A Tight Rope

When a person is born it is the responsibility of the parents to love and nurture the child and provide shelter to keep the child safe. Growing up in the middle class suburbs of Chicago with a loving family and parents that made sure we were always out of harm’s way provided a safe haven for my sisters and me. We lived in a small community where every neighbor knew the other. The men would help each other out when another was in need. Dad was a carpenter. He would help others with home improvement projects and hanging dry-wall. Jack at the end of the block would help fix the lawn-mowers when one broke down. When snow fell, Allen across the street would come over with his bobcat and plow the driveway clear.

My grandma and grandpa lived right next door. Grandma would bake us warm pies. Sometimes I could smell her baking as the aroma drifted out her window and gracefully entered mine. Our home seemed to be the gathering place. Neighbors, friends, and family would come and go from morning to night, whether to share a cup of coffee with my Mom or a beer in the garage with my Dad, there was always someone stopping by.

Everyone looked after one another and that included the children. Like sunglasses that protect your eyes leaving only brighter images to be seen, the shelter and protection that my parents provided also only illuminated bright and happy images and casted out those dark and ugly secrets that lived and festered in society. When I started my psych clinical rotation those ugly secrets that were held in other people’s minds were suddenly clear, as if those dark sunglasses were finally removed from my eyes and I could see the ugliness that the real world held.

In class we learned about mental illness. We learned about post-traumatic stress disorder and manic depressive disorder and schizophrenia and multiple personalities but learning about all of these illnesses on paper did nothing of associating these illnesses in real life. The reality was the most experience that I had about these illnesses was watching Victoria Lord on One Life to Live whose multiple personalities included Niki, Tommy, Jean, and Tori and conveniently presented themselves when she was committing a murder. Nothing that we learned from our books or lectures could prepare us for what we would see in the psych facility or what we would read in the patients’ charts. No movie or TV show could ever demonstrate the true horror that these patients experienced.

I’ll never forget the psych facility. Driving in for the first time, the entire property was gated and secured with a barbed wired fence. It was completely locked making it more like a jail than a healthcare facility. We all met in the foyer in the front entrance. Although decorated plain with only a fake plant in the corner, this was the nicest room in the facility. Our instructor, Mary Kay, joined us and we met one of the employees who locked up our stuff, made sure none of us had anything that could double as a weapon, and unlocked the door so we could enter.

When the last student stepped in the door self-closed with a slam. We were locked in. We walked down a hall that was lined with small rooms. This was the sleeping quarters of the patients. Each room was approximately 6′ by 9′ with a single bed that resembled a cot and a small night stand. At the end of the hall was a small locked room that was the nurses’ station and beyond the nurses’ station was the common area. This was where all of the patients could mingle. Each room that we entered was as colorless as the previous one. The common area however, was the only room that had any color. It was green, from the fabric on the chairs, amidst the multi-colored clothes that the patients wore as they mingled with one another. The room had a stale odor that seemed to be layered with dirty laundry, sweat, and must.

We were led to a small conference room between the nurses’ station and common area. Here we were each assigned a patient and given the chart to review. I was assigned Johnny.

Johnny was 43 years old and suffered from manic depression with suicidal ideations and sexual compulsivity. He was sent to the facility by the court system after being convicted for the fourth time of inappropriate sexual conduct. Reviewing his chart and listening to his recorded therapy sessions, I couldn’t believe the detail. I was quickly submerged in his history. His story played out like a horror film.

When Johnny was two he was hospitalized after having a fall with a severe concussion. Nurses found suspicious bruises on his body and called CPS to investigate. Johnny was released back to his parents and somehow the case fell through the cracks until he was four and was admitted again from a fall. This time CPS did investigate and found that Johnny’s father was using Johnny as a punching bag.
Johnny was diagnosed with Battered Child Syndrome. X-rays revealed that over the four years of his life he had suffered from multiple fractures. He had five fractures of his ribs that were at different stages of healing most likely from forceful squeezing of his chest. He had one new corner fracture and an old corner fracture, a result of a sudden twisting of the arm. In addition, he had multiple contusions of his spleen and lungs. This didn’t even include the multiple bruises and abrasions that were visual to the naked eye. CPS awarded custody of Johnny to his Aunt Maria.

Aunt Maria took to Johnny right away. She just had a child of her own and adding a four year old to the picture completed her family. Her husband, Ray, never wanted children and when he found out about the pregnancy, he beat her to a pulp hoping she would miscarry.
The night she brought Johnny home she showed him his new room. Johnny crawled into the bed and cried. She sat next to him and held him close to her rocking him back and forth trying to calm him. Her breasts were full of milk and started to drip through her blouse. She pulled out her breast and eased Johnny to it.

“Drink, Johnny. This will soothe you.”

Johnny drank the warm milk from his Aunt’s breast.

“You can call me Mommy, Johnny, if you would like.”

Johnny’s uncle Ray came home and found Maria’s breast in Johnny’s mouth. He immediately felt a surge of anger.

“What the… What kind of slut are you? You Whore! He has only been here a few hours and you already have him sucking your tit!” he raged, pulling Johnny from his Aunt. Her breast fell before him and still squirting milk he felt his jeans constrict as he hardened. You want to see how it’s done Johnny?” He grabbed Maria’s breast and squeezed it hard. She yelped in pain and his desire grew. He unzipped his pants letting his hard cock out.

“I’ll show you what these tits are for.”

“Please, Ray! Don’t do this.”

“Just shut up Bitch!” He shouted as he back handed her across the face.

He put his hard cock between her tits. Milk ran down and acted as a lubricant for him. Pushing her breasts together he fucked them. He groaned in pleasure.

“Now Johnny, watch this,” and just as he was ready to orgasm he shoved his dick in Maria’s mouth. He made sure his nephew was watching as he came into his wife’s mouth.

“Did you see that Johnny? From now on that’s what you will be drinking! My milk.”

Ray went to the kitchen and opened a beer as if nothing ever happened. In the other room the baby began to cry. Maria got up and went to him as if nothing ever happened. Johnny sat hunched in the corner afraid to move, trembling, and this is where he learned to act as if nothing ever happened.

That night he was asleep when his uncle came into his room. He stumbled in and closed the door. He got into bed with Johnny and woke him.

“You remember what I showed you earlier? Now it is your turn to drink my milk.” His uncle Ray pulled his hard cock out of his pants for the second time that day. He straddled Johnny and stroked himself until he was ready and then he forced his penis in Johnny’s little mouth as he did earlier to Maria.

As Johnny got older the sexual abuse progressed. Nightly encounters with his Uncle were frequent. When he turned seven his Uncle Ray lathered Johnny’s hand with baby oil and forced his cock in his hands. He held Johnny’s hand as he moved it up and down his shaft, slowly at first but then quicker until he ejaculated.

On Johnny’s ninth birthday his Uncle Ray raped him for the first time. His uncle, already oiled up, slipped between the sheets.

“Don’t make a sound, Johnny,” he warned him as he thrust himself into his tight anus. Johnny felt the pain tear into him. He bit his lip to prevent from screaming. The taste of his blood filled his mouth.

Johnny was diagnosed with depression when he was 13. When he was 14, he tried to commit suicide. He was hospitalized for three months for severe depression and suicidal ideation and while in therapy the truth came out. Unfortunately, it was too late; his Uncle Ray anticipated this and fled. He was no where to be found.

Aunt Maria, who had become a mother to Johnny, blamed him for Ray leaving. With Ray gone there was no money coming in and they soon found themselves homeless. Feeling obligated to his brother who was now only 10, Johnny would do whatever it would take to get money for his family.
On the streets he asked around and that is how he met Sonny. Sonny was willing to pay Johnny to pimp him out. For three years Johnny found himself in a child prostitution and pornography ring that would have him as the main child prostitute. Men of all different races and sometimes women would pay to fuck him. Some would take his picture with other boys. Some would take his picture with grown men.

One morning, Sonny handed him a piece of paper with an address on it. “This one is paying big. Show up at 8pm. Don’t be late and don’t fuck this up! Do whatever he asks. Got it?”

“Got it.” Johnny showed up on time and waited. A tall, large, muscular man approached him and asked, “Are you JB?”

Johnny answered with a nod. JB had become his whore name.

“Follow me.” The large man led him to an empty warehouse. The man’s suit was gray and looked expensive. Johnny was a bit grateful as that usually meant that the man was at least clean.

They entered from the alley. It was dark and cool inside. Johnny did not find this unusual in the least bit as most men would hide at all ends of the earth before they would confess their addiction to fucking other men or boys.

As soon as the door closed the man turned around and shoved Johnny. He stumbled backward until his back was against the door. The man pressed his body against him, “JB, I’m Al. I like it rough. I’m gonna fuck you hard but you’re gonna make me fight for it. You got it?”

JB pushed Al away from him but Al’s weight was far more than his.
“That’s all you got?” Al taunted him.

JB smacked him across the face. Al felt his erection begin to bloom. He smacked him with the back of his fist. The force threw JB to the ground. JB started to get to his knees but felt Al as he pounced on top of him. One of Al’s arms went around his neck as the other went to his groin. He started to rub JB and soon felt the bulge grow in his hand. JB struggled under him but Al’s grip tightened. Al pulled him up onto his knees and with his free hand unzipped JB’s pants and pulled them down. His penis released, grew firm in Al’s hand.

“Does that feel good little boy?” Al whispered in JB’s ear. He loosened the grip around his neck and hit him hard across the side of his head. JB once again landed on the hard floor. His lip split, he could taste the blood in his mouth. He turned on his butt and tried to scoot away. Al hit him again forcing him flat on his back. With his weight on top of JB, JB struggled but his efforts were useless. Al quickly pulled JB’s shirt up and behind his head leaving it on his arms so that it acted like a restraint. He straddled JB and unbuttoned his own shirt. As he reached his arms back to remove it his strong muscular chest was accentuated by the street light coming in through the window.

Al smacked JB hard in the face and felt the throbbing in his pants increase in intensity. Blood started to drip from JB’s mouth. Al leaned forward and licked it. His tongue moved from his lip to his cheek and then back to his mouth. JB felt Al’s mouth close over his and his tongue moved in and out. Despite the pain and the shame, JB’s body responded. He could feel his erection growing. Al unzipped his pants and let his penis out of its cage. Released from its confine it roared like a lion moving up and down in search of it’s prey. Al gripped his lion in one hand and JB’s in his other and simultaneously stroked them both.

He moved himself up further until he was straddling JB’s face.
“Ok whore. Now lick my ass!”

JB did as he was told and thrust his tongue in and out of his anus. Al felt the pleasure and warmth surge his groin. He continued to stroke himself but when he was close to ejaculating he moved down and came in JB’s face. Thrusting his prick into his mouth and out with each ejection.

“Lick it!” Al demanded. And what JB could reach with his tongue he licked up the semen.

Al moved down and lay on top of him. A trace of his semen still on JB’s face he licked it himself and again closed his mouth over JB’s and thrust his tongue in and out of his mouth. Al grabbed JB’s dick which was now getting firm again and took it into his mouth. He licked and sucked and felt it throbbing. Looking up from JB’s cock he said, “The word on the street is true. You do have the biggest and hardest cock around.”
Suddenly, he turned over on all four. “Now Fuck me with it.” He yelled.

JB got his arms out of his shirt and with his pants down to his knees struggled to get up.

“I said fuck me, NOW.” Al yelled again.

JB thrust his dick into Al and what Al had already started he finished into his ass. When he finished they both lay in a heap of exhaustion. JB prayed it was over but Al turned to him suddenly and smacked him again across the face.

“You fuckin’ whore. Who paid for this?”

JB backed away but Al’s strong hand gripped his wrist.
“I pay you and you fuck me?”

JB tried to get up but Al pushed him back down. With each shove Al grew another erection. Each time JB tried to get away he would shove him back down again. Blow after blow, Al grew firmer and firmer. He hit him harder and harder until JB found himself face first in a pool of blood. He was barely conscious when Al entered him.
“You piece of shit. I’ll show you how to fuck.”

Al thrust himself in deeper and harder and with each thrust JB’s body moved back and forth. His cheek left a streak of blood on the cool concrete.

Johnny woke up in the hospital. He didn’t remember Al dressing and kicking him in the gut several times before he left. Nor did he remember crawling naked into the alley where he was found by some kids passing through on their way to the basket ball courts.

Among multiple bruises, Johnny suffered a broken nose and cheek bone, a fractured clavicle, a punctured lung from a rib fracture and a subdural hematoma. He was on life support for over a month. Some would say he was lucky to live. When he was finally released from the hospital, he went back to the streets but not to Sonny.

CPS took custody of his brother and put him in the foster system. He didn’t know where Maria went. On his own, Johnny did okay. It was much easier to feed one mouth than three. He could usually beg enough money each day for at least one meal at McDonalds.

It was about this time that Johnny noticed his sexual urges. He would just be sitting there and a man or a woman would walk by, or a breeze would catch his pants and his erection would grow. He tried to ignore them but once they came he would get obsessed until he relieved himself.

He was in Grant Park one late afternoon sitting under a tree when he got an erection. Forgetting where he was, he unzipped his pants and fondled himself. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the pleasure. His movements quickened and he was close to climax when he heard a woman scream.

Startled he looked up to find a young woman yelling, “Help!” while covering her four-year old daughter’s eyes. Forgetting his pants were undone and not realizing that the woman was screaming because of him, he got up to help her. People gathered quickly and the police arrived to find Johnny standing with his pants down to his ankles his erection now hanging limp.
This was Johnny’s first arrest for indecent exposure. He was only 20 years old.
“Alright class.” I was startled back to my surroundings by Mary Kay’s voice. “The patients are back in the common area. You can go out and meet them now. You will have more time later to review the charts if you are not finished.”

I lost track of time reviewing Johnny’s medical record. I felt sickened thinking of what he went through. No wonder he couldn’t control his sexual urges nobody else in his life ever controlled theirs! I thought to myself. I wondered if his lack of sexual control was from his brain injury or his past abuse.
******
We were brought to the common area where the patients were. I found Johnny sitting off by himself. He had dark hair cut semi-short so you could see his curly waves. He was scruffy looking, his beard stubble thick as if he hadn’t shaved in several days. He wore a red sweater that had remnants of dripped food on it and blue workers pants that were several inches too short for him. His black sneakers completed him with permanent creases from wear and a hole in the right toe revealed his grayish white sock.
I introduced myself. “Hi, Johnny. My name is Hope. I am a nursing student.” I felt a bit awkward knowing his history, as if I had violated him in some way just by knowing it.

Johnny replied with a nod.

“I will be spending some time with you for the next six weeks.” I explained to him. “So tell me what you would like to do during my visits.”

Johnny looked over to me with a smirk, put his hands down his pants and started stroking himself.

“Johnny. Stop that!” I said. I was stunned and he could tell. Then I remembered what we learned in class. Johnny was testing me. He was testing his limits and reacting was the worst thing I could do.

Johnny smiled but continued.

“Johnny, I’m leaving. I will see you again tomorrow but if you touch yourself again when I am here I will leave.” Our main objective was to build a trusting relationship with the patient to improve their social skills. The patients were unable to function in society mostly due to inappropriate behaviors so we were supposed to set clear limits and goals with the patients. After meeting Johnny, I knew I had my work cut out for me.

I went back to the conference room. I saw the nurse take Johnny out of the common area. In the conference room I set my goals for him. My short-term goal was that he would be able to socialize with me for 30 minutes without touching himself inappropriately. My long term goal was that by the end of our six weeks he would be able to socialize with me without inappropriate sexual behavior.

Before long I was joined by the rest of the class for post-conference. I left the psych facility feeling really depressed. Lisa and Page were waiting for me at Connie’s. Joining them in our corner booth they recognized my somber mood right away.

“Hope what’s wrong?” Page asked first.

“Yeah, you seem so down in the dumps,” Lisa commented.

“I just can’t stop thinking about my patient. What was done to him when he was a child was just disgusting. I can’t imagine anyone treating a child like that. It is no wonder he is so screwed up.”

“What happened to him?” Page and Lisa asked simultaneously.
Lisa and Page stared in disbelief when I finished telling them about Johnny.

“Oh my God! How can people do something like that? They should all be shot,” Lisa was the first to speak.

“That is a terrible story,” Page responded.

Our round of beers came and Lisa began telling us about her patient, “My patient’s story is sad too but not quite as bad as yours. His name is Danny. The whole time I was talking to him he was holding onto his hat for dear life. Praying in a mumbling chanting sort of way and rocking back and forth. If medications are supposed to make him better they are not working very well.” Between bites of salad, Lisa continued her story. “Danny thinks the FBI is after him and that they implanted a chip in his brain to track him. He never takes off his hat which is why he was holding onto it so tight, just in case I attempted to take it off.”

“How did he get in the psych hospital?” I asked.

“Danny was abused as a child too. He was born with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome and was physically abused by his father. Both his parents were strung out on drugs and when he wasn’t abused he was neglected. CPS removed him from the home when he was eight and he lived with his grandma. Danny had several run-ins with the law in his teens – stealing, drug possession. But then he started to do really well. When he was 26 he got a job at a junk yard and worked for almost a year. That’s when he had a mental breakdown.”

Page just took a large bite of her pizza and tried to speak, “Rally, wat appened.”

“Do you really have to talk with your mouth full? Even Danny has better manners than that.” Lisa giggled. “He started taking everything apart. Cars, appliances… whatever was in the junk yard that he could take apart, he did. Then he went for the cash registered.”

“He stole from it?” I interrupted.

“No. He took it apart.”

“Took it apart?”

“Yes he was looking for a chip. Anyway, he got fired. He was escorted out and then came back to the junk yard later that night. Broke in and took apart the cash register, the coffee pot, the microwave, and he was working on the light bulbs in the ceiling when the police came and arrested him. The police report states he was delusional and combative. He fought them because he thought they traced him due to the chip. He assaulted the police officer and was clobbered with a baton.”

“Chicago Police don’t screw around.”

“Oh yeah they do, ask Sherry. She knows them all personally.” I joked. We all giggled.

“The worst part was he was so determined that there was a chip in his head that he literally dug into his skull trying to get it. He tore his hair out leaving a big bald spot and the cops found him covered in blood and a gaping hole in his head. He needed 15 stitches. Obviously, he failed his psychiatric evaluation.”

“That would be horrible. Living life always feeling like someone is tracking you. How scary would that be?” Page always found a way to identify with the patients.

“I tried to talk sense into him and told him there was no chip in his head.”

“Really,” I said. “How did he respond?”

“He rocked back and forth harder and repeated over and over, ‘I knows there a chip in there. I knows it.’ I don’t know how but I’m going to get that hat off of his head before we are done with our rotation.”

Page responded, “Lisa, you can’t force it off of him.”

“I know. You’ll see. Now tell us about your patient.”

“My patient is Lori. She is really a sweet heart.” Page started to tell her story.

“How do you end up with a sweet heart and I end up with Jack-off man and Lisa ends up with Hat-man?”

“I don’t know maybe the Mary Kay assigned them based on our personalities.” We all contemplated this and broke out in laughter at the same time.

“Let me finish my story.” We all calmed down and Page continued. “Lori is mentally disabled. Her body is that of a 24-year old while her mind is stuck at age 10. She lost her parents on her 21st birthday.”

“Happy Birthday,” Lisa yelled. A bit too loudly. I wondered if the beer was going to her head.

“They took her out for dinner and when they came home their house had been ransacked. They entered not knowing that the intruders were still there lurking in the dark. They were stabbed to death right in front of Lori.”

Lisa and I both gasped at the same time.

“As if that wasn’t bad enough, the burglars took turns raping her.”

“Why didn’t they kill her too?” I wondered out loud.

“I don’t know. I can only guess that they knew she was mentally handicapped and didn’t think she would be a good witness.”

“That’s horrible.” I said.

“Wait, the story isn’t over. Lori got pregnant. She must have known, somehow, ‘cause her therapist noted that she was carrying her dolls around and playing mother. She delivered a healthy baby girl but the state took her. Lori couldn’t understand why. She went into severe depression. Her therapist knew how sad she was so when she missed her appointment; she went to check on her. She found her lying in her bathroom in a pool of blood and barely conscious. She ended up with several blood transfusions and a new home at the glorious psych facility.”

“Well, you guys successfully made me feel worse.” I said grimly.

“Yeah, now I’m depressed. I’m ordering another beer. You guys want another round?” Lisa flagged the waitress down.

“No. Actually I gotta run. I’ll see you guys later.” Before we could respond Page was out the door.

Lisa and I ordered another round and continued our conversation.

“You know hearing about these patient’s stories is depressing but it also makes me question sanity. Like would they have turned out just like you and me if they had not been abused?”

“Who knows Hope. There is no way to ever know. Sometimes I think I’m not far from being one of them.”

“I know I think there is a fine line between being sane and insane. Like yesterday, I showed up to school early and drove around the damn parking lot for half an hour trying to get a spot and when I finally found one someone else pulled in and took it. It took everything out of me not to get out of my car and beat the shit out of the person.”

“Oh yeah. Or like when you are driving 45 miles an hour and someone pulls out in front of you doing 20. You just want to rear end them!”

“You? Doing 45? You mean 80? But Yes! I know what you mean. You just want to push the accelerator. Maybe we are all just walking a tight rope of sanity and the right triggers or wrong ones for that matter could just push us over the edge.”

“Well these poor patients had more than one trigger.”

“I know it’s awful. I’ll grab the check.”

I left the restaurant in a melancholy mood. Driving home I rolled down the windows and cranked up the radio. I sang with Elton John…

“But losing everything is like the sun coming down on me.
I can’t find, Oh, the right romantic line.
But see me once and see the way I feel.
Don’t discard me, baby don’t,
just because you think I mean you harm,
but these cuts I have, cuts I have.
Oh, They need love to help them heal.”

The words cut through my heart as I heard Johnny, Danny, and Lori singing to me. And I wished that they could all heal by something as simple as love. How ironic that the one thing in life that could possibly make a difference was the one thing that they lacked growing up or was taken from them. It was also the one thing that the doctors, nurses, and psychiatrists could never give back to them. Not in the capacity that they needed.

I pulled up in the driveway and my dad was out talking to my Grandpa. My dad turned my way when I came to a stop. With a wave he smiled.
“How’s my nurse today?”

“Good dad. Not a nurse yet.”

“How was the psych ward? Did you meet some real wackos?”

“Yeah, Dad. I guess I did.” Again sadness overcame me. “I gotta run and do my homework.” He gave me a kiss before I ran off. I could feel the lump in my throat and I hid my face as I walked away so my dad wouldn’t see. I realized how lucky I was but that didn’t comfort me.

******
The next day at preconference we discussed our goals with each other. We came up with a point system for the patients. Each day that they met their goals they would receive a point and at the end of our time if the group totaled 80 points they would get a party. With 10 nursing students and 10 clinical days that points could be earned they had 20 points to spare. This not only held them accountable to themselves but kept them accountable to each other as well.

I met Johnny in the common area.

“Johnny my name is Hope. We met yesterday do you remember?”

“Yeah I remember. You came back?”

“Yes I did Johnny. What you did yesterday was not acceptable.”

Johnny looked down at his hands, his face drawn in shame. I realized that night while doing my careplan that Johnny was not only testing me yesterday but was also probably protecting himself. If he was touching himself he was in control. Someone else was not touching him. Everyone he trusted in his past would either hit him or sexually abuse him. Why should he think I would be different?

“Johnny, I promise to you that I will never do anything to hurt you. I will come here twice a week, play card games with you and talk to you. I will never touch you or hurt you. But I also need you to promise that you will never touch yourself in front of me again. If you want to touch yourself you can go to your room and do it privately. Do you understand?”

He looked up at me and replied, “Yes.”

“Yes what. Repeat to me what we just agreed to so I know that you understand.”

“I won’t touch myself and you won’t touch me. Yeah I got it.”

“Ok but there is one more thing. Do you like parties?”

“Oh Yes,” Johnny’s eyes sparkled at the thought.

“Well each day that we are together and you behave appropriately you will get a point. If your points and the other patients’ points add up to 80 at the end of the six weeks we will throw all of you a party on our last day here.”

Johnny clapped his hands in excitement. I looked over at Page and she must have just told Lori about the party because she was off doing cartwheels across the floor. Her cheeks were rosy and she was smiling and giggling like an excited school girl.

Our six weeks went by quickly. Clinical was much less stressful at the psych facility and was enjoyable. All of our patients were progressing well and at post conference of the 5th week we all held our breath while our instructor counted the points.

“75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, and 81. A party it will be!”

We each made a dish and brought it to the facility. Page and I brought streamers to add some color to the ugly room. A radio was brought from the music therapy room and was playing light rock. The group marched in like they were in a parade. The room buzzed with an excitement that I don’t think it had ever seen before.

We were all playing games when we heard a tap, tap, tap come from the other side of the room. There was Lori with a drum set around her neck and a fake microphone in her hand.

“Attention! Everyone! Attention!” She yelled.

The room got quiet and all eyes turned to her.

“I just have something to say.” Lori looked down at a piece of paper where she had prepared a speech for us. Someone turned the music down in the background.

“To all the nurses that have helped me I want to thank. I was was so sad before bbbut today I am happy. Th-Thank you. Now I have a surprise for you. I I drew you a picture and wrote you a song and now w-would like to sing it to you.” Lori ran out the door and came right back with a big banner with a rainbow drawn on it. She carried it in and placed it on the floor in front of her.

I looked around the room; all eyes were content and eager to hear the song. I saw Danny with his hat held to his head perched at the end of his seat. Harry was in his wheelchair grimacing as usual. Johnny was sitting on the floor looking up intently at Lori. Grace was holding hands with another patient, Ernie, as if they were at major production.

Lori sang, high-pitched and out of tune but she sang and as she sang she marched back and forth and played her drums like she was in a marching band.

“Today I see rainbows

Yesterday there were clouds.
Some people spark brightness
While others are dark.

Today I see rainbows
Yesterday there were clouds.
I hope you see rainbows too.
Thank You, Thank You.”

There was no telling what tune she was going for, it truly was a song she made up on her own. When she finished she gracefully put down her drums and ended with a cartwheel and what was supposed to be the splits but since she couldn’t do them ended with one leg out while she sat on the other curled at the knee and her arms in the air. The room broke out in applause.

“That was wonderful!” Grace got up and gave Lori a curtsey.

“Are you kidding that sucked.” Harry grumbled from his wheel chair.

“Oh shut up. You wouldn’t know something good if it right in front of you,” Ernie yelled back.

“Oh FUCK YOU, PRICK!” Harry yelled back.

“Why do you always have to pick fights? You’re the prick!” Johnny yelled at Harry.

“Why don’t you just go wack your little prick?”

Johnny got up quickly with his chest out. Harry pulled a piece of his wheel chair off and threw it at Johnny. Other patients quickly started in. In the commotion someone knocked Danny’s hat off. Within moments fists were flying, obscenities were shouted and wheel chair parts flew threw the air.

“Fuck”

“Ass Hole”

“Mother Fucker”

Danny paced the floor in panic with his hands over his ears. “The FBI is on their way!! Don’t let them find me!”
Mary Kay escorted us quickly and safely to the secure conference room that locked from the inside. We could still here yelling and fighting going on outside and every now and then a big thunk as something or someone hit the wall on the other side of the room.
“Well, Leese, looks like Danny’s hat came off after all!” I said with a giggle.

When all of the patients were cleared and the place was secure again, security let us out of the room. We were escorted out of the building and although we would never see the patients again I knew that I would never forget them. They gave me a new understanding of psychiatric disorders. They all shared a common thread; one that is not discussed in books or taught by teachers but was definitely there. They were all abused. Whether physical, mental, or sexual there was and I believe there is a damaging component beyond repair to abuse and that is psychiatric disorders. As I drove away, I looked forward to moving on, another clinical was over which meant we were one more clinical closer to graduation.