In January of 1968 at twenty-one, after six months of being off and my son’s birth, I was able to return to work. My job in Mrs. T.’s office was no longer available, so I took a position as a nurse’s aide on the psychiatric unit. You must remember in this day, nurse’s aides were not required to get more than on the job training.
The people I worked with were Mrs. Van D., R.N., a nice person, but not often on the unit. She basically appeared for doctor’s rounds, EST’s (Electroshock Therapy), or admissions. Miss M., L.P.N. who transcribed doctor’s orders, passed medications and helped as needed with the care of the resident’s. And me, who was responsible for most patient cares. It was not a difficult job, most of the residents were able to bathe or shower with a minimum of supervision. Mainly I had to change beds, do some minor housekeeping, serve and pick up the food trays and help with EST’s on their assigned days.
With some short term resident’s thrown in, these were our regulars.
Mrs. C. who wore American Flag fashion before it became fashion. If she wasn’t wearing a dress or a blouse that looked like a flag or partly like a flag, she might be wearing a flag scarf, or flag themed hat. She was never un-flagged on some area of her outside apparel. She also had a roomful of knick knacks that had best not be touched in any manner on penalty that you might get one thrown at you.
Miss B. who flew wherever she went. She flapped her arms up and down as she walked and apparently was unable to talk or listen when flying. Some moment’s she held intelligent conversations with you and you’d begin to wonder if she was the one with mental problems or was it just you.
Mr. H. who the CIA was after. You had to be sure to check his food so he wasn’t poisoned. He would dance back and forth from foot to foot when agitated. He basically took care of himself as long as you gave him direction and assured him you weren’t part of the conspiracy.
