Loathsome: The Medical Years

In the process of answering an email, I was reminded of yet another fun Loathsome story. There are a million of them. I've known him for a couple of decades now, so I've had a lot of time to accumulate them.

When Loathsome was in the Army (drafted during Vietnam), he was assigned to the mental health unit (or whatever it's called). I can only imagine that they thought one crazy person would just naturally recognize any others he happened upon. (Turns out, that's not necessarily true. My dad never recognized any other insane people. Or rather, he just thought everybody was crazy except him.) Loathsome mainly had to go collect military guys after they'd gone over the deep end.* I don't exactly know what he did with them then, but suffice it to say Loathsome believes he did a damn good job at a very difficult assignment.

I digress. After the Army, Loathsome capitalized on that experience by getting hired as an orderly in a state-run psychiatric institution in California during the late sixties. Orderly. Excellent career move. He likes to tell me (and probably anyone else he can force to listen) that he made a great contribution to the psychiatrically challenged population housed there. I, of course, wondered what Loathsome could possibly offer anyone in the way of functional living skills. Our original conversation was revelatory and entertaining, as always.

"I showed them how to dress," he told me with enormous pride. You could just see his chest puffing out as he said it.

"You showed them how to dress?" I smiled as if I was already impressed. You've probably noticed by now that pretty much any statement from Loathsome immediately requires some explanation.

"Yeah. I brought my own clothes in and showed them how to match things. Like plaids and colors." Big, big Loathsome smile here. He was very impressed with himself.

I can only imagine the huge positive impact the ability to mix and match outfits was for people with, say, schizophrenia. I've always wondered where exactly he thought they might put this powerful new knowledge to work. As far as I know, back in the sixties in state-run psychiatric hospitals, there weren't a whole lot of wardrobe options. Let's see now. Hospital clothing--green or white. Not Dior by a long shot. I don't think they had plaid, either.

I also wonder how the hell he got his clothes in there. Do orderlies regularly get to take their personal wardrobes into the hospital and, like "What Not to Wear," analyze the various outfit possibilities the patients could apply in their own lives? If so, I could definitely take that on as a part time gig. Very fashion savvy here, especially when we're talking about people who are currently hallucinating or who have their own running conversation about the style tips with people who exist solely in their heads.

Several years ago, Owner fell out of a deer blind and broke his back on a hunting trip. He was incredibly lucky that he wasn't paralyzed. He managed to break just the right vertebrae to survive relatively unscathed. He did have to have surgery and was in the hospital for a while, though.

When the accident first occurred, Loathsome was on it immediately. He wanted to know which hospital Owner was in so he could head on over there to get some answers. We were understandably (once again) puzzled.

"I need to go over there and make sure they're given him the right treatment. I have a medical background, you know."

Maybe that was a long way to go to get to a disappointing end. Personally, I find the "medical background" statement breathtakingly hilarious. My husband and I still, years later, say that to each other when one of us is having a small medical crisis. Like a paper cut.

Sometimes I just love my job.

*Please be assured that I mean no disrespect to the men and women who served in Vietnam. As a person with post traumatic stress disorder, I know how bad that can be. The things they saw were unimaginable, as in all wars, I suppose. I've known some men who served there and they deserve enormous compassion and respect.

I also mean no disrespect to people with mental illness. God knows I've got enough of it in my father's family. And let's face it, ptsd and chronic depression are the definitions of mental illness. I just happen to have a sense of humor about it.