Mort

Mort

It was my second day on duty at Valley Forge Army Hospital. I had been assigned there after completing my internship to participate in “On Job Training” in psychiatry. Training thus far had only consisted of being issued a set of keys to get me in and out of the ward that housed the psychotic patients who were now under my care.  It was mid morning when I got a call from the staff sergeant who served under the commanding officer.  I was told that there was a problem with one of my patients at the gymnasium and that I should report there immediately.

When I arrived I found that one of my patients, Mort, had somehow climbed up to the exposed ceiling supports high above and was threatening to jump. The place was full of officers and enlisted men that had already responded to the crisis.  A movie set could not have better depicted the urgency and anxiety emanating from those in attendance.  The officers were mostly conversing while the enlisted men scurried about. Several of them were trying to position a safety net to catch him should he go through with his threat. In addition. a long ladder had been extended up to him.  I can’t recall whether it was my idea or that of one of my senior officer’s and whether it was a matter of volunteering or being commanded to do so.  At any rate I soon found myself somehow managing my moderate fear of heights as I slowly climbed upward. When I got within about 10 or 15 feet I began to talk to him, not having the slightest idea of what a psychiatrist would or should say in such a situation.  I said to him the following: “ It looks like you’re having a bad day and I guess you might be feeling pretty upset about something.”  I went on to say that I, at least, found this a pretty uncomfortable place to talk and suggested he climb down the ladder with me so we could return to my office where we could better continue our conversation.  Much to my amazement he agreed and followed me down to safety.

Once back in the office it became obvious that Ralph had been responding to command hallucinations that had been telling him that he should kill himself by jumping off the rafters of the gym.  Lucky for him and lucky for me, the voice had also told him that he should follow my advice.

I suspect that some of the men who had witnessed what happened in the gym that day were impressed by what appeared to be the persuasive skills that only a trained psychiatrist would be able to employ. I didn’t interrupt my moment of fame by explaining otherwise.

2006