regardless of what took place to Frances Farmer here are two of her direct quotes: "Never console yourself into believing that the terror has passed, for it looms as large and evil today as it did in the despicable era of Bedlam. But I must relate the horrors as I recall them, in the hope that some force for mankind might be moved to relieve forever the unfortunate creatures who are still imprisoned in the back wards of decaying institutions." "if a person is treated like a patient, they are apt to act like one." -- regarding her past experience as a mental patient

Some of the most common psychotropic drugs used then were:

Thorazine which could create a bizarre 'zombie-like' effect.  It's a neuroleptic drug, developed in the mid-nineteen fifties. The neuroleptics are synonymous with tranquilizers and antipsychotics. The neuroleptics are the drug most commonly given to schizophrenics. These drugs were flooded into the state mental hospitals and commonly over prescribed.  Thorazine "cured" the patient by a strong dulling of the mind and emotional functions which acted to inhibit impulsive behavior. The emotional indifference it caused through the blunting of the emotions was a desired side effect which allowed the under-staffed attendants to manage a larger number of patients.  It often created the equivalent of a chemical lobotomy. Neuroleptics can physically paralyze the body, acting as a chemical straightjacket. This was in pill and liquid form given with koolaid, juice or water.

Stelazine, a powerful drug is used for the treatment of schizophrenia (severe disruptions in thought and perception). It is also prescribed for anxiety that does not respond to ordinary tranquilizers. It's equally powerful side effects may cause tardive dyskinesia, a condition marked by involuntary muscle spasms and twitches in the face and body.  This was common to see on almost all the unit/wards. Stelazine came in both pill and liquid form. I still remember the characteristic little blue tablets.

Chloral hydrate, a sedative, which now is used in the short-term treatment of insomnia (to help a patient fall asleep and stay asleep for a proper rest) was used as a behavior modification drug.  It was served liquid with juice or water so that the pill couldn't be 'cheeked'.  It was not really fast acting but it was better than some of the other drugs used.  The drug company indicated it took effect in about 30 minutes and induced sleep in about an hour.  It had been abused with alchohol and become known as the 'knock out' drops called 'Mickey Finn'.  What I remember most about it is the vile smell.

The goals of using these drugs or procedures were to create a malleable patient by eradicating their 'willful' acting out.  The humanity of the person that received these 'treatments' was not taken into consideration.  Behavior control was the primary concern, whether they kept quiet and didn't upset the controlled environment of the Institution. I know it's hard to believe, but is very sadly true.

Psychiatry's only and entire approach during that time frame was the application of force to a mentally ill human being, whether this force was physical (involuntary commitment, straight jackets, restraints, abuse, torture, brain surgery), electrical (ECT, shock treatments), or bio-chemical (drugs). The aim was always to change behavior without any concern for the patient.  I grieve over my memories of standing in the medicine room doorway dispensing these drugs.

I realized as I typed the above information that I was doing so in a 'Simply the facts, Ma'm' Joe Friday Dragnet style fashion.  I had to stop typing for I developed a blinding headache and lay down for a while after taking Tylenol.  I then realized that I had been 'dissociating' (distancing) myself from the horrific memories.  Nonetheless the very cells of my BODY remembered and reacted with the horrible headache and persistent nausea.  Once I discovered this 'blunting' of my own affect, I was able to feel enough to finish this segment about the Institution.

Why am I doing this series?  I'm becoming the voice for the institutionalized voiceless people of that time. I may explore current treatments in State Mental Hospitals and help modify regulations to make sure this doesn't happen again. Right now I don't have the physical stamina to do so. Until that time the only daily action I take is perpetual prayer for all those who have been or are mentally ill or addicted, homeless or institutionalized.

Because of my experiences working at the Institution I had great difficulty and psychological pain watching the above-mentioned One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Sybil the 1976 movie with Sally Field, the movie Nuts, the 1987 movie with Barbra Streisand and Richard Dreyfuss and 1948 movie Snakepit Snakepit the with Olivia DeHaviland.  I also was traumatized Robert Redford's prison 1980 movie Brubaker.
 
copyright 2006 carolyninjoy

1 2A.E. Hotchner, Papa Hemingway, (New York: Bantam, 1967), pgs. 308-334, quoted in The History of Shock Treatment, edited by Leonard R. Frank, (San Francisco 1978), pg. 70.

9:20 PM - 22 Comments - 22 Kudos - Add Comment

Balancing Life - Poem 8-26-6
Current mood: calm
Category: Writing and Poetry

Balancing Life

Without joy, no pain.
Without clouds, no rain.
Without bitter, no sweet.
Without victory, no defeat.
Without days, no years.
Without sorrow, no tears.
Life's stages move by,
learn balance, must try.

copyright 2006 carolyninjoy

12:26 AM - 34 Comments - 34 Kudos - Add Comment

The Reason for reposting in Two Parts
Current mood: I sit corrected
Category: I sit corrected Writing and Poetry

A reader suggested that this would be easier to read broken into shorter articles.  I took it under consideration and decided to re-post in Two Parts.

Part One of Cattle Guards and Cowboys

Part Two Cattle Guards and Cowboys

Did you prefer one single really LONG post or two moderately short posts?

I need to know for future postings.  There are about fifty (yes, 50) of these Getting Sexed Series in the 'percolator'.

2:45 PM - 6 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Part Two of Two Parts - Cattle Guards and Cowboys
Current mood: Chipper
Category: Chipper Writing and Poetry

Part Two of Two Parts - Cattle Guards and Cowboys - Three in a Series of Getting Sexed

For Part One Click Here

I was working two jobs just to survive in those trying days.  During the day I worked at a stock brokerage.  No, not with four legged cattle but stocks and bonds. At night and into the wee hours of the morning I worked at an all-night pancake house which was a favorite hang out of cowboys and other drunks since the bars closed at two a.m.  That's something that occurs in the South along with 'membership only' drinking and 'blue laws' but that's a whole 'nother story.

Four drunken cowbows entered, with a fifth one staggering a few feet behind.  I couldn't help but roll my eyes for I sensed I'd be 'summoned' for a men's room clean up in addition to my waitressing duties.  I sayshayed to the table and said "What can I get for you?"  No reply, just jostling and lewd chuckles through the group. 

Cowboy number Five was weaving a pattern in front of the jukebox.  He called to me "I'll match your quarter so we can have three plays. You pick first."  So I did and returned to the table as he seated himself with the rest of the group who were still shuffling and snickering.

I stood with my order pad and pen poised to write and said "How can I help you?"  This brought on more bursts of hilarity.  These drunks seemed to think it was the funniest thing they'd heard all night.  There was knee slapping, shoulder punching and head cuffing along with their chortles and snorts.  If high fives had existed back then, I'm sure there would have been high fives around the table at their self-perceived cleverness.

It was going to be a lonnnng night.

"I'll have french fries with an order of your breasts and catsup on the side" one cowboy mumbled.  There were Further bursts of inane laughter.  I began to remember being surrounded by the herd at the cattle guard and the cow's tongue.  I started praying for a rescue but the cook was bent over in the kitchen laughing heartily at my discomfort.

Finally, they all agreed on eating the same thing.  Upcoming were five orders of chicken fried steak, biscuits, gravy and sunny-side eggs with an entire pot of fresh coffee.  I brought their plates and returned with the coffee pot.

I find few things more offensive that someone in a total state of staggering, sleepy-eyed, obnoxious drunkenness EXCEPT for a wide awake drunk.

Cowbow Number 5 grabbed my hand as I poured his coffee.  I seriously considered dumping the hot coffee in his lap but he was already heated up enough.  I believe his intent was to kiss my hand.  However, I pulled my hand away as quickly as possible, leaving a strand of his slobber strung across the space between  us.

I looked at it. I looked at him. I looked at the other four cowboys and the cook laughing, and I knew I had to do something, but didn't know what that something should be.  Was I ever really this naive? Need I answer, YES!

I set the coffeepot on the edge of the table as he leapt to his feet (after the saliva returned to his own mouth).  I was wiping the back of my hand on my apron shuddering as he grabbed me, threw me off balance, bent me at the waist facing the table with him behind me.  He then DROOLED on my back.

I think I may have thrown up in my mouth a little at the direction this scenario was taking.  I know for sure my stomach was roiling uncontrollably.

Although we were both fully clothed with no skin surfaces touching, he made two quick thrusts and fell half into the booth and half out of it.  His levis were buttoned but slimed in the front even though no actual 'getting sexed' had taken place.

I walked into the women's room, threw cold water on my burning face and listened to the jukebox wailing, the cowboys and cook laughing and I decided what to do in a burst of independence. 

"I QUIT!" I yelled to the cook as I untied and threw my apron in the general direction of the kitchen.

As I stalked out and closed the restaurant door, five voices in unison called out "Thank you Ma'm!"

I didn't look back.
  
Fact, fiction or fantasy?  You decide. This is my story and I'm sticking to it.

copyright 2006 carolyninjoy

A note to Cowboy Number Five, should you be reading:  I did NOT reveal your name in cyberspace or any other place, although I could have.  So only four of your friends, a former cook of a now-defunct pancake house and a red haired waitress who quit on the spot know of your problem with pre-mature ejaculation.  Should you be embarrassed at the reading of this tale, be grateful I didn't NAME you.

2:38 PM - 10 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment