It's 6:45 am on a Saturday. The first shift staff on Ward 10 is staggering in, coffees in hand. The supervisor on the floor that morning gives me a smirk, and says--"Your little buddy, Devon is up and waiting for you. He is having a bit of a difficult morning. You might need these..." He hands me a bath towel and latex gloves.

(A little back story on Devon. He was an 11 year old boy,  great sense of humor, and  an ear splitting grin. Devon was mentally about 5 years old, per his IQ tests, was developmentally disabled, and had a history of neglect/abuse. Because of his disabilities, a staffer was always assigned to him each shift to help him through his day. The staffers chosen were always the ones who had the best rapport with him, knew his preferences in activities, and knew "Devon-appropriate" de-escalation techniques. I was one of those staffers, hence the supervisor sending me down to talk with him. All us staffers were eager to place him in the autism unit--where we knew he'd thrive. But since he was a ward of the state, clients with private insurance always were higher up on the waiting list for beds. So unfair.)

So back to the scene at hand:

I take a swig of my coffee and inwardly roll my eyes at the supervisor--thinking him to be a bit of a prick. I walk down the hall to Devon's room, where I can hear him banging the walls. Two male staffers are already down there--gloved up and holding towels. I ask them what's with the equipment? They both babble something about getting Devon in the shower, before he wakes up the unit and causes a riot.

I knock on D's door and immeadiately, his head pops out around the corner. If I wasn't so concerned about Devon waking up the unit with his noise, I would have given him a "squish" (my term for a hug") right there and then. Devon had big brown eyes, was tiny in stature, and to add to the cuteness factor--his thumb always stuck in his mouth.

D says, "What's up?" (With the thumb in his mouth. It never ceases to crack me up when he talks with the thumb in his mouth.)

Me: "Morning, buddy. I heard you're up by the noise in your room. Why don't we get you in the tub, scrubbed, teeth brushed, and then you can go play basketball with Mr. Mark in the gym. I'll even bring the radio to the gym with your cds."

Devon:" No." And he shuts the door. More noises--are emitted loudly from his room

Now, I'm getting nervous. If D wakes up the other boys on the unit, they will be pissed. And if I know my boys--they will force their way into Devon's room and terrorize him. Not something that I want to have happening. At all.

Me: "Devon! Open up--I'll get your bubble bath and foamy soap. You can play in the tub. No one's up yet, so you'll have time to play." (Now I know from experience that this child loves bubble baths more than life itself--so I knew I was pulling out my Ace card with that little bribe.)

Devon: (He opens the door--thumb still in mouth and blinks at looks at me).

I inwardly high five myself--I know that look--it means "I"m thinking about your offer."

Suddenly, the door next to Devon's pops open and Josh (a freckle faced little guy with equal parts charm and rage pokes his head out.)

Josh: "Can you get him to shut the fuck up! I'm trying to sleep! He is being too....what the hell was that?"

While Josh was talking, a small dark object flew through the air, hit Josh in the forehead, and dropped to the floor. I look down and my heart sinks. There on the floor is a little brown turd. Oh ....no.

Josh:"That was shit? He hit me with shit. Oh my god!"

Devon: "And there's' more where that came from, BITCH!" He slams his door shut.

Josh begins to laugh and he pokes the poop with his slipper. I sigh inwardly and prepare myself for what's next--Josh attempting to beat the stuffing out of Devon for the rest of the day. I post up by Devon's closed door as Josh lunges to get into D's room. The other two male staffers convince Josh to wash his face in the bathroom, which he does. With Josh in the one bathroom, I manage to hustle Devon into the other bathroom. (By some act of GOD, D agrees to take his bath).

With the two boys both in separate bathrooms, I snap on my gloves and pick up the poop. I enter Devon's room and find three other turds lined up on his pillow--like little missiles ready to be fired. Wow, Devon was right--there was more where that came from....

I collect the poops in my rubber gloved hands, and swiftly walk down the hall to deposit D's "fecal weapons". One of the older male clients, who loves to give out hugs to everyone--approaches me with arms out stretched--blocking my way.

Me: "Not now Daniel. I've got poop in my hands."  Daniel jerks back and scrunches his nose in disgust.

Daniel: "Let me guess, Devon?"

Me: Sigh and shake my head.

I plan on consequencing Devon later for throwing poop, but right now--I just needed to drink my coffee. That was too much drama-rama--this morning--even for Ward 10.