CATATONIC

July 29, 2008

“You’re too red to work here.” Abigail was warming up to me. She had called me a conceded bitch the day before. Thus far she had had twelve elector shock therapy treatments. I found out she was open to doing the electic so felt a little better about the whole thing. Rico was thrilled to be moving out of the hospital to La Casa.
“Whooo, hooo.” He scurried down the hall way his arms jumping up and down in the air in pure delight. Have you seen the shit hole you are about to live in? I suppose it’s better having a moment of fun before you entered hell and even better to enjoy the idea of moving on then being restrained against your will to a place you didn’t know. He ran by Oni. I found out about Oni earlier that day in rounds. Oni was catatonic.

"Catatonia is a syndrome of psychic and motoric-disturbances. In the current Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders published by the American Psychiatric Association (DSM-IV) it is not recognized as a separate disorder, but is associated with psychiatric conditions such as schizophrenia (catatonic type), bipolar disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder, depression and other mental disorders, as well as drug abuse and/or overdose."

In other words, we are not really sure what the fuck it is. Since the doctors weren't totally sure where catatonic surfaced from or were it fell on the desert of crazy, Oni was a case study for us to try and learn from. We walked into the hall and he was standing still with one arm straight out in front of him and the other by his side.
“Hi, Oni. Can we talk to you for a moment?” Nothing.
“This is our team of doctors, nurses and social workers and we would like to ask you a few questions.” Nothing.
“Do you know why you are here?” He made an eating motion. He was fiercely skinny and hadn’t had anything but an orange in the last two days. He also had long thick nails but that was the lease of his worries.
“Can I move your arm?” Dr. Mask moved his arm to the side and Oni left it there like a diving board.
“Can I touch your forehead?” Before Mask could glean the surface of his skin, Oni was on the ground on all fours staring straight ahead like a dog staring at a rat he’s about to pounce.
“Ok, well not now. We’ll come back another time.”

Later that day, I walked to my hole and Oni’s mother was standing there, in the hallway, staring in disbelief at Oni’s strange postures. Her face was white and her mouth was agape like she was staring at a terrible thing. She was still. He was still, then he walked over to the wall and starting playing his imaginary piano next to the wall.
“Come on Oni, don’t you want to watch TV with your mother?” The nurses were trying to get him to spend some quality time with his mom in the common room, but he just stood there. Then he walked over to his bed and lied down. A nurse took the pillow out from under his head to try and get him up and his head didn’t move. It stayed there floating in the air sideways like he was still resting on the pillow. He didn’t like to be touched and his mother had not moved since she got there. Her face was stuck in stone and her puffy cheeks were now gray. I walked away and went to my hole to do some paper work. Later when I walked back down the hall, I saw him in a catchers stance near the floor. His mom was still stone but her eyes were blood shot as the tears seemed to rake her eyeballs and never seemed to stream her face. Maybe if she blinked her tears would get a break and pour out of her eyes but they were still, stoned, in a state of utter fear, shock, and unknowing pain. This was her son. She was his mother. This was his mother. And he was her son. And neither of them could say a thing, or move, or touch each other. Not that they didn’t want to, but they were in such a state of mental pain that that was all they could do. Just stand there and stare straight ahead with a deep face of nothingness.