psychiatric emergency

Names and facts have been altered to ensure confidentiality. Excerpt from a term paper.

The following is a narrative of my first stat call (client behavioral). There is an odd frustration that comes with being a staff member. I am never able to truly convey what a bad day at work really means. Somehow, “client behavioral” just doesn’t cover it.
        “Stat call,” a voice sounded over the intercom. My heart began to pound in my throat. I’d seen a few stat calls during orientation and helped defuse situations on my ward, but I had yet to actually participate in one.
        My fist time witnessing a stat call had been in the admitting office a week prior. By the time I’d arrived, a dozen people stood between me and the 300 pound women. She had cut her arms and throat hundreds of times with a razor blade. Blood flung from her arms as she stomped wildly around the admitting area. She shoved on the exit door and pounded her bloody fists on the safety glass, swearing and trashing. My adrenaline was pumping. I tried to hide my fear, but my face must have shown it anyhow. A coworker stepped forward and began to speak to the women in a soft, non-threatening tone. Much to my surprise, the woman eventually calmed enough to speak coherently. She was given options and, after some negotiation, chose to walk to her ward with only female staff. My coworker had spoken softly, used five words or less, and given options. I reviewed these methods in my head as I jogged to the stat call. Would I be called upon to use these skills? Would I be successful?
        Two staff members stood down the hall in the doorway of a client’s room. A staff member suggested I put on gloves. I snatched a couple from the box, put them on, and joined the two other staff members at the client’s door. The door was closed. I could hear a young girl trashing around, throwing chairs and other objects. Through the crack between the door and the frame, I could see a bed in front of the door. The doors swing out as well as in, so clients can not barricade themselves. We waited a moment for more staff to show up. I was given a synopsis of the situation and assigned a leg.
        More staff joined us and the stat leader swung the door open. A small girl, no more than 90 pounds, sat crouched in the far corner, growling and swearing at us from behind dirty-blonde hair. We crept toward her slowly. As we approached, the stat leader gave her one last chance to walk to the seclusion room on her own. She responded by violently banging the back of her head on the wall. The stat leader gave a count, and on three we lunged toward her. The staff member assigned to her right arm missed and received a slash across the face from her fingernails. My nervousness subsided and I concentrated on holding her ankle. She was unnaturally strong. We carefully flipped her on her stomach and held her to the floor. I felt uncomfortable holding a little girl to the floor. She slammed her face on the floor and continued to struggle. She squirmed hard and jackknifed her body in an attempt to bite my hand. We straightened her out and a fifth staff member pressed her waist to the floor while a sixth staff member placed a pillow under her head so she couldn’t bang her head on the floor. She bit the pillow and began to repeatedly scream, “Fuck you! You fucking (things I can’t bring myself to type)!”
        A seventh staff member rolled a blanket and slid it along the side of her body. Sweat began to drop from my face. We quickly tilted her on her side and attempted to slide the blanket under her. She clutched it with her fingers and refused to let go. A second blanket proved more useful and we eventually got her wrapped tightly. Another count to three and we hefted her gently onto a stretcher and rolled her into the seclusion room. She cursed vehemently and began to accuse us, in graphic detail, of raping her.
        We unrolled the blanket and returned to holding her on the floor, only this time, I ended up holding her waist. She was amazingly strong and it took all I had to hold her waist down. She struggled so violently that her pants began to rip at the seams. According to her personal care plan, mechanical restraints were not an option. A staff member entered the room and plunged a needle into the girl’s buttocks. I looked away, trying to salvage some dignity for the girl. We held her for approximately twenty minutes more, in which time she defecated, spit on my shoes, and threatened to kill each one of us. Eventually she calmed and we released her. Back on my ward, ears still ringing, clients were playing scrabble and watching television. I got a drink of water.