Meet Virginia: A Mentor's Unconventional Teachings in a NYC Psychiatric Emergency Room
This goes out to the New York City nurses that raised me, first and foremost, Virginia.
As I eagerly first stepped into the bowels of the New York City Hospital, a disquieting dissonance washed over me. This city, so known for its ceaseless dance of lights and unabashed extravagance, seemed a world away from the hospital's dimly lit corridors and the stifling air of abandonment that pervaded its halls. How could a place so vital to the health of a city so vibrant be so disheartening and forlorn?
The staff, visibly strained from overwork and underappreciation, teetered on the edge of breaking. The equipment surrounding us seemed like relics of a bygone era, desperately in need of modernization. And to make matters worse, there were never enough supplies to meet the demand. The scene unfolding before me was a tragic comedy, where laughter served as a coping mechanism to grapple with the harsh realities.
My debut as a psychiatric emergency room nurse catapulted me into a world of intensity and chaos—a place where each decision held the power to sway the delicate balance of life and death. Virginia, one of my enigmatic mentors, seemed to saunter through the hospital's chaos with a grace that commanded respect and admiration. There was something in the way she navigated the storm, a poise and determination, that set her apart.
Virginia and I were as different as night and day. I was a hopeful novice, green and eager, while she was a seasoned realist on the cusp of retirement, her hair streaked with gray and her face lined with wisdom. Our contrasting dispositions often led to clashes, but her candid demeanor helped me develop a deeper understanding of life. Virginia's sharp wit and unrelenting honesty were an enthralling mix, and though her words could sting, I found myself drawn to her unvarnished truth.
One day, she led me out of the depressing confines of the hospital and into the gritty embrace of the city streets. It felt as if I'd stepped right into the heart of a raw, unfiltered New York City film.
Leaning against the cold brick of the emergency entrance, Virginia stood as a pillar of unwavering strength, her face etched with the fierce determination that I would come to know as her signature.
With a casual air, Virginia pulled a cigarette from her pocket and lit it. She drew in a deep breath, and as she exhaled, tendrils of smoke swirled in the crisp air. I glanced around nervously, half-expecting a stern supervisor to materialize and chastise us, but Virginia seemed unconcerned with potential consequences. She was a vision of unyielding defiance, radiating an indomitable sense of self-assurance.
"What about the hospital's no-smoking policy?" I ventured cautiously.
Virginia rolled her eyes, releasing a plume of smoke. "Oh, honey, breaking the rules is what makes life worth living," she said with a dark chuckle. "Besides, we all gotta die of something, right?" Watching her smoke with such audacity, I grasped that Virginia represented more than just a mentor to me. She embodied the grit and tenacity needed to not only endure but thrive in a harsh and unforgiving system. I couldn't help but wonder if I had what it took to survive.
Gathering my courage, I asked Virginia for her honest opinion of me. She flashed a wry smile and took a puff of her cigarette before responding, "You, my dear, are a clay pigeon - just waiting to be shot." Her words served as a sobering warning, but at the time, I was too young and inexperienced to fully grasp my vulnerabilities within such a massively misaligned system. So I laughed it off instead.
In the first month of shadowing Virginia in the psychiatric emergency room, I was plunged into adventure and turmoil, a bizarre fever dream that seemed to defy reality. To compound the already bewildering bedlam, Virginia – a steadfast conservative with a penchant for debate – took delight in goading me, as if it were a sport.
One incident, in particular, remains etched in my memory. With a devilish grin, Virginia shared how she used to release patients from the psych ER directly to Zuccotti Park, during the Occupy Wall Street encampment, guiding them toward free resources such as food, water, and socks.
Astonished, I asked, "Are you suggesting that you would encourage people who were recently discharged from a psychiatric emergency room to join a protest camp?" Virginia nonchalantly shrugged. "What better place for them to find support and community? These individuals are already feeling ostracized and disempowered. At least there, they can be part of something bigger."
I was taken aback. The notion of releasing vulnerable patients struggling with mental illness into the pandemonium of a protest camp struck me as reckless at best, perilous at worst. "You are absolutely insa—”. I caught myself and rephrased. “Doing that was completely inappropriate and dangerous," I exclaimed.
A spark of mischief in her eye, Virginia countered, "Dangerous, you say? You know what's truly dangerous? The status quo. How many times have we seen patients with mental illness being released from the hospital with zero follow-up care? How many times have we seen them return to the hospital because they didn't receive the support they needed in the community? The belief that we can persist in our ways and expect different results. That, my dear, is the epitome of a dangerous insanity."
She leaned in, her voice animated. "At least my discharge plan involved clothing, food, and a sense of community. What does your plan offer these vulnerable souls? A relentless cycle of forced hospitalization in locked facilities, stripping them of their autonomy and freedom?"
Her words struck me like a gut punch, catapulting me into a maelstrom of clashing emotions. I wrestled with both the inner turmoil born from admiring Virginia's unwavering conviction and iconoclasm while feeling a gnawing upset about her unorthodox and inappropriate methods. As the dissonance grew, I began to recognize that her audacious decision to send patients to the Occupy Wall Street encampment – though deeply disconcerting – painted a vivid picture of the systemic inadequacy we were facing. The fact that such a radical alternative could be considered by a compassionate and veteran nurse only served to emphasize the pressing need for change in a system that consistently fails those it is meant to protect.
How could it be that I had just earned my degree from a prestigious New York university, only to find myself blindsided by the intricate complexities of a hospital just a stone's throw away? One of the nation's finest, no less. The chaos and turmoil that had swallowed me whole upon entering the psychiatric emergency room, the bewildering fever dream that had initially left me reeling, now appeared as a glaring reflection of the broken system I had unwittingly become a part of – a system I would be compelled to navigate and decipher, whether I was ready for it or not.
Reflect. Write. Transform: Narrative Medicine Meets AI
Prepare to embark on a contemplative journey as we explore the world of Narrative Medicine and AI-generated art. Take a closer look at the artwork below and allow the feelings it evokes to wash over you. What memories and thoughts does it bring to mind?
Take three minutes to reflect and jot down your narrative. Whether you choose to express your thoughts in a journal or share them in the comments, the critical thing is that you take the time to consider the art and what it signifies to you.
Prompt: Describe a time when you encountered an unexpected teacher in your life. What was the circumstance and how did this person impact your learning or personal growth?
I always love to read your reflections below!
Thanks for stopping by, friends.
well, it worked.
"You, my dear, are a clay pigeon - just waiting to be shot." !!!