Manic Morning

His brawny hands reached for me - whether in threat or supplication, I know not. Rather than risk having my neck wrung by an inebriated - and built! - six-footer, I decided not to risk finding out. Eager to make his escape, the enterprising fellow had tugged out his restraints - and the accompanying monitors - with hardly any effort, I doubt tossing me across the room would be much of a strain.

Could have sworn getting my head smashed wasn't in my daily roster this morning. Damn. I'd have taken a second shot of caffeine if I'd known Mr Burly was here waiting for me.


Knocked him out in far less appealing circumstances unfortunately.
As he stumbled forward drunkenly, my hand - bearing a 5 ml syringe full of sedative goodness - aimed for the perfect spot on his flexed arms. Just a twist, a shove and I had the drugs pumped in.

I was no Dr Peter Brown with a thousand and one ways of maiming a fella - but I made do with what I had. The internal clock started in my head as I took a significant step back counting the seconds. It wouldn't take long for the effects. As he clutched his head in seeming agony, the nurses shoved a chair to catch his fall.

All in a day's work.

How to deal with a violent, mentally challenged drunk who detaches himself from the bed. Think Rainman on drugs and alcohol. Dangerous combination.