SNWJ: The Beautiful Mess Series: I Threw Up In My Mouth A Little

I Threw Up In My Mouth A Little

John Paul Derryberry

The Beautiful Mess Series: Not everyone beats cancer but we rightfully celebrate the fact that everyone fights the diagnosis. Not everyone wins their battle with mental health, but we only praise the people who overcome.  This series examines why we need to change this view of mental health.

Remember we are using the pronoun “They” in these blog in an effort to shield revealing details about the people I’m writing about.

The Introduction blog http://jpderryberry.com/blog/mess

Story 1: http://jpderryberry.com/blog/themariojumper

Story 2: http://jpderryberry.com/blog/the-escape-artist

Story 3: http://jpderryberry.com/blog/theoldtownbully

Story 4: http://jpderryberry.com/blog/neverbeenkissed

I Threw Up in My Mouth a Little

"What are you doing? Why would you clean that up?" the kid asked, as they returned from the bathroom pale-faced and looking like death just gave them a hug. 

"Because, no one wants to clean up their own puke when they're sick, and it's our job to take care of you," the staff member replied.  

The kid broke out in tears, and staff gave them a befuddled look, as they crawled back into bed and pulled the covers over their head. Staff sprayed some air freshener to cover the puke smell of the room and provided a bucket for them to puke in if the situation occurred again. A muttered and muffled, " thank-you," squeaked out from under the blankets. The staff whispered, "No problem and I'm off tomorrow, but I will call to check on you." 

The next day, still battling illness, the individual questioned other staff. They repeatedly asked if the counselor from last night really meant to call to check on them. They asked over and over again why an employee on their day off would give up their personal time to check on them, a kid most people gave up on years ago. The team working during the afternoon assured the kid that the crew from last night would call and check on them. They explained that a 30-second phone call wouldn't dent their counselor's personal time. The individual's face began to tremble and they asked: "Why the hell couldn't my dad ever give me 30 seconds of his time?"

The staff called later that night, and the individual hid their tears from everyone. They didn't understand why an unrelated person could give up 30 seconds of their day when their dad ran out years ago. Not much changed for this person over the next three months. They continued to act out, continued to scream obscenities at their mother for putting them in such a horrid place. They cussed out peers, swung at staff, and refused therapy. Any mention of discussing their father was met with pulling up the drawbridge and daring staff to cross an alligator-filled moat.  The ruling came down from the judge: not enough progress in this program, time to move to another. They jumped for joy about leaving and screamed about exiting this hell-hole of a place. The same staff who had cleaned up their puke asked to speak with them. They agreed and apologized for not doing enough to help them have this be their last program before they went home. 

I'm their last 30 days, the kid floated through therapy, social groups, and school, not causing too many problems. During a follow-up meeting after their dismissal from the program, two newer staff lamented that it was discouraging that they did nothing with the young individual in their four months with them. The staff who cleaned up the puke all those weeks earlier, spoke up and said, "You are all wrong. We reached that kid." The room fell silent, except for one staff member who  chuckled. The "puke" staff person made eye contact and the laughter slammed off. 

"Let me tell you something about that kid, Three nights before they left our program, one of their peers fell sick. They came to the staff and asked, 'how I can help'? They waited on their ill peer for the next four hours. They brought in chicken noodle soup. They cleaned up their peer's slime-filled kleenex and made them multiple cups of tea. And do you know the kicker to this story? When the sick kid went to bed, they looked at them and said, 'I will check on you in the morning.'  I sat behind the desk and mentally took a picture because it was one of the most beautiful moments I have witnessed in my life. That kid had a moment, maybe their first one since their dad walked out them, of pure, unselfish behavior. And if they can have one moment of being unselfish, they can have tons more. Maybe that is what they needed from this program, someone to clean up their puke, so they could witness care and compassion again. Sometimes we don't get our happy ending in this field, but you can shut up saying that we didn't help that kid to understand there is beauty after puking." 

You could witness everyone's opinion of this kid's stay in the program go from failure to some level of success. That was the second beautiful moment they gave us, an understanding that fixing emotional messes never goes the way anyone wants them to. The beauty is in the journey everyone takes alongside each other to get some distance away from the pain, even if the needle moved only inches away from the epi-center of the mess.