Robert lagged wherever C-11 went. He lay on his bed during cleaning chores and insisted, “I’m tard, Jackson. I’m tard.” The Nurse Aide suggested I speak to Dr. Natesan, Robert’s psychiatrist, about his lethargy. When the doctor visited the next day, I suggested Robert might need vitamins. I don’t know what Dr. Natesan prescribed, but two days later, when we lined up for breakfast, Robert skipped – literally skipped – past the end of the line and straight on past Fred at the front. In those crepe-soled shoes, it was quite a sight.
On another of the doctor’s visits, I convinced him that Robert needed more to do. He needed a challenge. Dr. Natesan decided Robert should shine the doc’s shoes for twenty-five cents a day. Robert was delighted. The next morning, he knelt in front of the small doctor, shined the shoes, popped the rag, whistled, winked at me, and looked thoroughly pleased with himself. On the second day, Robert announced he wanted fifty cents a day. The doctor willingly paid him. On the third day, when Robert tried to raise his fee again, the doctor decided he no longer needed daily shoe shines. Robert’s plan to fund his “see-gars” was thwarted.
As I learned more about the system, I discovered that after a period without negative notes in their records, patients could be allowed home visits. Three successful such visits made the patients eligible for conditional release, and after another incident-free stretch – ninety days, I think – they could be permanently released.
When I re-read Robert’s card, I saw that no one from his family had visited in two years. I made it my mission to re-establish contact so he could qualify for a home visit. I’d ike to say my motives were pure, but the truth is I wanted to sit doors without him, avoid the constant begging for cigars, and stop having to force him out of bed for morning cleaning.
I used our time together sitting doors to ask about his life before the hospital. It took loads of patience and persistence, but he eventually shared that his family lived in Chicago, that he had lived with his brother and sister-in-law, and that his sister-in-law was blind. His voice was flat when he spoke of them, but he brightened right up when he talked of fried chicken and beer. When I asked why their visits had stopped, he said he didn’t know. He was not a reliable source of information in most cases, and his card showed a pattern of several visits, then fewer, then none. I concluded the family had made the long trip – over 250 miles – until his lack of interest in them wore them down.
His records listed next-of-kin information, and I was determined to help him write a letter to them. He claimed he couldn’t write, so I told him I would write for him. When I asked what he wanted to say, he answered, “I dunno, Jackson. I dunno.” I suggested phrases – “I’m sorry for not contacting you, I would like you to come visit me.” After much deliberation, he agreed to some of my suggestions. Robert was very relaxed by the time we finished; I was exhausted. But the letter was finished, and I mailed it the next day.
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