So. I've been in MidJersey practically all week because remember the co-worker with brain cancer slowly dying? Well her decline is noticeable and her work performance is compromised and my boss has me down here to make up for the widening gap in psychological quality of care. That means I'm meeting psychiatrists that I've never met before, advocating for clients that I know nothing about, and forming relationships with parents who I hope never to meet again. Meanwhile my ailing co-worker keeps trucking on, losing more and more of her objectivity, discretion, and patience. She's liable to cuss out a visiting state caseworker if she isn't reigned in. (Which is something we sometimes would all like to do until we realize that we're all on the same side.)
Well this morning, in addition to this, the program director calls me on my hour-long commute here to tell me he's not coming in, he has an injury, and he wants me to chair the meeting today that we'll have for a new admit. Sure! No pressure!
Meanwhile, I'm back to eating the pain-reducing sweets that I love/need to get through a day, Mr. Morning Guy dissappeared somewhere from inside of me last month and I'm arriving late to work again, I'm feeling a glimmer of the old ennui that haunted me before I redefined myself with Ned's help, and I'm suspecting that I need another increase in my meds.
(The client has arrived, so game paused on account of profession. I'll be back...)
Okay. So the meeting went, and it went well. I chaired the thing, and I found myself mysteriously on point. I guess processing it here in writing got me ready to take it on, and I took it on.
I guess it's like life. Stress comes, you process it, and then you deal. And of course, what I'd really like is to call up Scott or Ned or Tera or Grizz or Dawn or preferably all of them, and say "Where we havin' lunch at?!" and we'd all do a "Sex and the City" roundtable at the pizzeria or Chinese Buffet and decompress in our wonderful, several, witty ways before going back and finishing our day.
*sigh* I would love that.
But here we do have the internet. It may be a lot like all of us being-- [CUT!!]
Short story alert!! I'm going to cut what I just wrote and paste it somewhere else, because I think it's a dynamite idea for a story and I will write it.
Anyway, when I started this post, I was ready to moan about some setbacks I'm experiencing. But right now, not so much. A well done task at a job you like is miraculously therapeutic. Even my brain cancer'd co-worker did well. She only needed redirection once.
I'm telling you...Ally McBeal, anyone? I just know it. We're going to lose this co-worker like Ally lost Billy (oops, spoilers). One day, this co-worker is just going to plop down on the floor, and then lay down and die. That may be Worst-Case Scenario Man's torturous, sonorous tones, but I just know it. I mean--I did tell you that my Mom died of the same stuff that this co-worker is experiencing, right? So why wouldn't my mind go there? But dammit, I'm ready. I'm ready. If I'm here when that happens, we're all going to be okay, and my co-worker gets her release. I've done this before. I'm ready.
I love you guys.
I'm a little lonely. A little moody. A little fat again. A little unhappy. A little proud. A little okay.