Nott
Crippling your sister
- Joined
- Oct 3, 2005
- Posts
- 16,782
You won't see me complaining, toots.
These things change us
- Thread starter just pet
- Start date
You won't see me complaining, toots.
just pet
Vanilla with a twist
- Joined
- Mar 14, 2002
- Posts
- 49,093
thesorrow07
Angus Young AV time!
- Joined
- Sep 28, 2007
- Posts
- 5,745
There is a thread, allow me to bump it.
just pet
Vanilla with a twist
- Joined
- Mar 14, 2002
- Posts
- 49,093
This is my cathartic thread
Just when I think I will switch to an area of nursing less demanding, like QAPI, I will read the stories here and something will happen...
Last week, I was at USC Norris Cancer center, evaluating a patient for home hospice care. A very complicated case involving esophageal cancer with mets to the bone, uncontrolled pain.
I was standing in the nurses' station and an unfamiliar woman, an employee of Norris flew in and spoke so rapidly and excitedly, I thought she was speaking in tongues.
"You don't remember me, but my best friend's mother was on hospice and you admitted her and she only lasted 2 days and it was over a year ago in Pasadena and my friend is grieving and I understand hospice offers bereavement services and I told her to call you but she threw away all the numbers... and here you are... " (takes a breath... you get the idea)
It was just serendipitous that I was there, just when the connection was needed most. One phone call and she had direct contact with the social worker. I actually did remember the patient and family really well.
This is why I love my job
And Perg... thank you
just pet
Vanilla with a twist
- Joined
- Mar 14, 2002
- Posts
- 49,093
Your eyes will close, your mouth will loll, in an oft times drooling blissful state of relaxation
just pet
Vanilla with a twist
- Joined
- Mar 14, 2002
- Posts
- 49,093
I'll go peek
So, of all the brilliant, wise and prophetic words I have uttered, you quote 'boys are stinky?'
I love it
Snort worthy
Peregrinator
Hooded On A Hill
- Joined
- May 27, 2004
- Posts
- 89,482
This is my cathartic thread
Just when I think I will switch to an area of nursing less demanding, like QAPI, I will read the stories here and something will happen...
Last week, I was at USC Norris Cancer center, evaluating a patient for home hospice care. A very complicated case involving esophageal cancer with mets to the bone, uncontrolled pain.
I was standing in the nurses' station and an unfamiliar woman, an employee of Norris flew in and spoke so rapidly and excitedly, I thought she was speaking in tongues.
"You don't remember me, but my best friend's mother was on hospice and you admitted her and she only lasted 2 days and it was over a year ago in Pasadena and my friend is grieving and I understand hospice offers bereavement services and I told her to call you but she threw away all the numbers... and here you are... " (takes a breath... you get the idea)
It was just serendipitous that I was there, just when the connection was needed most. One phone call and she had direct contact with the social worker. I actually did remember the patient and family really well.
This is why I love my job
And Perg... thank you
There is nothing to thank me for. You are a true human hero.
Sleep well, you beautiful person.
thesorrow07
Angus Young AV time!
- Joined
- Sep 28, 2007
- Posts
- 5,745
It spoke to me, what can I say?
just pet
Vanilla with a twist
- Joined
- Mar 14, 2002
- Posts
- 49,093
it is a truism...
just pet
Vanilla with a twist
- Joined
- Mar 14, 2002
- Posts
- 49,093
VintagePearls
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- May 1, 2008
- Posts
- 516
This is my cathartic thread
Just when I think I will switch to an area of nursing less demanding, like QAPI, I will read the stories here and something will happen...
Last week, I was at USC Norris Cancer center, evaluating a patient for home hospice care. A very complicated case involving esophageal cancer with mets to the bone, uncontrolled pain.
I was standing in the nurses' station and an unfamiliar woman, an employee of Norris flew in and spoke so rapidly and excitedly, I thought she was speaking in tongues.
"You don't remember me, but my best friend's mother was on hospice and you admitted her and she only lasted 2 days and it was over a year ago in Pasadena and my friend is grieving and I understand hospice offers bereavement services and I told her to call you but she threw away all the numbers... and here you are... " (takes a breath... you get the idea)
It was just serendipitous that I was there, just when the connection was needed most. One phone call and she had direct contact with the social worker. I actually did remember the patient and family really well.
This is why I love my job
And Perg... thank you
I have the greatest respect for hospice care workers. My grandmother was under hospice care for a few years, and during the few months I lived with her I saw how hard their jobs were. Dirty, thankless, and lonely. Then they watch their patients pass, pack up, and leave. I now aspire to be as strong as they are.
just pet
Vanilla with a twist
- Joined
- Mar 14, 2002
- Posts
- 49,093
VintagePearls
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- May 1, 2008
- Posts
- 516
Phelia
in a submarine
- Joined
- Mar 26, 2008
- Posts
- 7,432
Long one! Read only if you're bored.
I was on the bus home from a part-time mall job, and I do love the bus. Most people keep busy watching the blurred collage of street signs as the whiz past windows or cramp their fingers from too much cell-phone tetris but occasionally you get sloppy at carefully avoiding eye contact and a smile apologetic for the tiny intrusion sparks a speech and you hear the latest chapter of a life that ends with a have a nice day and the muffled swoosh of the door pulling closed. People are happy or scared or sad or mad and sometimes there are stories that leave marks on my heart like bruises where a reminder presses against them even gently and the pain is remembered but the underlying commonality is a sense of hopefulness; I’ve looked into the saddest eyes and still seen at least a tiny wish and trust for a better tomorrow.
Usually I’m the observer the listener and the reader but sometimes they let me in.
The stop by the dollar store is usually busy with families being thrifty with their groceries or a group of shiny-haired girls cooing over a new doll with plastic skin that smells like poison but it comes with two outfits.
One day there was a group that stuck out as somewhat of an anomaly. A group of men and women, most over forty, with khaki shorts and cotton shirts with prints of cats and hibiscus flowers, each equipped with multiple bottles of water and either a floppy straw hat or a battery operated fan. Out of towners the minute you saw them except for the absence of a new city nervousness. They got on single file with an unforced complacency and sense of calm with no regard for destination, and at first they seemed happy just to get out of the heat. Then came the camcorder.
-We’re from out of town, they said. (To which we on the bus silently responded Well, duh) -On a spiritual Christian discovery, like a retreat. They turned to the boy with a carefully cut goatee and dark sunglasses, -Can we interview you? We’re documenting the power of God. The woman with make-up so caked it looked as though dust had settled in the creases around her eyes asked if he believed, if God had touched his life, if he had accepted the savior into his heart and I stared. He said yes and didn’t elaborate, looked uncomfortable and tightened his grip on his girlfriend, turned to complete the conversation with the man behind him about the best way to disperse the odor of marijuana smoke when in a jam; they turned off the camera.
I kept staring, because despite the numerous attempts previous that had been made to save my soul there was a novelty to this group. The man holding the camera straightened his socks and shook the boy’s hand in thanks with a smile, folded his hands in his lap. The woman with the heavy foundation turned to me, still wide-eyed; I was too engaged to turn away in enough time and pretend I hadn’t been spying. You could still see the meandering jade of her veins beneath the skin of her cheekbones and her eyes took me in like they weren’t really looking.
You have a beautiful smile she said as and she returned mine in a way that was peaceful and desperate at the same time; her lips were tight on her teeth. The way your earrings sparkle, you look like an angel.
My cheeks got warm and I pulled away a bit, not because of the compliment but because my earrings were actually bejeweled little skulls and crossbones and I was afraid if she saw she’d take her words back, or at least feel silly for saying them. She turned to her seat companion, a shorter woman with glasses and a gray bob. -Doesn’t she look like an angel?
Now I was getting embarrassed and her gaze got more penetrating the more she looked. Small-talk time and I asked about the retreat, about their experience. One man had come from New Zealand, they said, the call had been so strong. Told me about the glory of God how it saves and it heals and I’d heard it before but she meant it this time like she’d seen water turned to wine just hours earlier. The first woman told her stories and her voice was wispy. She’d had bad times before she said and tried to elaborate her eyes sparkled brighter and her seat-mate touched her shoulder in comfort and solidarity. -But it’s done now she said and smiled wetly, -And it’s all the power of God.
-Do you worship? she asked, -Do you believe? and I haven’t set foot inside a church when it wasn’t either to be polite or to attend a wedding and I prayed to God once to help me find a Polly Pocket and never tried again but I said yes and I looked her in the eyes and I lied to her not to be mean or cruel but because I wished it was true. Because I didn’t want to take away from her weekend of discovery because she’d found something and I didn’t want to detract. She smiled again and gave me a website for a youth group that I visited once later that afternoon because I would have felt guilty if I hadn’t. Few stops later the group reached a consensus to get off and catch the next bus and as she rose to start her exit she asked if she could hug me. She smelled like too many flowers and felt fragile and I don’t know if she thought she was giving me something or receiving but she meant it.
The group had found the glory of God and I call it that because they did though I recognize it as something else. They were hurting and got help from either God or each other but it’s a good thing either way. She let me in and I felt it.
It's not the most momentous thing that ever happened to me, and neither the happiest nor the saddest, but sometimes it's the little things that stay with you. I don’t know how or why it changed me but I know I’m not the same, and the way she looked at me will stay emblazoned in my memory for a long time, I think.
This is a beautiful thread, JP, from a beautiful person. Thank you.
I was on the bus home from a part-time mall job, and I do love the bus. Most people keep busy watching the blurred collage of street signs as the whiz past windows or cramp their fingers from too much cell-phone tetris but occasionally you get sloppy at carefully avoiding eye contact and a smile apologetic for the tiny intrusion sparks a speech and you hear the latest chapter of a life that ends with a have a nice day and the muffled swoosh of the door pulling closed. People are happy or scared or sad or mad and sometimes there are stories that leave marks on my heart like bruises where a reminder presses against them even gently and the pain is remembered but the underlying commonality is a sense of hopefulness; I’ve looked into the saddest eyes and still seen at least a tiny wish and trust for a better tomorrow.
Usually I’m the observer the listener and the reader but sometimes they let me in.
The stop by the dollar store is usually busy with families being thrifty with their groceries or a group of shiny-haired girls cooing over a new doll with plastic skin that smells like poison but it comes with two outfits.
One day there was a group that stuck out as somewhat of an anomaly. A group of men and women, most over forty, with khaki shorts and cotton shirts with prints of cats and hibiscus flowers, each equipped with multiple bottles of water and either a floppy straw hat or a battery operated fan. Out of towners the minute you saw them except for the absence of a new city nervousness. They got on single file with an unforced complacency and sense of calm with no regard for destination, and at first they seemed happy just to get out of the heat. Then came the camcorder.
-We’re from out of town, they said. (To which we on the bus silently responded Well, duh) -On a spiritual Christian discovery, like a retreat. They turned to the boy with a carefully cut goatee and dark sunglasses, -Can we interview you? We’re documenting the power of God. The woman with make-up so caked it looked as though dust had settled in the creases around her eyes asked if he believed, if God had touched his life, if he had accepted the savior into his heart and I stared. He said yes and didn’t elaborate, looked uncomfortable and tightened his grip on his girlfriend, turned to complete the conversation with the man behind him about the best way to disperse the odor of marijuana smoke when in a jam; they turned off the camera.
I kept staring, because despite the numerous attempts previous that had been made to save my soul there was a novelty to this group. The man holding the camera straightened his socks and shook the boy’s hand in thanks with a smile, folded his hands in his lap. The woman with the heavy foundation turned to me, still wide-eyed; I was too engaged to turn away in enough time and pretend I hadn’t been spying. You could still see the meandering jade of her veins beneath the skin of her cheekbones and her eyes took me in like they weren’t really looking.
You have a beautiful smile she said as and she returned mine in a way that was peaceful and desperate at the same time; her lips were tight on her teeth. The way your earrings sparkle, you look like an angel.
My cheeks got warm and I pulled away a bit, not because of the compliment but because my earrings were actually bejeweled little skulls and crossbones and I was afraid if she saw she’d take her words back, or at least feel silly for saying them. She turned to her seat companion, a shorter woman with glasses and a gray bob. -Doesn’t she look like an angel?
Now I was getting embarrassed and her gaze got more penetrating the more she looked. Small-talk time and I asked about the retreat, about their experience. One man had come from New Zealand, they said, the call had been so strong. Told me about the glory of God how it saves and it heals and I’d heard it before but she meant it this time like she’d seen water turned to wine just hours earlier. The first woman told her stories and her voice was wispy. She’d had bad times before she said and tried to elaborate her eyes sparkled brighter and her seat-mate touched her shoulder in comfort and solidarity. -But it’s done now she said and smiled wetly, -And it’s all the power of God.
-Do you worship? she asked, -Do you believe? and I haven’t set foot inside a church when it wasn’t either to be polite or to attend a wedding and I prayed to God once to help me find a Polly Pocket and never tried again but I said yes and I looked her in the eyes and I lied to her not to be mean or cruel but because I wished it was true. Because I didn’t want to take away from her weekend of discovery because she’d found something and I didn’t want to detract. She smiled again and gave me a website for a youth group that I visited once later that afternoon because I would have felt guilty if I hadn’t. Few stops later the group reached a consensus to get off and catch the next bus and as she rose to start her exit she asked if she could hug me. She smelled like too many flowers and felt fragile and I don’t know if she thought she was giving me something or receiving but she meant it.
The group had found the glory of God and I call it that because they did though I recognize it as something else. They were hurting and got help from either God or each other but it’s a good thing either way. She let me in and I felt it.
It's not the most momentous thing that ever happened to me, and neither the happiest nor the saddest, but sometimes it's the little things that stay with you. I don’t know how or why it changed me but I know I’m not the same, and the way she looked at me will stay emblazoned in my memory for a long time, I think.
This is a beautiful thread, JP, from a beautiful person. Thank you.
Muslim Doctors
To bad the 3 Muslim doctors who treat(in that rare instant of actually showing up) the old folks at the nursing homes that my wife works in,think suffering is ok.Do not not know if their just stupid or evil or if it's a culture/religous thing.
To bad the 3 Muslim doctors who treat(in that rare instant of actually showing up) the old folks at the nursing homes that my wife works in,think suffering is ok.Do not not know if their just stupid or evil or if it's a culture/religous thing.
Byron In Exile
Frederick Fucking Chopin
- Joined
- May 3, 2002
- Posts
- 66,591
just pet
Vanilla with a twist
- Joined
- Mar 14, 2002
- Posts
- 49,093
just pet
Vanilla with a twist
- Joined
- Mar 14, 2002
- Posts
- 49,093
Hello, doll
Thank you
A rambling post...
I admitted a patient to hospice in November. He was a limo driver at one time, driving all the greats including the Rat Pack. He has stories... His family surrounds him, caring for him in what are now his last months.
I had celebrated the election results with his daughter and son. I will call them Mary and John. We had discussed the Bradley effect just prior to the voting, as I had worked in Tom's campaigns so long ago. I shared that as a child, I was spit on for holding a 'Vote for Tom Bradley' sign on election day. I was a Bradley Girl (I still have the campaign buttons and pictures), and Ethel Bradley worked with us as we worked the fundraisers, the canvassing... She taught us about self respect, integrity, self worth, and the value of taking the high road... so many pillars of my character... Mary, it turned out, knew Ethel well as Ethel's sister lived across the street. After all those years, Mary relayed my message of gratitude to her for me. Ethel Bradley died soon after.
An indelible line of connection, of life experiences, bonded me with John, and particularly Mary. I hadn't seen them in months but the other day brought to the home once more. I am now happily assigned to be the RN case manager, meaning routine visits.
Mary was in bed when I arrived, very unusual for her. She got up to greet me and she updated me as we sat in her father's room. He has declined precipitously. He has been a double below the knee amputee for years, but now only has use of one arm. He is very confused, cachexic, just skin and bones and smile. It will not be long...
Mary also updated me on the other family news. She was just out of the hospital, and was recovering from surgery. She looked exhausted. She talked of the recent family tragedies.
"Recent tragedies?"
"Didn't they tell you?"
"No... up until yesterday I was always out in the field... "
"John's son was killed on Saturday... shot 6 times in the back... gangs... they've taken over... Crips... Bloods... Rollin 20s... Rollin 30s... "
I couldn't breathe.
John's son was only 21, and not in any gangs. John has just had bypass surgery, and is unable to attend his son's funeral. John lost another son to street violence 4 years ago. He was only 18...
John's two youngest sons are now staying with Auntie Ethel. They're really good kids, ages 11 and 14. They are numb. Violence it is such a strong reality factor in their lives. Mary and her father live in a good neighborhood, but are afraid to sit in the front yard for fear of drive by shootings. A neighbor boy was gunned down walking to the corner grocery store last week.
I am struck by so many things here, more than I can articulate clearly. Timing. Being there at the right time. Being there at the very wrong time. The immediacy and strength of connections. Support being there when most needed. The strength of human character. I am humbled by the faith and hope of this family.
How tenuous is the fabric of stability we weave...
Bert Notorius
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 26, 2004
- Posts
- 46,417
Everyday I learn something new.
just pet
Vanilla with a twist
- Joined
- Mar 14, 2002
- Posts
- 49,093
Bert Notorius
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 26, 2004
- Posts
- 46,417
I learned that I need to just trust my instincts when all available data won't yield a logical conclusion.
just pet
Vanilla with a twist
- Joined
- Mar 14, 2002
- Posts
- 49,093
Very wise indeed.
Bert Notorius
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 26, 2004
- Posts
- 46,417
Sometimes, the powers that be grant to me a momentary period of cognizance. It keeps me humble, the realization that I am allowed to walk around in society knowing so very little.
