Expect happiness

I do.
I always greet the day with confidence and surety.
God is still Sovereign. The world is still here.
Amazing, all things considered.

Not everyone thinks this way.
I have found out that in some cases to expect nothing is correct.

I just cannot be that way.
I always expect a miracle.
There is always a blessing in there somewhere. Always.

Nighttime is my nemesis.

I am good for around 13 hours or so, afterwhich the slow decline begins.
Around the 15-16 hour mark its definitly check out time.
And I go to bed questioning man's humanity and whether my reality is your reality.
Frequently I awaken two or three times in the night from dreams dark and deep.

And then, magically, it is morning.
Hope springs eternal. I am happy to be alive.
I expect happiness and miracles.


but now... it is night. And I expect nothing at all.
Happy big night! whee!



How are you doing today?

Good morning.

OH Hello!

How are you doing today?

Yes, thank you I had something to eat.

Here are your morning pills.

Beg pardon? Ooo the pills. already?

Would you like something to drink with those?

Fine, thank you. And how are you?

Here you go. I will take the dog out for you.

No thanks. I am quite full already.

----I take the dog out----

It is quite muggy outside today.

Oh I know. She was here last night.

Who was here?

I left it in the fridge for you.

---and so on.

It is really sad when hearing loss can make a person seem like they are in the throes of a dementia.

Family.... check your loved ones batteries in their hearing aids and if they don't have one... get their hearing tested YEARLY.




being financially impaired sucks.


Trying to get rid of that smell

She was in the hallway, rubbing something on her hands. Again.
Just a few yards away in the front bedroom her only son lay uncomfortably. He had thrown the covers off *(again) and soiled himself (again) and was painfully thin and jaudiced.

"Don't worry," I said. "I can easily clean that up."

She went off to the other room while I did just that and re-appeared as I was ready to leave.
Once again she was rubbing something on her hands and arms.
She looked at me, almost guiltily. Perhaps I wore an expression that challenged her although it was certainly not my intention.

"I am trying to get rid of that smell," she said.
I thought perhaps she had been cooking with garlic or onions.
"What smell? I do not smell anything," I said in return.

"It's the smell of death," she said and then laughed inappropriatly in awkwardness.

"Ahhh." I was thinking of something to say back. I decided the truth would do.
"I do not smell it. I suppose it has been a part of my normal life for so long I regard it as normal. But I remember when it was not that way."

She started to cry. There was a moan from the front room.

I checked to make sure everything to be done had been done and said my farewells.

"You are a good nurse and a great mom."

"You are very kind to say so."

"No. I am very truthful. You are a great mom."

And I left.

Later that night her son left for other realms invisible.
My prayer is that she holds fast to that truth. She is a great mom.

God Bless the Moms who bear the burdens.


Quiet and alone

The roar of the greasepaint the smell of the crowd!

I love the day after show. Everything is done. The curtain rang down the last time and you can move on with things. For me, there is a huge personal cost in hosting events of any nature. It seems I am a natural public speaker and chief of the smartasses but in fact I am very introverted and shy. It seems that I am queen of spontaneity but in fact I have to prepare against every eventuality to feel comfortable on stage. Once I get it together with all bases covered I am great. Noone ever believes I am shy. Noone.

The day after I am always exhausted. Chiefly this happens because no matter HOW tired I am the night of the show, I do not sleep easily. Too much adrenilin. I have to wait it out.

Alas, I forgot to book today off and had to awaken early and get my butt out to the nether reaches of the district for 07:30. oooo I was tired.

It was a wonderful day in the CareLane. It is nice to see everyone doing so well on such a lousy day. The humidity here is crushing and allergens are packing the air. *sneeze*

And now, to bed. For a nappieboo.


Starry starry night

Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey, Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.

Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils, Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity, How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how. Perhaps they'll listen now.

Starry, starry night.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze, Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.

Colors changing hue,
morning field of amber grain, Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity, How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how. Perhaps they'll listen now.

For they could not love you, But still your love was true.
And when no hope was left in sight On that starry, starry night,
You took your life, as lovers often do. But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you.

Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls, Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose, Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity, How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they're not listening still.
Perhaps they never will...

............ (Don McLean)

I think that is the most beautiful piece of lyrical poetry ever to grace the airwaves.
American pie made him rich and famous but *Vincent* is truly his masterpiece.

Vincent's last words.
"La tristesse durera." (the sadness will never go away)

I understand this completely.
Absolutely completely.

Make way

Tomorrow is our event.
I get to dress up and stand on stage just like the olde days.
I get to be in the bigtime theatre, all dressed up with the audience hanging on my every word.
OF course they are hanging... I have them captive. Haha.

It is nothing really. Not even enough to get my name on the damned programme.
I am not as excited about it this year as I was last.
It is true, I miss the stage terribly. I know that I could, in a sweet second, be back there.
But I am no longer the pretty young ingenue. I am not even the attractive comedienne.
I might possibly make the character actress supporting role, but...

We have our traditions. We would do this or that on opening night.
We would never ever be alone. I do not think I ever was alone.
It seems so odd to be on such a wonderful stage. For what?

I cannot explain this one.
Never once when I was playing or singing did I ever invite family. Never once.
Never once did I ever use my real name. Never once.
Now I still have that urge to perform but as myself for a change.
And it is past time for me.


Lightning and rain, fear and trepidation

The day went well. Care and meds and a little education. I was gratified to see that component added to our Team Meetings so aptly. Education on a continuing basis is essential to all Medical Team Members from Doctors down to Janitors.

It was to be a lovely evening spent looking at etchings.
Calling to confim, my bubble was burst-- no etchings tonight.
That is not the only thing that burst. I got on the highway to come back to KaeVille and no sooner had I set the Cruise Control at 110kms than the heavens opened and sheets upon sheets of rain spilled down. The road was like ice within seconds.

Overhead, a bolt of lightning forked down to the treetops nearby and I began deep breathing.
Taking my cruise control off, and letting the car slow down naturally seemed the safest course. Slowing to 40khm on the Highway, absolutely noone passed me. Most of the traffic was pulling off to the side. It was unbelievable how intense this storm was. And sudden.

It is scary to be caught out and about when nature unleashes a surprise.
They don't pay me enough to drive in those conditions.
Nor anyone at all.



(a) Musing

Scrapbooking. I love it.
Some of the most fun I have had over the last few years has been at scrapbooking workshops.
What a hoot!

Sound as dull as dishwater?
Last time my favourite line was uttered by the new Bishop's wife.
As the tunz spun round a jazzy number came on.
"Is this Billy Joel?" she said. "Or Cher?"


Mr. Home Alone at 94 is a pretty fun fella too.
Today he looked alot better and stronger than last week when he kept insisting he was fine.
I got all the goods on the rich and famous of our Village circa 1950.
Some of it was really good! Wish I could name names and amuse you too, but that, dear reader, would be scandalous. Trust me, my jaw dropped.

We went on to the topic of his health and stamina.
"O I feel about strong enough to knock the skin off a rice pudding."

Hah! Wait til he meets the Bishop's wife. Now that would be a pair to take to luncheon.
Gotta love being alive and well in Paradise.



"Surely you can see, I require much much more!"

A failing client went limp in my arms. Her pulse was weak, and her breathing the tell-tale stop-stop-deep sighing of those near death. Repositioning her on her pillows, brushing back her hair I excused myself to the family and left the home. It was their time.

The next stop was Our Lady of the Chronic Complaints. She was annoyed that day. Very annoyed indeed that we would insist upon using transfer belts to get her up or put her back to bed. She is so tiny, she just could not fathom that we would or could be harmed by a repetitive strain injury brought on by someone who refuses a safe transfer.

"Just try it my way this last time. Please?"
--- sucker----

Her way is to lean far over her bed where she is lurching in an unusual position, absolutely remembering not to touch her until she is ready. Then, upon her queue and only upon her queue, she requests to be held by the outside of her pants. Firmly, but not allowing your hands to come into contact with her body whatsoever. She will slowly, very slowly make her way over to the edge of the bed all the while chastening and reminding not to let go of her.
When at the edge of the bed, she wishes to be assisted to a standing position. This involves you bending over at an awkward angle, an unsafe angle, continuing to hold firmly onto her pants. "Your knuckles are bruising my ribs!" she shouts. My knuckles are facing outwards not inwards, but still she shouts.

She stands, Oh surprise she is not weight bearing.
Then you quickly position her into the wheelchair and of course she shouts about not being ready and how it was too fast. You now, most likely, have incurred a strain injury.

I reported and reported and documented and finally the edict came down:
No transfers at all to be done without the belt on. She is to put her own transfer belt on.

I told the Therapist: "I will believe it when I see it."

She tried again the next time I saw her. I got the belt and laid it across her wheelchair.
"Oh you are not using that are you?"
"I only agreed to it because *they* said you girls are not covered by compensation unless you use it."
"I am so tiny. Surely you girls can see how you hurt me when you mishandle me."
---silence from me

"Surely, you can see I require MUCH more care than most of your patients. Don't you speak with the Office?"
"Well you need to tell them I am not an ordinary client. I need MUCH more care than most."

She did not get up that day.

The next client I went to was a medication reminder, cancer drugs.
The client is getting minimal service, lives alone, and could do with alot more assistance through the disease process. Sadly, this client does not get the help.



Company's Comin!

One of the BIG FAT FREAKING DRAGS of living in Paradise is the seasonal influx of visitors.
It is even more obnoxious when you live in a small place and your neighbours get company.

Next door on one side I have a very quiet Lady in her retirement years. She is always hoping this is the year I finally do something about my patio deck which resembles a dumptruck load of glittery shiny things. One the other side I have another older Lady who is not as quiet but she also is not resident all year. She is a coool oh so cool woman but damn she gets the LOUDEST company.

This week, around 6 people are staying with her. The stairs thump thump thump the walls vibrate and worst of all the door slams almost on the hour. HMMM on the hour... hmm hmm

I know! I will set my clocks and wind them all.
YA baby! Vacation on this!

Hey now, some of us have to work.
Some of us get up at 4:30am.

Summertime has not yet begun. Maybe they wont stay long.



I tot a saw a bunny wabbit

Its white and fluffy and lived in the greenery surrounding my wee place.
It looks just like the killer rabbit in Monty Python and the Holy Grail so I am not getting involved with it. My dog might be though.

I was thinking about this rabid beast as I went my way up the winding road to the Lake.
I had something in my peripheral vision and I slowed right down to see what it was.
Again, I saw an Eagle, prey in its talons, trying to achieve lift-off. I slowed to 20 mph and the Eagle slowly gained altitude enough to fly over the car. The rabbit looked wide-eyed as its feet brushed against my hood. He was on his way to dinner.

I am so thankful to be at the top of the Food Chain. Don't think I would enjoy a flight like that.



Credit in the Straight World

I got Junebugs busting out ALL OVER! (cue Ethel Merman)

So many things going on in the Carelane.
SO much to tell. So little time to tell it.

How about this one:
He is 96 and was just released home from gastric surgery after colon cancer.
He is very independant and was miffed that the Hospital would not release him without the committment to Home visitations. I waltzed in on the weekend to find him sitting at his dining room table playing what looked to be one deadly game of cribbage.

He whopped me. 3 times in a row. And I am a very excellent cribbage player myself.
But 96 years of practise tends to trump all.

Damn decent!!


Fifteen two, fifteen four, fifteen six and the rest don't mix!


"Maybe next time, you will think before you report"

Yes. That was said to me today.
By a person who saw the same things I saw.

"You make more trouble than it's worth by reporting."

I could say more and more but I am too choked.
It is just really annoying.


Warm but not hot. Breezy but not blowsy.
I love June when it comes in this way.

It was a calm clear day in the carelane today.

One sad addition to my client list was a person who was dying as I visited.
It is hard when you are an intruder really, into the home and you see imminent end of life signs. I just did my thing and left; my thing being really excellent care.

The Office called and added this client for tomorrow and Wed-friday
I told them I was happy to take the addition but I doubted the client would be alive.

Such is the way of things.
We sometimes come in just at the End.
--roll credits--



To be adored

Adorned is more my style.
It would be nice to be adored though.

Knowing me, I would be bored immediatly and whine about being challenged.
Who is this woman living in my head these days? She is so strange.


Something is amiss in Arda

The best way I know of to blow off a bad week is to log on my favourite rpg and kill orcs.
Now that may seem odd, I realise this, but if you have not tried it, don't knock it.
Every valid solution comes with it's own unique set of challenges and slaughtering orcs is no different.

What do you think the average age of a gamer is? Alot of people would assume it is around 13-14. I am certainly nowhere close to that age even if you triple it. And I am not alone.
It is annoying to walk in a world of beauty alongside the willingly blind. It is irritating to listen to hormonally raging players of all ages and gender gloating on about who they killed and how. I see it as math. All of it. There are formulas for everything. No player is better than any other, just more adept at typing formulas. I could give a shit about that as far as glorification goes, but the majority care deeply. I do not think it is about self-esteem, or acceptance, I think it is just real basic adrenal satisfaction.

Having survived decades with a major adrenal disorder, the last thing I need to prove to myself is that I can spin fast. It is the slow dances I want to learn. I love to savour the idea of being in the Shire, pipe in hand, pondering my long and boring geneology. I do not mind venturing outside of my hobbity hole but I really only want to steal shiny things and waylay the stupidest orcs. I am smart enough to realise that a hobbit is not going to win through might nor valour, but through sheer obstinance.

Alas, no orcs today. Something is amiss in Arda.


new tactics

Drugs and therapy?

we shall see

Through the Looking-Glass

Curiouser and curiouser.

Perhaps I am hampered by too much education. I see things that are reportable and I report them. My definitions are mandated by the employers rules. Perception is not that large a factor; or so I thought.

Walking into a situation where two people who live together are out of control, I assess the danger to myself before acting. One of the two people is the client. The other person gets verbally aggressive and does measures of control we would not under any circumstances be able to justify. Do I overlook it? Just a bad day?

No. I cannot overlook it. But my co-workers can.
Then it becomes MY problem as the only person who feels a situation is unstable.

If I behaved in a manner close to what I witnessed, I would pray that everyone would report me. It would mean I was so far out of control that my future held only rage and despair.
Improper restraint. Verbal threats. Physical punishment. Anger anger anger. Meds delivered through choking. Pain and despair. Loss and grief.

My employer let me down on this one.
Oh, they followed up on the report, but neglected to advise me they had visited in a heavy-handed manner and sent me back there the very next day. A cool reception. A very cool reception.

It is hard having values that are so set.
I have known many people in varying stages of profound grief and loss. My knowledge-base is about a thousand times what my co-workers is through the combination of age and experience and training to work in crisis situations albeit a different field.

I am about as popular as the Plague right now.
Wonderland every day. Oh well.
Perhaps I too will wake under a tree hugging my cat.