Archive for the ‘work’ Category

Drawn to the violence of change.

February 5, 2008

I know you may find this shocking, but I didn’t start out my life wanting to work with dead bodies.  Let’s face it; no one in the medical field really wants to work in the morgue.  I guess you can say it was by accident that I wound up here.  But that’s a story for another day.

Medical folk are supposed to be compassionate people.  However, sometimes along our journeys in this world, we forget about it.  We forget that the people we are diagnosis-ing, treating, or wheeling out in a body bag are people like ourselves.  We fall into a nasty habit of seeing patients as their diagnosis.  We see 90-year-old male, end stage CA with mets to the brain and HX of CHF.  We don’t see the world war two vet who stormed Normandy.  The one who met the love of his life in school at age 14?  We don’t see the man who raised three boys and three girls on the salary of a postman.  We don’t see that he has 13 grandchildren and a brand new baby grand daughter.  We see the diagnosis.  We shut off emotion of feeling so that we can help everyone we find.

And I hate it.

I hate this fact that the places I work have become cold so cold that we forget why we got into our work to begin with!

Today Josh and I went to get a body from un-named overcrowded and evil hospital.  It’s the kind of hospitals that you see in movies where people die because they don’t care.  It’s overcrowded to the point where people in ER who can’t get admitted to said hospital are on gurneys in the hallways.   Oh yes, it’s a place where compassion is little and cold runs rampant.

While walking though the hospital ED to get our pick up, an arm reached out and grabbed me.  It was a little old lady.  She called me Karen.  I started to tell her that I wasn’t Karen but she held onto my hand and told me how happy she was.  She was end stage.  It was obvious from the nails, breathing, hair, and coloring.

Josh doubled back and asked me if I was coming.  I looked at the old lady.  I said I was going to stay.  Right there.  In the hallway. With her.

“Rachel, we really need to go and get the package.”

The little old lady had closed her eyes.  “Josh,” I asked, “when did you get so cold?  When did you stop caring?  You go get the package.  It’s not like you’ve never done it before.”

“Snowflake, you care too much sometimes,” said Josh as he walked away to go get the package.

The moral of this story is that the little old lady died while I was there holding her hand.  I never found out who Karen was.  And yes, I cried.  Because I have compassion for people.

In the car, josh paid me a compliment.  Thanks to my photographic memory, here it is, word for word…

“You know what snowflake?  You remind me why it’s so hard to be in this job.  You can’t quit this job because we need you to remind us why we need to be human even though we don’t feel it with emotions.  We need you and Ricky to remind us about life instead of all this death.  Don’t quit.”

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Black Monday

February 4, 2008

Today is black Monday.

What the hell is black Monday you ask?

Black Monday is the day after the super bowl.  It’s not the day the stock market crashed.  It’s not the day the world came to an end.

It’s simply the day after the super bowl.

I am sure you are thinking, “jeez Rach, I didn’t know you were such a football fan.” Well, I am not.  In fact, I don’t know who played or who won because I simply don’t care.  It’s Black Monday because in the USA the super bowl is the day that has the highest ratings of domestic violence. People get drunk.  They are into their game.  The lose.  They need to blame someone.  Why not the spouse who said something in the middle of the last play? (note: I said SPOUSE not WIFE)

Hey man, I am drunk, it’s easy prey… let’s go take it out on them!

You know what I do for a living.  You know where this is going.

I am not looking forward to work today.

BIG NEWS

January 26, 2008

It’s official.

 

I am so tired of asshat and his cronies.

 

On Monday, I am giving my two weeks notice.  Why?  Because I have better things to do then to be the whipping bitch.  The truth of the matter is this: things may have “improved” with asshat, but his cronies are just as bad.  I am tired of feeling under appreciated and treated like garbage.  If I do something well, it’s questioned.  If something is wrong, it’s questioned.  I am going to begin to wonder if this has anything to do with my age.

 

I am done being the bitch for everyone to walk over.  Yes I have another job offer.  I was goig to refuse it but I am feeling like I should now take it. 

 

I have had enough.

 

I am done.

 

And do I feel like they are running me out and I am giving them what they want?  Well, after all the BS that has gone on, who wouldn’t feel that way?  But I spent FIFTEEN YEARS with and asshole who treated me the same way that I am being treated at work.  It’s time my backbone grow strong.

 

  1. Contact union
  2. Quit this bitch

 

Oh shit. FCM mom has to go to court.

January 23, 2008

Damn it.  Called  to testify in a wrongful death case.  and yes, that’s all I can say due to legal ramifications.  that and I hate hate HATE being a witness.    ugh.  Feb 4th.  damn it. 

In which FCM wonders “what I really want to know is who is the gimp?”

January 22, 2008

** bonus points to anyone who can name where the quote is from**

I love my job. I will admit, however, it’s odd working with former professers. all this shit going on with the asshat (still working on it too) and the gossip runs high in the place. of course, there is Kevin.

I work with Kevin and when I was in school, Kevin was my professer. interesting, eh? Kevin treats me like a daughter at times. I don’t really like that. I was his student over a decade ago, I am an adult. all this shit with asshat he has been giving me advice. on how I can trust no one here. how every one is very two faced. I humor Kevin as he is almost ready to retire (he’s 69 I believe). smile nod. agree. flatter ego. just like in school! however, I noticed something.

If I can’t trust anyone, can I really trust him either?

And to tell you the truth, it’s getting really annoying. REALLY annoying. Other things that have been bugging me at work is that when I walk into the office, I haven’t even sat down and Kevin is bombarding me with questions and comments about the bodies worked on by myself or him. I HAVEN’T EVEN PUT MY PURSE DOWN OR TAKEN OFF MY JACKET. I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT Y OU ARE RAMBLING ABOUT!!!

I suppose that everyone has a co-worker like this. Kevin is smart, but he is also very oblivous to the rest of the world. do it his way or it’s wrong. no room for growth… and to tell you the truth, sometimes I just want to turn around and call Kevin on some very obvious facts: 1. he is old. times have changed. there are new and improved ways of doing things. I mean, how many times have I explained to him the computer program for our email system? 2. give me space. I am not your student anymore. and most importantly, 3. if I can’t trust anyway, I can’t trust you either, now can I?

“I am so not your bunny”

January 17, 2008

At work yesterday came the annoyance that happens every few months.  I was actually outside someone’s house, on the steps, taking a call from work.  This was a crime scene I might add, and there were police everywhere.

 

Now I know almost all the police in this city and they know me.  There aren’t a lot of girls who do my job.  Yes, I had my id on but I had my sweatshirt over it as well.  I was cold.

 

Enter new cop:

 

He looks me up and down and radios something to someone.  Then he walks over to me.  “Excuse me,” says Officer Krupke, “Can I help you with anything?”

 

“Nope,” I say, hand over phone, “I am good.  Just calling the office”

 

“Well,” officer krupke continues, “you aren’t allowed to be here sweetheart.  This is a crime scene.  I need you to go back behind the line over there.”

 

I am dumbfounded again.

 

When I just give him a look of sheer stupidity and disgust, about to open my mouth, he literally grabs me by the arm and escorts me away from the scene.  At the same time, he starts lecturing me about “do your parents know where you are?” and “aren’t you supposed to be in school?” 

 

I find this hilarious.  This actually happens a lot because I don’t look my age at all and who would have a GIRL doing my job?

 

When he gets me to the police line I turned around and looked at him.  He looked at me.  I then proceeded with my triad, which went something like this:

 

“Wow.  I forgot how smart the police are.  Thank you so much for helping a little girl like me remember that she shouldn’t be in areas like this.  I mean, I could have seen a dead body or sumtin’ like that! That would have been so gross!  And what if I got some weird body juice on me?  Or blood? Dude! You are SO my hero for protecting me.  I should totally call my mom and dad and tell them how sorry I am I decided to ditch English class. I means, you gots to know that when the po-po are in the neighborhood there is trouble.  Thank you so much.”

 

Now, paint If you will a picture, as this is going on, detective J****** is coming up behind the cop.  The cop is all smiling because I am SO RELIEVD that a nice guy like him helped poor little me out.

 

 

I continued, “I mean, thank you so much!  You are like the coolest guy in the world!  Wait till I tell all my friends about you!…. Oh hey Detective J!  how is life treating you today?”

 

J responded it was good and asked about Ricky.

 

As I ducked under the police tape I said, “Well you know Ricky… he’s only the cutest 2 and a half year old ever!  Say J, can you introduce me to the newbie?  The one who obviously thought I was a teenager?”

 

Needless to say, the cop was embarrassed.

 

Word to the wise: never assume anyone is younger then you.  Never assume they don’t know what they are doing.  AND NEVER treat them as inferior to you.

 

But most of all, 40 minutes later when we are leaving, don’t come back to them and say “hey honey, I am so sorry.  Now that I know you’re legal, would you like to get a drink sometime?”

 

 

Protected: Gone

January 13, 2008

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Response to email from Bob, Linda and Frank…

November 30, 2007

ahhh…. yes, I wonder how many people are curious about Nancy Botwin.  in fact, people are a little weirded out by me saying that I am the angel of death.  I had three emails from Bob, Linda and Frank asking about it.

well, I think if you don’t read this often enough then it’s confusing.  I basically work with the dead.  I work in a morgue.  I do autopsies.  hence, I am always around the dead.  so I feel like the angel of death a lot of times.  I suppose it could be worse.  I could work at a sanatation factory.  I could be a cum scrubber in a nude club.  I could be working at a meat packaging plant.  I could work at McDonalds.

No, I work with dead bodies.  they are gross.  it’s tough.  and I love every minute of it.

so then, who the hell is Nancy Botwin?  another single mom, trying to get by for her sons…

gone.

November 19, 2007

Such quiet sadness for a life over. maybe it’s the mist. maybe it’s the rain. there is tears everywhere. black shouds and clothes form a gothic blur of a thunderstorm. outside, the ocean seems still again, it’s churning and volitile state finally calmed under the release of the sould in a body so tormented by disease. all that’s left is the mist. it’s cold and dap. its refreshing. it leaves small wet kisses on my cheeks, blushing pink from the cold. tears well, like in a dam whose levees are about to break but reside before any damage can take place. tears threaten to spill, but in the coldness of no emotions of this life, they receed into the abyess of the body. feelings are clouded. remorse is shown in faces. but the rain washes away everything.

Protected: 20 years now

November 14, 2007

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