Read Online The Death Class: A True Story About Life by Erika Hayasaki - Free Book Online
Authors: Erika Hayasaki
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Center quickly proved to her that this was where she belonged—in a hospital dealing with the mentally and physically ill. Here she was in a psychiatric ward with people even more unhinged than the ones she’d grown up with—and she held the keys. She controlled injections and medications, and she could read people, especially when they were the least bit agitated.
“Oh, my God, crazy people? People screaming and yelling? Pounding on walls? Breaking furniture? This is great!” Norma said. “And I was really good at handling it.”
She could sense a blowup before it started to build. When a patient began punching or bashing his head against a wall or ripping up the sheets in his room, other nurses ran away to find the body restraints. They wanted to strap the patient to a stretcher, shoot him full of Thorazine, an antipsychotic medication, and force him into isolation in a quiet room. But Norma told them, “No, let me talk to him.” She would sit on the patient’s bed and try to calm him. It didn’t always work. Once a patient beat her up pretty badly, walloping on her as if she were a punching bag, but even that did not faze her. She slipped into the same disassociated state she had discovered in childhood.
One morning, she started making rounds on her shift, checking inon new patients who had been admitted overnight. She walked into a room and noticed a young man sitting on the bed. “Hi,” she said with a smile. “I’m the charge nurse on the day shift.”
He stared at her blankly. She noticed he was holding something on his lap. She walked closer and noticed it was a gun. She didn’t raise her eyebrows or try to moonwalk out of the room.
“I’m really sorry, I know this is your property, but you’re not allowed to have this in the psychiatric unit,” she said without skipping a beat. “You’ll have to give that to me, and I’ll lock it up safely for you, and you can get it when you’re discharged.”
Here was this twenty-two-year-old nurse smiling with her hands outstretched, as if asking him to hand over his belt to ensure it wouldn’t get lost. The man looked flummoxed. Norma had seen plenty of guns in her lifetime, and this one didn’t intimidate her any more than the rest. “I’ll take that for you,” she said sweetly.
He handed it over.
“Thank you very much,” she said, walking calmly over to the nurse’s station with the pistol in her hands, as if balancing a tray of meds. She called security to come lock it up. A guard checked its chamber: the gun was loaded.
“Really?” Norma replied. Well, that was a close one.
L IKE HER FAVORITE theorist, when Norma got old enough, she changed her Italian last name. No longer wanting to be connected to her father through it, she decided to keep “Bowe,” which belonged to her first husband, after the marriage ended in her twenties. She never changed it back after they divorced. Sometimes she wondered if she and her father really were biologically related. After all, she didn’t think they looked much alike. He’d lost his power, and his powerful friends, long before. Still, he came around a couple times a year, mostly for holidays or graduations.
On the day Norma earned the right to add “Dr.” to her title, she remembered that her father broke out of the graduation audience and headed for the steps of the stage as the PhD degrees were being bestowed.Horrified, Norma looked on as Norman tried to stop Norm. (The fact that their names matched seemed fitting for her already unusual life.) But Norm (her father) shook off Norman (her partner) and barged onstage as the doctoral adviser pulled the hood over Norma’s head.
Her father grabbed her arm in front of the crowd. Looking her in the eye, he managed to get one sentence out before being ushered offstage:
“From nuthin’,” he told his daughter, “to somethin’.”
C LASS F IELD T RIP: Medical Examiner’s Office
T AKE -H OME W RITING A SSIGNMENT : The Rewind Button
If you
“Oh, my God, crazy people? People screaming and yelling? Pounding on walls? Breaking furniture? This is great!” Norma said. “And I was really good at handling it.”
She could sense a blowup before it started to build. When a patient began punching or bashing his head against a wall or ripping up the sheets in his room, other nurses ran away to find the body restraints. They wanted to strap the patient to a stretcher, shoot him full of Thorazine, an antipsychotic medication, and force him into isolation in a quiet room. But Norma told them, “No, let me talk to him.” She would sit on the patient’s bed and try to calm him. It didn’t always work. Once a patient beat her up pretty badly, walloping on her as if she were a punching bag, but even that did not faze her. She slipped into the same disassociated state she had discovered in childhood.
One morning, she started making rounds on her shift, checking inon new patients who had been admitted overnight. She walked into a room and noticed a young man sitting on the bed. “Hi,” she said with a smile. “I’m the charge nurse on the day shift.”
He stared at her blankly. She noticed he was holding something on his lap. She walked closer and noticed it was a gun. She didn’t raise her eyebrows or try to moonwalk out of the room.
“I’m really sorry, I know this is your property, but you’re not allowed to have this in the psychiatric unit,” she said without skipping a beat. “You’ll have to give that to me, and I’ll lock it up safely for you, and you can get it when you’re discharged.”
Here was this twenty-two-year-old nurse smiling with her hands outstretched, as if asking him to hand over his belt to ensure it wouldn’t get lost. The man looked flummoxed. Norma had seen plenty of guns in her lifetime, and this one didn’t intimidate her any more than the rest. “I’ll take that for you,” she said sweetly.
He handed it over.
“Thank you very much,” she said, walking calmly over to the nurse’s station with the pistol in her hands, as if balancing a tray of meds. She called security to come lock it up. A guard checked its chamber: the gun was loaded.
“Really?” Norma replied. Well, that was a close one.
L IKE HER FAVORITE theorist, when Norma got old enough, she changed her Italian last name. No longer wanting to be connected to her father through it, she decided to keep “Bowe,” which belonged to her first husband, after the marriage ended in her twenties. She never changed it back after they divorced. Sometimes she wondered if she and her father really were biologically related. After all, she didn’t think they looked much alike. He’d lost his power, and his powerful friends, long before. Still, he came around a couple times a year, mostly for holidays or graduations.
On the day Norma earned the right to add “Dr.” to her title, she remembered that her father broke out of the graduation audience and headed for the steps of the stage as the PhD degrees were being bestowed.Horrified, Norma looked on as Norman tried to stop Norm. (The fact that their names matched seemed fitting for her already unusual life.) But Norm (her father) shook off Norman (her partner) and barged onstage as the doctoral adviser pulled the hood over Norma’s head.
Her father grabbed her arm in front of the crowd. Looking her in the eye, he managed to get one sentence out before being ushered offstage:
“From nuthin’,” he told his daughter, “to somethin’.”
C LASS F IELD T RIP: Medical Examiner’s Office
T AKE -H OME W RITING A SSIGNMENT : The Rewind Button
If you
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