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The Patient By T. MacKinnon
Many years ago, I had worked in a psychiatric hospital for children. There were two sides to the unit separated by an open office. I was working an evening which was fairly busy - attending to children's needs and requests, making lunches for these patients and doing paperwork as well. I never gave it much thought at the time, but staff was complaining about one child on the other side of the unit. In the office they were grumbling about how bad his behaviour was and that the child needed to be in the locked time out room most of the time to control his bad behaviour. It was one of those nights, I had supposed, that one child ends up in the time out room because his behaviour was making it unsafe for himself and others. I didn't get involved.
I went about my evening which continued to be busy, still not thinking about the child who was giving the staff on the other side so much trouble. I had thought little of the amount of time the child was in the time out room (and thinking about it now - it was most of the evening and into the night).
The unit remained busy for me on the side I was on and for the staff on the other side. I remember spending little time in the office but when I did go in, I could still hear the other staff talking about this child who they couldn't control. It was so routine to hear and deal with this kind of stuff, that I just listened to the conversation while doing my paper work and never really gave it much thought after that.
Just after midnight I decided to take my break so I went to the common room that contained a couch. I was particularly tired from racing up and down the hallways earlier in the evening dealing with problems and requests. I took my shoes off and lay down on the couch putting my head on the hard pillow. Finally I could get some rest and then finish my shift and go home at 7 a.m.
As I lay on the couch in darkness, I could still hear the child in the time out room on the other side of the unit. He was still upset - screaming, kicking and wanted to be let out. I was amazed. First of all, he must be really loud in there for me to hear him, and second, what is he still doing in there, I thought to myself? I just lay there on the couch in almost total darkness for a couple of seconds when all of sudden, I was urged to move, to act and act now. It was one of the few times in my life when I knew exactly what I must do. I wasn't even thinking about how the two staff that were dealing with the child would react (other staff don't like their toes being stepped on!). I immediately got up from the couch and quickly put my shoes on, if I had put them on at all! I walked over to the other side, opened the locked time out room door without saying anything to anybody (including the two staff who had been dealing with patient). I went in and gently walked this young patient back to his room. The two staff was watching me and rushed over. One commented that I should not be letting him out of the room because they (two staff) had tried everything and that he was dangerous.
I did not have any problems with the child and couldn't help but wonder what all the fuss was about and that this situation all evening and into the night could have been dealt with better with a little more humanity and compassion.
After walking the patient to his room and helping him into bed, I read him a couple of books. He was still whimpering from the horrible evening he had. One of the staff kept walking by his bedroom watching us, half in amazement and half in anger over my taking control over the situation without conferring with anybody first. You could see the scared look on the child's face when he saw the other staff.
It didn't take long and the little guy was asleep. I went back to the office to get to the other side of the unit I was supposed to be working on. The two staff in the office immediately expressed their disapproval of my letting this child out of the time out room stating that his behaviour had been uncontrollable all evening. One of the two (who was in charge of the whole unit that night) even went so far as to threaten me.
The dissent just proved to me that they did not handle the situation well with this child and that something greater than all of us summoned action on this child's behalf. I humbly knew that I had done the right thing.
"See that you do not despise one of these little ones, for I say to you that their angels in heaven always look upon the face of my heavenly Father. Matthew 18:10
Love at First Sight By W. McDonald
It was November of 97; I was sitting in a bar adjacent to my health club. It was a regular spot for me, and the bartender would pour especially strong drinks for the regulars. This night was different, however, I decided not to drink too much - I was driving and had to meet an old buddy of mine in a downtown bar later on.
Since I'm an alcoholic, I felt very much at home and comfortable in that bar. I could smoke, drink, talk with other drunks and listen to music. The bar that evening had a cheery atmosphere. There were lots of people, but not too crowded as to make the place too boisterous. Life was grand!
In a moment of clarity, I turned to the bartender and said "I'm going downtown to find the love of my life". Certainly not something I have ever said to a bartender, nor anybody else ever before. I don't even know why I said it. Now I do!
I spent a couple of hours in the bar, got up, wished everybody a good night and left. I was heading downtown to another favourite bar.
I arrived at the downtown bar around 10 p.m. I spotted my buddy standing around talking to a group of people so I went over and joined them. My buddy is a big talker and talks to everyone - he's also good with the ladies and is not shy whatsoever.
We see old university buddies coming into the bar laughing, smiling and talking about the football game earlier that day. As we are moving around the bar, checking everything and everyone out, I found myself in the centre of the bar - my friend about 10 feet away talking to some more people. I was completely and utterly unaware and unexpectant of what was about to happen. The earth was about to shift from its axis. The alcoholic haze which was my life would see for which seemed like an eternity, a brief glimpse of heaven - the veil will be lifted and the secret of the universe revealed.
From my vantage point, I could see who was coming and going. Then it happened, 3 girls walked into the bar and I was transfixed on one of them. It was as if the world had stopped - slowed to a grinding halt. Nothing else mattered. You could have hit me over the head with a baseball bat. There were only two people in the universe at that point - me and the angel that was making her way into the bar. I knew with all certainty and within every fibre of my being that she was my future wife. She and her two friends made her way between me and my buddy who was still talking to another group still 10 feet away. I was totally captivated and hadn't taken my eyes off her the whole time. As she walked by, I immediately followed her and struck up a conversation trying to hold back my ecstasy. Never leaving each other's side, we talked all night and were married 2 1/2 years later.
The Unexplained By T. MacKinnon
A few years ago a colleague of mine spoke about the strange events leading up to the birth of his child. These events were quite peculiar so I wanted to write about it.
Just before September 11th, 2001, he and his wife found out they were expecting. Among the chaos of the ensuing days, they managed to find solace in the knowledge that they would be parents in the following spring.
When his wife confirmed to him their joyous news, the first thing he did was go outside, look up in the night sky and thank God.
In the next several months leading up to the birth of their child, there were strange and unexplained happenings in the home. A candle that had been blown out was found to be lit several hours later. His wife blew the candle out and went to bed and he found it still lit hours later. The candle had been completely distinguished by his wife as she later asserted to him.
Another strange occurrence involved their front door. This is a heavy duty door which requires much effort to close tightly. One day when coming into the house and without the intention of closing the door all the way, it shut tightly on its own! He tried to do this again but it in no way could it be replicated. It was just one of those doors that needed a good shove to get tight. There was just no way that this door was going to shut all the way on its own - but it did that one time. There was no draft or wind at the time, he explained. But even if there was, you would still need effort to close it tightly because of the wind seal generated between the storm door and this door, he stated. What could have shut this door?
It was an older home they lived in and they did many renovations. One such improvement was to get a contractor to give them access to the attic. Strange enough, there was no access to the main part. The contractor had to make a cut in the ceiling and construct a small access panel that they would have to push up. The contractor did the work late winter, early spring. It was completed with a frame around the panel and was fully functional. They now had access to the attic (hurrah - big deal).
In early spring, they had planned to sell their home after the renovations had been completed. As they were getting their home prepared to be put on the market, they noticed something very odd. The small attic panel door was now completely nailed shut! Not just a couple of nails - dozens of nails could be seen. They were finishing nails and they were counter-sunk. There would be no way to get them out without destroying the panel door and frame work. But why was it nailed? It goes against the whole meaning and purpose of a door. There had only been one contractor in that area of the house and he denied nailing it. Why would he nail shut a door clearly designed to be opened, something he had constructed?
My colleague stated that there were other events as well. What explanation is there? Who knows, but here's what his wife found typed on a small piece of paper tucked within one of the walls before it was repaired and sealed back up: Hymn “God sent His Son, they called Him Jesus. He came to love, heal and forgive; He lived and died to buy my pardon, An empty grave is there to prove my Savior lives. Chorus: Because He lives, I can face tomorrow, Because He lives all fear is gone; Because I know He holds the future And life is worth the living just because He lives. How sweet to hold a newborn baby And feel the pride and joy he gives; But greater still the calm assurance This child can face uncertain days because He lives.
How sweet it was for them to hold their newborn baby boy in May of 2002!
The Prisoner By C. McNeil
One day while working in the court system, my co-worker and I had the mundane duty to escort another prisoner to a sentencing hearing. We went down to the holding cells in the basement of the court house to escort the prisoner up to court. When we got down there and saw him, the first thing I noticed was a full length cast on his leg as he hobbled over to us. We transferred him to the prisoner elevator using a wheel chair. The prisoner appeared to be in his fifties, medium height, thin build and un-kept shoulder length gray hair. He was cooperative, quiet and had an almost charismatic look to go along with his semi-callous demeanour.
After getting out of the elevator, we entered the court room on the main floor and took our seat on a church-like bench about 35 feet away from the Judge. The prisoner managed to transfer himself from the wheel chair to the bench. Myself and the other officer sat on either side of him. There were lawyers directly in front of us and from our seat, we could see the entire court room including the public gallery. The court room was fairly crowded and this was the last item on the docket.
The Judge motioned to the lawyer to start. “Your Honour, my client....(pointing to our prisoner), is here today for breaking and entering”. While listening to the lawyer, the judge is scanning the courtroom and fixes his gaze on the prisoner. Not long into the proceeding, a probation officer was called upon to read his P.S.R. (pre-sentence report) into the record. The probation officer was a middle aged man with a considerable amount of experience in dealing with convicts.
At about this time I was getting restless and just wanted to get this over with. Court hearings are nothing like you see on TV. After years of sitting in a court room everyday and listening to the same crap day in and day out, one tends to develop the impression that all these criminals should be sent away. Dealing with murderers and child molesters tends to have that effect on someone.
Okay lets hear it, I thought; what's this guys story and how long do we have to sit in this stale, sweaty courtroom?
The probation officer addresses the Judge, “Your honour, I'm Dave Allen, a probation officer with the Department of Justice. I'd like to give you some background on the Defendant. He has been incarcerated most of his life. He has basically been in prison since he was 13, starting in juvenile halls and graduating to federal penitentiaries. He is now 45 and has spent the better part of 30 years behind bars. He comes from a family that was so abusive and dysfunctional, that he was finally taken into foster care when he was 6 years old. While in Foster care he was sexually abused by another foster child. He was taken out of that Foster home and placed into another one whereby he was sexually assaulted again by a Foster parent. By the time he was 12, he had run away numerous times and was frequently in trouble with the law. He started using drugs and alcohol when he was 11 years old. At that time, he became a prostitute and would buy drugs and alcohol with any money he could get his hands on. His addiction coupled with the lack of any support and guidance, are the themes that run through-out this person's sad and pathetic life.”
As the probation officer was speaking, I looked over to see the prisoner and the sad expression on his face as someone was telling his life story in crystal clear clarity. A story that he was probably not even conscious of himself following a life mired in a blur of alcohol, drugs and abuse. I couldn't help but feel compassion, and as I looked around the court room, I noticed all eyes were transfixed on this poor soul. The probation officer had us hanging on his every word by the depth and precision of his narrative.
Mr. Allen continued, “In his teenage years, he spiralled further into a life and culture of heavy drug and alcohol abuse. He was living on the street and would steal anything that he could get his hands on in order to obtain drugs and alcohol. By the age of 16, he was serving time in an adult federal institution where he was abused repeatedly. From then on, Mr. *** was in and out of federal institutions. His sentences got longer because of previous convictions and the natural assumption of the courts that he could not be rehabilitated, as his recidivism rate has proven. Drugs and alcohol are his biggest stumbling blocks along with what one psychiatric assessment concluded: anti-social behaviour and rage. I think that assessment is included in the file you have Your Honour.”
As the probation officer paused to allow the Judge and the Prosecutor to look over the files, there was a complete and utter silence in the court room. The prisoner's eyes were down cast and as incredible as it sounds, he looked almost at peace.
My job was to ensure the secure transfer of this prisoner to and from court. I needed to observe his movements and reactions at all times and obviously to remain at a close distance. I had to remain objective but I couldn't help feeling compassion for him as well. As I looked around the court room, I thought to myself; under the same life circumstances, anyone in this room could have turned out the same way, or worse!
After a few minutes, the proceeding continued. “I'd like to talk about the events leading up to this last conviction Your Honour”, Mr. Allen stated. Here we go, I thought. After all the crimes he committed, this person wants to be set free? “Your Honour, Mr. *** had recently completed a 12 year term of incarceration and was released from prison three weeks ago. Upon his release, he immediately slipped back into his past behaviours which include a strong propensity towards criminal activity and habitual habits of drug and alcohol abuse. As you know, Mr. *** was found after breaking into a drug store, stealing and ingesting a large quantity of drugs, tripping the alarm and then waiting for the police to come. He was drunk when he broke into the drug store and had to inch his way around on his stomach with his hands - due to his broken leg, loss of crutches and drunken state at the time.”
At this point half the courtroom was almost in tears. We all realized that after a pitiful and disastrous life, this man intentionally broke into the drug store in order to get sent back to jail. He wanted to go back! I found myself wondering how a person, any person, could get to that point in their life? As a young child, carefree, living in the moment, he could not have possibly envisioned his life turning out this way. An innocent child full of promise having to suffer the evils and perils of this world - alone.
I never forgot that day in the court room or that prisoner. Certainly there are others with similar stories, but what made this different for me was my proximity to that poor suffering soul. I could feel those intense emotions and heartfelt reactions echoing off each individual and filtering through the prisoner. For him; possibly a revelation of truth and validation of a life, gone terribly wrong.
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