Left In Good Spirits

by Anne Pleydon

  Kenny has difficulty processing what she is hearing.

  Lana continues, “You’ve tried to claim liquor receipts on expense claims. You filed an official complaint about a co-worker’s menstrual cycle-.”

  Kenny’s laugh fills the office. “Are you kidding me? Is that in my file? I never tried to claim liquor. That’s … That’s …”

  Lana waits.

  Kenny says, “Our old manager was awesome and those were jokes from around the office. She probably kept them because they were funny to her.”

  “You filled in your performance reviews in poetry.”

  Kenny leans forward. “One time. And there is no way all that stuff is on my file. These were jokes. No one keeps files on anyone here.”

  “I keep files. Regular performance review is part of my mandate. Frankly, it seems like there has been a circus-like atmosphere in Mental Health over the past decade that demonstrates a lack of maturity and professionalism. There are stories.”

  “There are stories about everyone.”

  “You’re sort of thought of as a Mean Girl in Mental Health, here and in the community.”

  “Oh really.” Kenny shakes her head. She feels her temper rising. “I know what people you’re talking about and trust me, everyone there can be thought of as a Mean Girl.”

  “You are endearing to some staff here. But, I’ve come to believe in my years of experience that eccentrics are usually people with raging insecurities and problems with authority. We have to performance manage them.”

  Kenny’s mouth is agape. “Oh, really?”

  “I’m worried that you and I are going to have problems.”

  Kenny inhales sharply. “Is there some official complaint against me?”

  “No complaints per se or else I would have encouraged you to bring a union rep. But in an all-staff meeting you accused a psychiatrist of driving a youth to suicide. In another instance, you accused a co-worker of committing perjury on the stand.”

  Kenny flushes. She wipes her hand over her mouth and shifts in her chair. She is acutely aware of her heart pounding in her ears. Her mind is racing to figure out how Lana Clearwater has accumulated these incidents and from whom did she hear the details. “Sometimes, I exaggerate.”

  “Those are serious allegations. Did they not happen?”

  Kenny capitulates, “They happened.”

  “You threatened a chaplain?”

  “Oh, that … yes, technically.” Kenny cannot stifle a nervous laugh.

  “I’m not sure what is so funny.”

  “I can’t help it. Out of context these things sound very bad.”

  “They are bad. This is how you treat your co-workers?”

  “None of those people work here anymore.”

  “Maybe they were victims of bullying.”

  “Bullying.”

  “I’m not saying that word here officially because again that would be a union and HR issue. We’re just having a chat. But, they no longer work here.”

  Kenny responds, “Ha! Because they were no good.”

  “You didn’t manage these staff, Kenny. You cannot evaluate their work performance.”

  Kenny does not respond.

  “You swear like a truck driver. And, that’s not entirely on you. It is the culture here and we’re trying to fix that. You did attend the Professional Boundaries workshop, yes? Because we want to give all the staff here the tools they need to be as respectful as they can be with their language.”

  Kenny wonders why Baird pops into her head at this moment. Had he been dragged in here to get the same speech? But no, he has had enough heat on him and he’s been flying under the radar for years. He was probably here to see the Super about something.

  Lana continues, “You encourage kids to swear in therapy.”

  “I do not. I let them feel comfortable to use their own language.”

  “You frequently give other staff and your clients the finger while you’re in session.”

  “Oh ... I can’t deny that.”

  “I’m sure that has stopped now after the workshop. Again, the circus mentality here is something we’re working on addressing. And I want you to set an example in your role.” She pauses.“In therapy, you yell, you jump up and down, bang on walls, mock the way the kids walk, laugh at them, and you’ve told kids you are their stalker.”

  “You’re taking all of that out of context. You know what, I just, I don’t know what to say to you right now. But you’re making it sound worse than it is.”

  “What would the ethics board of your licensing body think? What would they think about your conduct with youth and staff here? I’m struggling to see how any of it can be excused.”

  Kenny just stares at Lana.

  Lana says, “You tell kids to quit therapy.”

  “So?”

  “You can’t deny kids mental health services.”

  “It’s not denying them services. It’s helping them understand their rights. Some weren’t ready.”

  “And you know better than they do about whether they’re ready or not.”

  “Yes, that’s my job.” Kenny cannot believe that Lana has been reviewing her clinical files. She tries to simultaneously, mentally review every progress note she has ever written.

  “You’ve walked out of a therapy session on a youth who was asking for help.”

  Kenny exhales sharply and shakes her head. She is sweating now more from anger and feeling betrayed. She had exaggerated that story to a staff. She did not write up the incident like that in her notes. “I know what you’re talking about. That kid came back to therapy I’ll have you know. He did very well.”

  “You tell kids they can come to your sessions high.”

  “That’s not quite what I-.”

  “You tell kids you are not obligated to report their crimes.”

  “I’m not, unless it involves a child.”

  Lana places her index finger on Kenny’s file. “Frankly, it disturbs me that we’re sending the most dangerous youth in the province to you to improve their mental health.”

  “It’s just my style. My approach. I do what I can to build some semblance of a professional relationship with these kids. They’re teenagers. I’m not trying to act cool or young or be their moms or all the other shit boring therapists they’ve ever had. I have to get their attention.”

  Lana stares at Kenny. “Maybe you need to worry less about being cool and worry more about ensuring a standard of excellence at Merivale.”

  Kenny says, “Look, I work my ass off here. I don’t even claim the hours of over-time I work here. Or take vacation.”

  “You need permission to work over-time. And you can only carry over so much vacation each year.”

  Kenny says nothing.

  “I’m not doubting that you work hard. I get it. You’re committed. But, I’m just not sure what it is you’re committed to or how effective it is. I’m worried that you’re in some kind of trouble here. And I want to help you.”

  Kenny stares at Lana. Lana continues, “That help starts with feedback. I’m not sure you’re a team player. I need to look at the bottom line here. I’m not sure what you’re doing here is working.”

  “How do we know if anything we’re doing is effective? I’ve been advocating for program evaluation here since I started.”

  Lana nods. “I will be starting a program evaluation protocol when we are absorbed into Children’s Services. Perhaps you might want to be a part of that. We don’t really know what is happening to the majority of these kids when they are released, do we?”

  “Most are re-offending.”

  “And that’s not telling you something?”

  “As long as they’re not re-offending violently or sexually, doesn’t that count for something?”

  “Do you even know that’s the case? Do you even know the rates of mental disorder on your caseload and in this facility? Where are your success rates?” />
  Kenny answers, “You say you’ve worked in mental health. You know the rate of re-offending tells you how complex these cases are – most can’t be helped with just individual therapy-.”

  “I agree. Family intervention and trauma focused work are going to be the key points of all mental health intervention strategies under the new government. And a lot of this work can be done by teams already established in Children’s Services.”

  Kenny asks, “What are you trying to say?”

  “I think the mandate of the Mental Health team here is going to change; a specialized mental health and health team in a clinical wing of Merivale and then just supportive and family services and healthcare for the rest of the facility.”

  “Are you talking about non-Forensic people doing mental health here? This is forensics. Forensics.”

  “I’m not convinced there’s such a thing as forensic mental health. I think it’s just mental health.”

  Kenny’s voice is low. “You’re not serious.”

  “Well, that’s something Dr. Mull and I are trying to figure out.”

  “Which justice staff would be in this proposed new clinical unit?” Kenny asks.

  “That’s something we’ve already been speaking to specific people about.”

  Kenny is breathing quickly. She tries to come up with a mental list of the potential candidates. Was that why Baird was leaving the Admin Unit when she was arriving? Why did he look so calm? Why didn’t he warn her?

  Lana says, “I will be honest with you, Dr. Halpin. I don’t know which clinicians will head up the Clinical Unit. And should I choose to keep a therapist around for the rest of the facility, it may very well be via a contract out to Children’s Services.” Lana scoots up closer to her desk. “I think I will leave it at that. I feel like I’m being more than generous in not submitting an official complaint to your licensing board concerning your professional conduct at this facility or lack thereof.”

  Kenny’s head jerks and her hands grip the side of the chair.

  “You can go now. I’ll let you know my decision regarding the team in the months ahead. I think this is a good starting off point for us. I think I’ve been more than generous in offering you a fresh start. Let’s call it, a second chance to impress me. Maybe you can demonstrate for me your commitment and accountability to a new structure. For one thing, no more over-time. I see that as a mismanagement of your time. Second, I expect to supervise your work more closely, perhaps even weekly meetings between us, and to see you regularly in clinical meetings.”

  Kenny’s eyes looks past Lana and out the window. She can see her red car and stares hard at the back bumper trying to clear her mind of all thoughts. She rises and walks out of the office without saying another word to the Director.

  Chapter 14

  KENNY’S FACE IS RED HOT as she leaves the Admin Unit. She pauses outside the door looking toward the Rotunda and then down the hall toward the Mental Health Unit. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears. She heads toward the Mental Health Unit and swipes her way inside.

  Mara looks up from her desk and says, “Uh oh, what’s wrong?”

  Kenny shakes her head. She can feel her eyes filling with tears. “Nothing, I can’t.”

  “Oh,” Mara returns and puts out her bottom lip in sympathy.

  Kenny glares out the window on to the yard. “This place eats you alive.”

  Mara says, “Don’t let them get to you.”

  Kenny inhales loudly and makes an exaggerated sigh. “Revenge.”

  Mara smiles and returns to her computer. Kenny assumes her familiar position at the window next to the fire exit door of the Mental Health Unit. She notes the Unit 3 boys are out on the yard for rec. Baird stands next to Unit 3. Kenny’s eyes bore into him. Her jaw is set.

  Mara’s phone rings. She chats warmly with the caller. “It’s Stacey. Should I send it to you?” and Kenny says, “Yeah,” and heads to her office. Her phone rings the minute she sits down.

  “Dr. Kenny Halpin.”

  “Hey there, lady.” The voice is light and happy.

  “Oh, Stacey. Thank god.”

  “What?”

  Kenny bites the back of her hand, then says, “Nothing.”

  “What? Kenny.”

  “Don’t you miss this place?” Kenny asks.

  “No.”

  “When are you coming back? Why did you leave? Just because you had a baby doesn’t mean you get to abandon me. Can’t you just leave him in the car while you work?”

  “Yes, I’m sure Social Services would love that.”

  “With the window cracked open, of course. We’re not animals.”

  “Of course.”

  “Seriously, when are you coming back?”

  “Probably the end of February.”

  “Come back early.”

  “No way. What’s happening there?”

  “Our new boss Lana Clearwater, for one.”

  “She’s not new.”

  “Well, she’s all over my ass. And Dr. Mull.”

  “Are you two still not speaking?”

  “We’re not … not speaking.”

  “Kenny. You know how easily his ego gets bruised. He’s all hot air.”

  “I’m sick of massaging psychiatrists.”

  “Managing?”

  “Massaging. Their egos. Why do I have to tip-toe around his fucking ego? When are people going to tip-toe around me?”

  “Oh, believe me, we do,” Stacey says.

  “I just met with Lana and she’s brutal. She’s just a fucking nightmare. You would not believe what she wants to do around here. It’s all a mess.”

  “I know, I met with her.”

  “With who?” Kenny feels a tightness in her stomach.

  “Lana.”

  “When?”

  “A couple weeks ago. I tried to have lunch with you that day, remember?”

  “I didn’t know you were going to be at the facility. You met with her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did you think?” But Kenny dreads the answer.

  “I don’t know. She seemed nice. We chatted about the baby. Kenny? Hello?”

  Kenny’s eyes land on the file on her desk that Laura returned. Noah Farewell. She runs her fingertips across the top of it.

  “Hello?”

  “Sorry,” Kenny says. “I was just looking at something outside.”

  “So I called because I heard about Garrett McDonald and I thought about you.”

  “Garrett McDonald? Why?”

  “He’s sitting in cells. They picked him up for a Robbery charge. A nasty one I heard. Beat up some old woman in her house and got like $15 out of it or something. Then, he hid in her house ‘til he got picked up.”

  “That home invasion thing on the news? Is that woman dead?”

  “No, she’s alive but not doing well. She might die.”

  “How do you know about this? Are you sure? Little Garrett?”

  “I heard because my brother-in-law, James, works out of that detachment.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah, so I thought I’d call you. Are you okay?”

  “I didn’t know.” Kenny sits back in her chair and looks out at the boys walking the ring around the yard. She closes her eyes. “He’s only been out like 3 weeks. We put so much work into him. I was seeing him two times a week. Three times in the beginning. God.”

  “Yeah, well, Kenny, you’re not surprised, are you?”

  “Well, kind of. He doesn’t have a history of violence really. Shit, McDonough will have a field day with this one. He hated that kid. All the staff hate that kid. I advocated so hard for him. And they’ll be like, I told you so.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “Me? Uh, this is it. All my former therapy clients are murderers and all the staff here are pricks.”

  “Kenny, c’mon, hon. I meant with you and everything that’s going on fo
r you with Daniel.”

  “Doesn’t it make you want to rush back here?” Kenny continues.

  “No way. Kenny, don’t bury yourself in work. I know you think work is an escape but-”

  “Well, we have to do lunch for sure.”

  “Yes, definitely.”

  “I have a client though so, I have to go.”

  “Okay, Kenny. Yes, we have to catch up. Call me later, anytime.”

  Kenny places the receiver back on its cradle. She stares with contempt at a small, withered plant on her desk. Her eyes return to the yard. She stands up and almost presses her nose against the window to see further down the yard. Baird is still chatting to another staff with arms folded. She can recognize the shape of his body and his gait no matter the distance. She looks at the clock and then the schedule taped to her desk to see when outdoor recreation ends for the unit. Baird turns suddenly and disappears through the fire exit door of his unit. Kenny’s heart quickens. She closes her door. She knows he is alone now and waits a couple breaths to allow him to return to the unit office. She sits down and quickly dials his extension.

  “Unit 3.”

  “Hello, frenemy.”

  She hears the smile in his voice. “What is that?”

  “You know, like a friend who is actually an enemy.”

  “You have too much time on your hands.”

  She raises her voice. “Don’t say that. You know I hate that.”

  “I’m just saying, if you have time to make up nonsense words …”

  “It’s not nonsense. All the cool kids are saying it.”

  “Can I help you with something?”

  “I can’t talk to you about it. I don’t think I can trust you.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  “Why does there have to be a reason that I call? Maybe there’s something you want to tell me.”

  “Nope.”

  "You hear about Garrett McDonald?”

  “Is that the kid who fucked a sheep.”

  “He did not … fuck the sheep. Technically.”