POCO HOR!!!!

"Poco Hor!" Philip is at the window and pointing furiously out at something that has caught his eye and made him extremely excited. "Poco hor! Poco hor! Poco hor!" his urgency is catching. At first, when I started working on the ward, I'd go stand beside him and try to see what he was pointing at. The first time, he grinned at me. A wide huge grin and his tone changed, "Poco hor!" now seemed more jubulant than urgent. I looked out the window, glancing occasionally at Philips finger to see where it was pointing. I made a few guesses but Philip had no real workable words. "Poco hor" was pretty much all he said and he only said it like this ... standing by the window and pointing out.

All the other staff told me that they had all tried and failed. None of them ever understood what it was that Philip was pointing at or why he was so excited. I had just graduated from university and had learned all about data collection and patterns of human behaviour. I told them that I was going to keep some data. I'd write down the days that Philip called out "poco hor" and write down what I saw while standing beside him looking out the window. I asked them to do the same so I could get a better idea of the patterns.

The idea was not met with enthusiasm or cooperation. This was a behaviour ward. Why, when we had to take data on aggression and non-compliance would we want to take data on a behaviour that didn't matter. Even then, new to the field, I was offended. "It matters to Philip," I said haughtily. They were unmoved.

For about three weeks every time Philip was at the window pointing and shouting, "Poco hor" I would dutifuly go and stand with him and look out the window. I only saw the same things. Thinking I was being clever I went to look out the window when Philip wasn't shouting 'poco hor' to see what was missing. Not for no reason I got that A in behavioural approaches. But there was no difference between 'poco hor' times and 'non-poco hor' times.

Staff were getting annoyed. Philip was increasing the time spent at the window and calling out 'poco hor'. He was doing it more on my shift than on other shifts ... how they knew this without taking data they couldn't explain. But I persisted into my fourth week.

It got so I walked on the ward and Philip would run to the window and shout, 'poco hor' and I'd go and take a look. He'd grin at me and we'd both look out the window. Now I love a mystery as much as anyone else but there comes a time when curiosity is no longer so curious. There comes a time to move on.

I gave up, knowing that I would never ever know what 'poco hor' meant. Philip still would stand at the window, still would call out 'poco hor' and would look for me to come. I told him for the first few times the truth, "I'm sorry Philip I don't know what you are pointing at." Philip looked crushed and I felt that I had truly failed him.

And I did.

I remember Philips face the first time I stood with him and every time I glanced at him during my data collection period. He beamed. Fairly beamed.

Duh.

"Poco hor," I'm guessing years later meant. "Please come and stand with me while I look out the window."

Sorry Philip. I missed that. And oddly, I have to say, I miss you too.

(Readers, this - like all the others - is a true story. Philip truly was his name and 'poco hor' truly was what he called out. Philip lived in Glendale on the outskirts of Victoria BC. If anyone reading this knows where Philip is now, please let me know - I'd like to drop in and see him and ... look out the window with him. I'm older now - I get poco hor. Finally.)