Once again, I am in Vancouver and it is early morning just before sunrise. It is home I am headed for, garbed in an odd fur robe that does not cover my nakedness properly. Observing this, I try to get off the main road; possibly Oak and 14th or so but there is an obstacle. There is always an obstacle.
Impeding my path is a huge hedge that bars my way to the sidestreets. I cannot go through it as it is thick and girded with wire. Since I cannot jump it nor stumble through it I try to minimise myself under a shrub as a dark man with a possibly Jamaican accent walks his small white dog. Looking at my incredibly stupid fashion choice, I muse on the arts gala I have walked out on. Why did I walk out?
As always in such scenarios, no wisdom is gained from reflection. It makes no sense and is unlikely to morph into sensibleness through dissection. I got miffed and refused to compromise and naturally, had to leave. Since I did not have a car, I must walk home. And where is home? Why 49th and cambie of course. Therefor this must be the 80s. Since it is the 80s I must be loaded. If not why walk?
The sound assaulting my ears is "Fur Elise." I lurch up and vanish into the mists and back to my bed. Buggery dreams. If change is indicated, a variation of this dream occurs. Always I am lost or looking for home. Always my car, bus, train breaks down or I am walking hesitantly. Always I am thwarted in my journey.
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Now I am up and out the door and putting on medical stockings for those who cannot do it themselves. A few medications here, a catheter or two there and I am at the home of a very ill client where another worker awaits me. We are mystified as to how this person stays alive in a state where 99.9999% of others would be long and truly gone. A triumph of will I suppose. Soon I hope this will fades as the road from here on in is a black road. There will be no more comfort and there are no pleasant attractions. Bone on bone cracks as we position the client in the lift and transfer to the wheelchair. We do everything for this client but breathe. And it is not nearly enough.
Now I am out to the farthest arm of our area to a person in the endstages of cancer. There is no hospital bed, no transfer devices, no wheelchair but there are plenty of meds and an oxygen line that can circle the home 5 times. Another dominant spirit is residing in this client who is living every second until it is not possible. I hear that last night a tasty Galliano was enjoyed with the night dose of morphine. They look at me for a reaction.
Why the hell not? That's what I think. The worst thing that can possibly happen is that the client keels over from a drug interaction. Not a bad end considering what is the reality of their medical situation.
And so- home again ,home again where my doggie greets me royally. We walk up the hydro line and enjoy the crispness of the december day. A snack and a nap before another brief walk and I am off to the other job. It is a good life.
