That unfortunate time my psychiatric patient ran away…
I was a therapist for some years at a locked behavioral health facility in the Mid-South. Let us call it “Happy Landings.” There were 6 units, each with a particular focus, and one of those focuses was the Acute Crisis Stabilization Unit (adult, psychiatric).
I recall a situation in which a gentleman receiving care for an intense psychotic episode eloped. That means he split without a fare-thee-well. He booked it; he boogied.
He managed to do so by following an administrator out the door. The locked, magnetically sealed door.
Elopement was rare, but there were protocols in place. Now if you are so fortunate not to be in the know, “elopement” here doesn’t mean the client had a nuptial date with an eager fiance’ to make; in the context of behavioral healthcare, eloping means a patient who is not to be dismissed—self dismisses.
In other words, they make a break for it. Essentially, an eloper is an escapee. This escapee was still psychotic…and speedy. He didn’t amble away from the hospital. He didn’t shuffle off to Buffalo. He darted with Mercury’s wings slapped to his heels.
The unit called a Code Green, our way of saying, “Someone’s left too soon. Please do everyone, come at once.”
Now I had been on a diet. I’d been working out, and Lord, had I ever been jogging. Six miles before work, six miles after. I was 26 years old and, well, I too was speedy. I was also certified as an “Elopement Intervention Team Member.”
Indulge me in an aside—why is everyone a team member in all fields? What if I don’t want to be a team player? If I’m on a sinking ship, am I suddenly a member of the “soon-to-be excessively damp team”?
Digression over. This hospital was on a major highway linking two cities, and it was noon on a blisteringly hot August day. Although surrounded by trees and tall shrubs, there were openings in those shrubs for egress and ingress. Our man on the lam was seen darting through such an opening, and we, the Elopement Team, sped for the said opening—I was so happy to be able to dart. All that jogging was paying off.
My colleague Jemma was ahead of me by a good 5 seconds. She passed through the opening and shrieked. I thought our runaway had perhaps run afoul, or run into traffic.
But no. Fortunately, the patient had only removed all of his clothing. All of it. He’d also stopped running, so she was confronted with a very sweaty, completely nude man who was psychotically delusional and certain he was Jesus Christ.
He was much more combative, more like a Gaulish invader of Rome, as opposed to the Prince of Peace.
The police were summonsed. After all, we needed someone to route the heavily and hysterically entertained traffic, and we needed the backup anyway.
But one of my colleagues from the business office was much more in tune with the situation and asked our patient quite a question. If he were indeed Jesus, would he be so interested in a throw-down fight, or would peace on his part be more appropriate?
Lo! Angels sang, because our sprinter said “Yes,” and followed us back into the building, where clothing, a snack, and medications were waiting.
Cliff Stamp
Mental Health and Rehabilitation Counselor
Arkansas State University Master’s degree, Rehabilitation Counseling 1993-1995
Arkansas State University Bachelor’s degree, BS in Psychology (General)1989-1993
I also have nine years of experience as a university adjunct instructor, teaching English Composition, American Literature, and Technical Writing.