Just An Average Week - Or Not...
So, my 'Establishing A Clinical Practice' class started on Thursday night. And even after just one class, I know that there are five more painfully excruciatingly boring classes ahead of me. Good God, my brain died and I started doodling. But I actually produced something semi-good, which is comforting. At least my graphics tablet was not a complete waste of money this way. Of course, I had to pay some stranger working in an internet cafe to scan it, who looked at me funny. Not surprising, since I was in my Salvo uniform and this was a picture of two of the Ninja Turtles, one of them chained up all all beaten. (...yeah, shut up. Angst is what I naturally do, whether it's stories or art, okay?) Bloody well charged me a dollar for each scan too, the bastard.
And of course, there was the sad case of Jason. Now, despite the razor-studded Shredder-style armour I wear on the net that leads people to believe that I am a people-hating vicious bitch... I'm not. I'm actually quite a nice person all in all. It's just that the net is really the only outlet I've got for negative emotions.
So when a young gentleman my age who was obviously very distressed came to me asking if the Salvation Army did counselling as he was suicidally depressed etc etc I sprung into action, pushed him into a chair, and after a few fast phone calls managed to get him talking to my officer - a very nice and gentle bloke who gives off an aura of "I love you and want to help you" even over the phone (I still wanna know how he does that!) - but fifteen minutes later, his mood had not risen. My blood pressure (and mobile phone bill) were another matter. So, armed with a phone number that had been finally tracked down for Salvo phone counselling services, and when Lyn finally came back from her shopping, we tried to get some sort of cohesive story or concrete details out of him. It kept changing (though I think that was due to his disability rather than trying to be deceitful) but he kept reiterating that he feared his carer, couldn't seem to say why, and that he'd hidden under his house when the police had arrived that morning (apparently he knew the carer had called the police out of fear for his safety). He'd been suicidal before, been in hospital for it... but never could we seem to peg down any concrete details.
Finally, I'd managed to gather enough information to slip away and leave him with Lyn while I ran up to the police station (two minutes walk up the street) and soon they'd put two and two together and three of them followed me back to Jason, who agreed to go with them once he was reassured that he was being taken to hospital to be assessed and not locked up.
Happy birthday for Thursday Lana, though I know that it hasn't been happy so far. We're still praying hard here.
And of course, there was the sad case of Jason. Now, despite the razor-studded Shredder-style armour I wear on the net that leads people to believe that I am a people-hating vicious bitch... I'm not. I'm actually quite a nice person all in all. It's just that the net is really the only outlet I've got for negative emotions.
So when a young gentleman my age who was obviously very distressed came to me asking if the Salvation Army did counselling as he was suicidally depressed etc etc I sprung into action, pushed him into a chair, and after a few fast phone calls managed to get him talking to my officer - a very nice and gentle bloke who gives off an aura of "I love you and want to help you" even over the phone (I still wanna know how he does that!) - but fifteen minutes later, his mood had not risen. My blood pressure (and mobile phone bill) were another matter. So, armed with a phone number that had been finally tracked down for Salvo phone counselling services, and when Lyn finally came back from her shopping, we tried to get some sort of cohesive story or concrete details out of him. It kept changing (though I think that was due to his disability rather than trying to be deceitful) but he kept reiterating that he feared his carer, couldn't seem to say why, and that he'd hidden under his house when the police had arrived that morning (apparently he knew the carer had called the police out of fear for his safety). He'd been suicidal before, been in hospital for it... but never could we seem to peg down any concrete details.
Finally, I'd managed to gather enough information to slip away and leave him with Lyn while I ran up to the police station (two minutes walk up the street) and soon they'd put two and two together and three of them followed me back to Jason, who agreed to go with them once he was reassured that he was being taken to hospital to be assessed and not locked up.
Happy birthday for Thursday Lana, though I know that it hasn't been happy so far. We're still praying hard here.