"Pat me on the back," Terry says sardonically. "I'm now a bus driving professional."
Terry is a country girl from Notasulga, AL, who's just completed bus driver training at a state-run facility for developmentally disabled residents. One of her jobs is to pick up a group of residents five days a week and bring them to the building where we are doing our research study.
"If you are going down a steep road, and your brakes fail, you need to aim for a barn," Terry quotes. That makes sense to me, and I save it in my memory bank for the next time I'm in that situation.
Monday through Friday, I and several psychology students carpool from Auburn to Wetumpka. We drive along a country road where the max speed is 45 mph. Being college students, they can't go too long without food, so we always stop at the Hardees drive-through for biscuits. For some reason, the Hardees server can't ever understand what we are saying until one of the students in my car speaks as if he has a cleft palate. Suddenly, there is no problem.
The center in Wetumpka comprises five cottages, with residents housed according to their IQ's and functional skill levels. I am the supervisor for a research project studying Rumination Syndrome, which is the chronic regurgitation and reswallowing of previously ingested food. One hypothesis is it's a form of self-stimulatory behavior.
Bringing up undigested food is not optimum for one's social life, so we are testing out dietary methods to suppress it. We vary calories, food consistency, and even feed the subjects peanut butter, hoping the stickiness will keep the food down.
When the residents finish their meal, we sit with our clipboards and hand clickers and count their ruminations for 45 minutes. While we watch the residents regurgitate food into their mouths, we eat our own lunches because, after all, students are always hungry.
Terry has just dropped off today's subjects. Bubba is a skinny guy in his 60s. He's high functioning but about as country as Loretta Lynn's horse. Bubba likes to cuss, so one of the staff has taught him to say, "I called Edmond a bad name. I called him a screwball." He says this multiple times every day, laughing hysterically.
Royce climbs out of the van next. He's in his 30s and scary strong; he could be a prizefighter in another life. When Roy gets angry, he has a habit of unzipping his pants, pulling out his penis, and spraying urine while turning in a circle. Everyone tries to avoid getting Roy mad.
Ronnie is a plump African American man of indeterminate age. If you don't try to clip his fingernails, he's sweet and docile. Delilah, the only female in the study, is in a wheelchair. She only communicates by grunting and picking her nose. Finally, Matt dances out of the van. He is young, autistic, and never stops moving.
Today is a relatively calm day in the rumination world. We take data and talk about Auburn sports. There is only one toileting accident and one meltdown from Ronnie when someone touches his nails.
After lunch, Terry and I prepare to return the residents to their cottages. Matt runs into the van and sits down. As we push Delilah's wheelchair up the ramp, Matt runs out of the vehicle and disappears around the corner of the building. I take off after him, but he is sitting back in the van when I see him. Ronnie and Royce climb in the bus, and Matt exits again. At this point, Bubba is calling Matt bad names, and I'm panting on the grass.
Finally, everyone is seated with seat belts fastened per Bus Driving Professional doctrine. Terry starts the engine, and we slowly take off to drop the residents at their cottages.
It is indeed the end of a very long day.
— opelikakat
Terry is a country girl from Notasulga, AL, who's just completed bus driver training at a state-run facility for developmentally disabled residents. One of her jobs is to pick up a group of residents five days a week and bring them to the building where we are doing our research study.
"If you are going down a steep road, and your brakes fail, you need to aim for a barn," Terry quotes. That makes sense to me, and I save it in my memory bank for the next time I'm in that situation.
Monday through Friday, I and several psychology students carpool from Auburn to Wetumpka. We drive along a country road where the max speed is 45 mph. Being college students, they can't go too long without food, so we always stop at the Hardees drive-through for biscuits. For some reason, the Hardees server can't ever understand what we are saying until one of the students in my car speaks as if he has a cleft palate. Suddenly, there is no problem.
The center in Wetumpka comprises five cottages, with residents housed according to their IQ's and functional skill levels. I am the supervisor for a research project studying Rumination Syndrome, which is the chronic regurgitation and reswallowing of previously ingested food. One hypothesis is it's a form of self-stimulatory behavior.
Bringing up undigested food is not optimum for one's social life, so we are testing out dietary methods to suppress it. We vary calories, food consistency, and even feed the subjects peanut butter, hoping the stickiness will keep the food down.
When the residents finish their meal, we sit with our clipboards and hand clickers and count their ruminations for 45 minutes. While we watch the residents regurgitate food into their mouths, we eat our own lunches because, after all, students are always hungry.
Terry has just dropped off today's subjects. Bubba is a skinny guy in his 60s. He's high functioning but about as country as Loretta Lynn's horse. Bubba likes to cuss, so one of the staff has taught him to say, "I called Edmond a bad name. I called him a screwball." He says this multiple times every day, laughing hysterically.
Royce climbs out of the van next. He's in his 30s and scary strong; he could be a prizefighter in another life. When Roy gets angry, he has a habit of unzipping his pants, pulling out his penis, and spraying urine while turning in a circle. Everyone tries to avoid getting Roy mad.
Ronnie is a plump African American man of indeterminate age. If you don't try to clip his fingernails, he's sweet and docile. Delilah, the only female in the study, is in a wheelchair. She only communicates by grunting and picking her nose. Finally, Matt dances out of the van. He is young, autistic, and never stops moving.
Today is a relatively calm day in the rumination world. We take data and talk about Auburn sports. There is only one toileting accident and one meltdown from Ronnie when someone touches his nails.
After lunch, Terry and I prepare to return the residents to their cottages. Matt runs into the van and sits down. As we push Delilah's wheelchair up the ramp, Matt runs out of the vehicle and disappears around the corner of the building. I take off after him, but he is sitting back in the van when I see him. Ronnie and Royce climb in the bus, and Matt exits again. At this point, Bubba is calling Matt bad names, and I'm panting on the grass.
Finally, everyone is seated with seat belts fastened per Bus Driving Professional doctrine. Terry starts the engine, and we slowly take off to drop the residents at their cottages.
It is indeed the end of a very long day.
— opelikakat
A touching story. I feel the fatigue at the end. There is also some humor which helps the reader persist, because it's rather sad. Nicely executed.
ReplyDeleteI am not sure I believe there is such a thing as "Rumination Syndrome," although lately, the idea of "rumination" (rehashing old thoughts and pondering) is getting some criticism in the online media. I guess that's why it's funny. Sort of. At first I thought Terry was one of the disabled. It doesn't really matter. Shocking that these students could eat while observing... that. Weird and entertaining, opelikakat! ---Macoff
ReplyDeleteThere really is Rumination Syndrome, most often found in infants and handicapped persons. I did read about one "normal" guy who ruminated on stage. He would swallow blocks etc and bring up the various items on command. - opelikakat
ReplyDelete