So it's been six weeks, or so, since I last posted. Things have been hard, and easy, and good, and awful. I had to go back to therapy for a short while to recover from the client's death (see last post) because every time I closed my eyes I saw his already-cold and stiffening body and his eyes, his horrible horrible eyes, open and blank and staring right at me, saying, "why didn't you save me?" For the most part I'm better now, but once in a while I still see him and start to hyperventilate.
I got engaged, which is absolutely wonderful. At some point I'm going to post a picture of the ring, etc, but I haven't actually gotten round to it yet although we've been engaged for like 3 weeks. For those of you who read this who I haven't contacted directly for addresses and minor notifications, I'm really sorry but that means you're most likely not invited because we're having an absolutely tiny wedding because of a myriad reasons not the least of which being my problem with crowds in general, a dislike of most of the people we'd have to invite because our coworkers are creepy, and cost. It doesn't mean we don't like you or anything, it's just that we have to keep it down to an absolute minimum of people.
As for the story of how it happened, we had made plans to go to this street dance thing (though it's more a stand-around-in-the-street thing) for a few hours before I headed into work for my weekend on shift, so I dressed up a little bit. He had talked to my dad earlier in the day, which I knew about, but I figured the question itself wouldn't pop up until the next weekend because I was working this weekend. Anyway, he took me to the one and only nice restaurant in town, saying basically "what the hell, we're dressed nice anyway, might as well do this right." I wanted to know how things went with Dad, but he told me that he wasn't really up for talking about it until after we finished eating. I was, of course, very worried because it sounded like Dad had said no. We finish eating, I go to the bathroom, and get back to the table and he says, "before you sit down, this is how it went with your dad." He had a ring in his hand and got down on one knee and I started just bawling while he's talking, and I'm so overwhelmed that I'm not actually paying attention to the details of what he was saying (but he doesn't know that yet) and then.
A little old lady walks up and starts talking at us, "oh, isn't that sweet, oh it's so pretty" etc etc etc and ANDREW WASN'T EVEN DONE ASKING YET!! I did, of course, say yes and it was terribly exciting and I fulfilled my promise to Michelle to call her first. I'm excited.
And now I'm in Chicago with him, for a group reunion of sorts, with a lot of the people I hung out with in college the first couple of years, and I haven't seen any of them in at least two years and I did some nasty things before we started hanging out and so I was very nervous that it would go badly but it's been going quite well thus far except for when they all called my ex boyfriend and wanted to talk to him and I felt terribly terribly awkward.
And I'm sure there's more to talk about, like how my brother is back home for the summer because he couldn't find a teaching job down in Texas and the job in Korea fell through because of the whole scary maybe-war thing. And how I hate my job more and more and more every day but I really don't want to get into detail because I'm very sure you don't want to hear about my alcoholic slutty coworkers or the antics of my clients or the more disgusting aspects of my job that primarily involve body fluids. My elementary-school sense of humor (you know, the one where you laugh when someone says Winnie the Pooh because, OMG, they said "poo") has come back into play because being able to laugh at the whole body-fluids thing is the only way to get through it. So I find poo funny again. And how old am I?
I'll try to get back to actually writing in this thing, as it's fun and cathartic and it keeps my typing semi up to par. Kind of. And it's a lot easier than having to repeat my story over and over again to various people when it's much easier to just write it down once. Granted only two or three people are even interested in my stories, but you get the point. I think. Maybe.
20.5.09
Raise their souls up to the sky/Why must helpless creatures die?
There was another death at work. This one on Thursday night/Friday morning, my shift. Since I can't call him his real name, we'll call him Gerald. He just...died, in the middle of the night. My coworker, Natasha, found him first and screamed for me and I saw it and called 911 and the boss and the nurses and everything else is a fog. For several reasons. Reason number one: that apartment was my responsibility to check every hour. Room one, check that she's not on her stomach and that her body pillow is in the right place; Room two, that he hasn't wet himself; Room 3 that he hasn't fallen out of bed; and Room 4 to drain the catheter bag and rotate him to prevent bedsores. Gerald was in room 3. So all night I peeked in, ok, he's still on the bed, good. That was all. That's all bed checks are. He hadn't been sick or degrading medically so breathing checks weren't necessary. He'd been dead for four hours when we found him. After my spurt of efficiency. I sat down and just...left. My mind went totally blank. People are still wondering if I'm ok and I think they were rather worried about it; looking back, I wasn't too far from having to be taken to the hospital myself for shock.
the funeral was yesterday.
I feel horrible about this. I just...yeah.
the funeral was yesterday.
I feel horrible about this. I just...yeah.
6.4.09
I will hope for things unseen now/One day my heart will be at peace
This weekend was...eventful.
First, a coworker was driving into work on Sunday morning and got swiped on the Interstate by a blue truck (which kept going, by the way) and she was forced off the road and almost off the overpass she happened to be on. She hit her head and has a bump, and the car is rather banged up, but she's fine.
Second, Sunday afternoon a client was found dry-humping his housemate in her bed. Yes, they are different genders, and yes, it's allowed, because he hadn't made any sort of sexual advances towards anyone since 1996. Then he tried to do the same to two different staff people. The housemate got moved into a different apartment, but that's only temporary due to legal restrictions.
In case I never clarified, I work for an ICFs/MR, which is an Intermediate Care Facility for people with Mental Retardation. Yes, that is the actual, technical, legal term. Basically, these people can't function in society for one reason or another--either their MR is too profound, or it's not bad but they have significant health/other mental issues that prevent them from living in more informal settings. I am a night attendant there, and unlike less formal houses, called Waivered Homes (meaning the regulations regarding care of people with MR are waived somewhat because they are very high-functioning), it's an awake job. The people I care for need 24-hour awake care for various reasons--catheters need to be drained, they get bedsores and need to be rotated, they have seizures, they're schizophrenic, they're bipolar and while manic don't sleep, etc.
Third event. Another client, we'll call him Fred (no, that's not his name. I'm bound by HIPAA laws to some extent), was complaining of a headache and was throwing up on Friday. He got Tylenol for the headache, and by the time I got there at 11 pm he was fine. He slept all night and woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on Saturday morning.
Fourth event. When I get to work Saturday night, I'm told that Fred is in the hospital because his stomach bloated up and made him look five months pregnant. He's only 95 pounds anyway, so....yeah. Turns out, he had a massive air bubble in his colon and the only treatment for it is lots of pain meds and a clear liquid diet to keep the intestine empty while waiting for the gas to leave--i.e., have a massive fart. I notify various other people who left messages to be informed and went about my business.
Fifth event. Fred died at 8:30 pm yesterday, April 5. He was twenty-five years old. He just...stopped breathing.
I was out of contact for a few hours before I went into work because I don't have a cell phone and wasn't home, so I didn't find out until I got to work at 10 pm. Once everybody but my fellow night-attendant cleared out, I called home and asked that they call Andrew, because I needed to talk to him.
Andrew used to work where I work now, you see. And Fred was his favorite client.
Andrew showed up a few minutes later, and held me and reassured me and just in general helped me feel a LOT better. He also brought caffeine and ice cream and flowers (yes, flowers) and Solace. He helped so much, just by being there when I needed him, even though he had his own things to do. Andrew, I love you. Just so you know.
It's the first time anyone in my care has ever died, and if I stay in anything remotely similar to this line of work, I have no doubt I'll see it again, over and over.
But like another client pointed out to me this morning, at least now Fred can walk.
Sorry. I'm going to cry again for awhile, and then (finally) go to bed. It's been a long and horrible day.
First, a coworker was driving into work on Sunday morning and got swiped on the Interstate by a blue truck (which kept going, by the way) and she was forced off the road and almost off the overpass she happened to be on. She hit her head and has a bump, and the car is rather banged up, but she's fine.
Second, Sunday afternoon a client was found dry-humping his housemate in her bed. Yes, they are different genders, and yes, it's allowed, because he hadn't made any sort of sexual advances towards anyone since 1996. Then he tried to do the same to two different staff people. The housemate got moved into a different apartment, but that's only temporary due to legal restrictions.
In case I never clarified, I work for an ICFs/MR, which is an Intermediate Care Facility for people with Mental Retardation. Yes, that is the actual, technical, legal term. Basically, these people can't function in society for one reason or another--either their MR is too profound, or it's not bad but they have significant health/other mental issues that prevent them from living in more informal settings. I am a night attendant there, and unlike less formal houses, called Waivered Homes (meaning the regulations regarding care of people with MR are waived somewhat because they are very high-functioning), it's an awake job. The people I care for need 24-hour awake care for various reasons--catheters need to be drained, they get bedsores and need to be rotated, they have seizures, they're schizophrenic, they're bipolar and while manic don't sleep, etc.
Third event. Another client, we'll call him Fred (no, that's not his name. I'm bound by HIPAA laws to some extent), was complaining of a headache and was throwing up on Friday. He got Tylenol for the headache, and by the time I got there at 11 pm he was fine. He slept all night and woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on Saturday morning.
Fourth event. When I get to work Saturday night, I'm told that Fred is in the hospital because his stomach bloated up and made him look five months pregnant. He's only 95 pounds anyway, so....yeah. Turns out, he had a massive air bubble in his colon and the only treatment for it is lots of pain meds and a clear liquid diet to keep the intestine empty while waiting for the gas to leave--i.e., have a massive fart. I notify various other people who left messages to be informed and went about my business.
Fifth event. Fred died at 8:30 pm yesterday, April 5. He was twenty-five years old. He just...stopped breathing.
I was out of contact for a few hours before I went into work because I don't have a cell phone and wasn't home, so I didn't find out until I got to work at 10 pm. Once everybody but my fellow night-attendant cleared out, I called home and asked that they call Andrew, because I needed to talk to him.
Andrew used to work where I work now, you see. And Fred was his favorite client.
Andrew showed up a few minutes later, and held me and reassured me and just in general helped me feel a LOT better. He also brought caffeine and ice cream and flowers (yes, flowers) and Solace. He helped so much, just by being there when I needed him, even though he had his own things to do. Andrew, I love you. Just so you know.
It's the first time anyone in my care has ever died, and if I stay in anything remotely similar to this line of work, I have no doubt I'll see it again, over and over.
But like another client pointed out to me this morning, at least now Fred can walk.
Sorry. I'm going to cry again for awhile, and then (finally) go to bed. It's been a long and horrible day.
3.4.09
Guess this means you take back/All you said before
So the Black Phoenix Lab perfume samples showed up, and I have to admit, at first I was very disappointed. I didn't like the way most of them smelled in the bottles, the exception being Two, Five, Seven. Everything else smelled--unappealing, at best. But I sucked it up and have been trying them one by one, so I've tried seven as of today: Two, Five, Seven; Cheshire Cat; Epitaph; Queen of Hearts; Engine No. 93; Tiger Lily; and Dirty.
Once on me, they all smell pretty good. So far I like Cheshire Cat the best; but is that really surprising? It doesn't hurt that it smells like a berry-chocolate tart of some kind. Two... smells like roses, but not just tea roses and let's face it--not all roses smell lovely. But it's also very nice. Dirty smells, somehow, like spring. Epitaph does, in fact, smell like a grave. Well, okay, to be more precise it smells like funerals. Which is cool and all, but not something I particularly want to go around evoking in the minds of everyone around me via my scent. Queen of Hearts starts out REALLY sweet, and it took about two hours for it to stop smelling like middle-aged-lady perfume. After that two-hour window, the sweetness faded to tolerable levels, but I'm still not a huge fan. Tiger Lily did smell like lilies; unfortunately some lilies are prevalent in funerals and so there is a VERY slight funereal effect, but it's mostly unnoticeable. Engine No. 93 smells good, but it's rather masculine so I'll probably pass it off to Andrew.
As for the eight, and as-yet-untested, bit, Envy, it might be awhile--simply because the vial fell out of the box and I can't find it.
Cheshire Cat is definitely my favourite of all of them, and I think I'll also order a bottle of Dirty and maybe even 2, 5, and 7 as well... we'll see how it goes.
Once on me, they all smell pretty good. So far I like Cheshire Cat the best; but is that really surprising? It doesn't hurt that it smells like a berry-chocolate tart of some kind. Two... smells like roses, but not just tea roses and let's face it--not all roses smell lovely. But it's also very nice. Dirty smells, somehow, like spring. Epitaph does, in fact, smell like a grave. Well, okay, to be more precise it smells like funerals. Which is cool and all, but not something I particularly want to go around evoking in the minds of everyone around me via my scent. Queen of Hearts starts out REALLY sweet, and it took about two hours for it to stop smelling like middle-aged-lady perfume. After that two-hour window, the sweetness faded to tolerable levels, but I'm still not a huge fan. Tiger Lily did smell like lilies; unfortunately some lilies are prevalent in funerals and so there is a VERY slight funereal effect, but it's mostly unnoticeable. Engine No. 93 smells good, but it's rather masculine so I'll probably pass it off to Andrew.
As for the eight, and as-yet-untested, bit, Envy, it might be awhile--simply because the vial fell out of the box and I can't find it.
Cheshire Cat is definitely my favourite of all of them, and I think I'll also order a bottle of Dirty and maybe even 2, 5, and 7 as well... we'll see how it goes.
27.3.09
What the hell am I doing here?/I don't belong here
So the Black Phoenix Lab perfume samples showed up, and I have to admit, at first I was very disappointed. I didn't like the way most of them smelled in the bottles, the exception being Two, Five, Seven. Everything else smelled--unappealing, at best. But I sucked it up and have been trying one per day, so I've tried three as of today: Two, Five, Seven; Cheshire Cat; and Dirty.
Once on me, they all smell pretty good. So far I like Cheshire Cat the best; but is that really surprising? It doesn't hurt that it smells like a berry-chocolate tart of some kind. Two... smells like roses, but not just tea roses and let's face it--not all roses smell lovely. But it's also very nice. Dirty smells, somehow, like spring. If I had unlimited funds, I'd buy bottles (full-sized ones) of all three, but I don't, so I'll probably just buy one of Cheshire Cat. But then, I've still got the other two that I ordered, plus the two free samply bits that I was sent, to try as well. So we'll see how this turns out.
Once on me, they all smell pretty good. So far I like Cheshire Cat the best; but is that really surprising? It doesn't hurt that it smells like a berry-chocolate tart of some kind. Two... smells like roses, but not just tea roses and let's face it--not all roses smell lovely. But it's also very nice. Dirty smells, somehow, like spring. If I had unlimited funds, I'd buy bottles (full-sized ones) of all three, but I don't, so I'll probably just buy one of Cheshire Cat. But then, I've still got the other two that I ordered, plus the two free samply bits that I was sent, to try as well. So we'll see how this turns out.
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