Code 2 for the psychiatric subject.
Officers have a male in his 30s handcuffed in the back of a squad car. Apparently he was trashing his mother’s house, which is in a nice neighborhood, and struggled with the responding officers. His mother thinks he’s on drugs; I think he’s just an asshole. Now he’s yelling and screaming all sorts of obscenities and trying to kick out the window of the squad car. Another upstanding citizen.
My partner R and I tie this patient down on the gurney with the assistance of the two officers. His ankles and left wrist are restrained with leather straps, and R has control of his right wrist. The patient starts rocking his head and torso back and forth before he tries to fight us off. In the chaos, I feel someone grab my left hand, and thinking that it was the patient’s hand, I grabbed even harder.
Then I start thinking to myself, I thought R has his unrestrained hand. Oh well, it’s dark out, and I’m not sure. Maybe I should hang on just in case. Thirty seconds later, the officers have him subdued with the use of a couple of pressure points and a minimal amount of force, and the patient is now sobbing for his “mama.” Ugh, grown man crying…
I’m still hanging on to the the hand, and the officers are still holding the patient down. I look down. I’m holding the left hand of one of the officers.
“Err, is there any reason I’m holding your hand and you’re holding mine?” I ask.