For the next seven weeks, I will be working with patients in Reiss 2: a 14-bed, lock-down unit in the West Village. Just yesterday I finished my maternity class, so I really didn't have time to reflect on what a psychiatric unit would be like before today.
I didn't even think about it this morning as I walked to the hospital. Instead, I noticed all the little groomed dogs on the street with their fashionably ungroomed owners, I passed by bakeries and bookstores, I day dreamed about owning one of the brownstones off of 6th Avenue... And so when I came to the unit I was perhaps more surprised by the contrast than I should've been.
My professor rang the buzzer and a long minute or two passed before someone peered through the small mesh-wire window and then unlocked the door for us. It made me feel crazy just being in there. The hallways and linoleum had an old green tinge. The stops on our tour included the electroshock therapy room, the windowless dining room, and the "television room" full of maimed furniture and flourescent lights. The list of things we cannot do (for our safety) far exceeds the the few things we can do. I don't know much about psychiatry, but it didn't seem conducive to serenity.
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