First of all I would like to apologize to all my readers for my absence on the blog. I truly love to write, but I have been suffering from major writers block and I think that I know why. I first must warn you though....this blog is far from funny.
Any day that starts in the morgue is not a good day. Part of my job as nursing supervisor involves receiving DOA’s into the morgue and dealing with shocked family members who come to identify their loved one. It is with great difficulty that I must admit that this is a routine aspect of my work day...and I consider myself quite lucky to be able to step outside myself and morph into an indifferent person to deal with this aspect of my job. For the most part, I really thought that I was left unaffected...but I have come to the grim realization that I am not left unaffected...my deep seeded emotions and subsequent actions scream that I am.
Every time I deal with a tragedy in the morgue, I say to myself “life is too short...start living for now...don’t waste one more day waiting to be a size 14 to start living...live right now!” I say this, but I have just realized through my feelings and actions (or inactions) that this mentality is not working for me at all. What I am actually feeling is...”there but for the grace of God go I.” Now this all sounds good in theory....but let me tell you what this really means in my world. In my world, this actually means instant gratification....and instant gratification my friend...is extremely dangerous.
If tomorrow never comes I want a full tummy. If tomorrow never comes, it would be truly be tragic had I passed on having ooey-gooey- caramel- soaked brie cheese with baguette chunks. If tomorrow never comes, I may have been croaking for a cigarette just before I get wiped off the planet....and that is just not right (smoking like a chimney right now...there is a smoke hanging from my mouth as I type...and I will light another when it is done.) Being a morgue traffic controller shows you that chances of being wiped off the planet for absolutely no rational reason is higher than dying from smoking long term. Now, statistically this is totally untrue...but in my subconscious brain it is my reality. I am a mess.
I pride myself on my tough bullet proof exterior. Throw it at me...I can handle it. I actually thrive on split second life and death situations. I have worked in high intensity areas to expose myself to just that. I have worked in emergency, intensive cares, flight nursing, and now supervisor...and supervisor gives me an all inclusive back stage pass to everything. What a rush! I truly love my job (most times)...but when I get home and out of the chaos...I fall to pieces...and unfortunately it is not a conscious expression of emotions....it manifests itself into an eating-smoking-out of control-frenzy. I pride myself on control...which paradoxically is knocking me “out of the ball park” out of control.
One time I received two young DOA’s under 30 years old. During the “admission” process into the morgue, their cell phones were ringing off the hook with text messages. “Hey dawg....where u at?” “Party tonight!” “What’s taking u so long?” In my sick twisted brain I want to text back....”sorry dude I am dead”...but of course I don’t...I turn them off. Then, I think to myself...all these friends and family members have about 30 more minutes of a “normal” life left until they find out the truth. This boy’s mother has less than 30 minutes left...before her life is shattered into a million little pieces forever. The boys both have a new package of cigarettes in their pockets. In my twisted brain I say to myself “well nobody is going to throw $10 on a pack of cigarettes if they know they are about to die.” In my sick twisted brain I think... “well I may as well smoke them then”...but of course I do not...I discard them...”what a waste”....and I am not talking about the cigarettes as I watch them land in the trash...I am really talking about the loss of a young life...a STUPID loss of a young life. The ringing text messages from the morgue fridge haunt me...still. For as long as those text messages keep coming, the dead are still alive...still a part of this world. Next thing you know, I am staring at an empty plate...I had somehow managed to eat two cheeseburgers, three chocolate bars and a real coke without any recollection. I have no memory of leaving the morgue....walking to a vending machine... going to the coffee shop...ordering the food...or eating one bite of it. I can only thank God that I am not a drinking woman...I eat until I am comfortably numb...or think I am anyway...the food didn’t do anything but make me fatter and feel like shit...no soothing effect at all!
My breakthrough came yesterday, through a breakdown of epic proportion. Before I could take a sip of my first morning coffee...I had to go to the morgue. Any day that starts out in the morgue...is not going to be a good day. A family came to see their loved one in the morgue....because they had to see it to believe it. I escorted them to the family room to wait and then I set about my task of preparing the viewing. I washed her face and hands, covered her in clean blankets and made her look as best I could. Her son proudly introduced his aunts (the deceased sisters) and his brothers. He was a well brought up brave boy in his 20’s. When he saw his mother...when he broke down and whispered “mom, mom, mom” over and over again...I LOST IT!! I finally lost it...the damn broke loose and there was no stopping it now. I was able to maintain a minimal level of composure to get the family through this and escort them back to their car. Then, once left alone to my own demise...I found an isolated place to sit and smoke...and had one hell of an out of control ugly cry. I released months of captivated grief over the course of 3 cigarettes in a row. I admitted my perceived weakness of losing it to everyone I encountered that day...and believe it or not...the world did not crumble down around me...people did not say “you suck.” This unexpected release...released me of this ridiculous coat of armour that protected myself with...an imaginary but all too real titanium shield...that I hid behind...actually crouched behind in fetal position sucking my thumb.
I am not asking for a back-pat or a “junior G man badge of courage”. I do not want to be told that I am strong or wonderful or courageous or special. I could not write because I felt like a fraud...how dare I think of motivating others when I am a mental mess? How dare I try to make you laugh when I am dying inside? I am begging you to please help me...I am free falling...and I am trying to get back up.
I've never gone so wrong
As to telling lies to you
What you see and what I am
There is nothing I could hide from you
You see me better than I can
Out on the road that lies before me now
There are some turns where I will spin
I only hope that you can hold me now
Til I can gain control again
And like a lighthouse you must stand alone
Landmark a safe journey's end
No matter what sea I've been sailing on
I'll always come back home again
Out on the road that lies before me now
There are some turns where I will spin
I only hope that you can hold me now
Til I can gain control again
~Blue Rodeo
Lynn
;)
