When a Seventeen Second Miracle turns into a personal nightmare...

So...remember when I told you about the conversation with a stranger that I had a couple days ago?

Turns out, while we were standing there talking, I was basically a mosquito buffet- a free buffet, at that.  I have fourteen (yes, FOURTEEN bites on my legs- two of which are on my right foot; heel and instep, thank you very much) and one on my left arm.  I have been itching for two days! 

And while last night at work, all the sweating I was doing in the ridiculous heat kind of kept them from itching too badly, last night in bed, I was manic.  The ones on my feet actually hurt they itch so badly.
I'm just grateful there aren't more of them.

Cool shower and an oatmeal wash (no, I mean body wash, thank you, not soaking in oatmeal) helped for a couple hours last night, so I'm going to try that again today.
After the anti-itch cream wears off and the silly dog stops barking at the empty tree (and yes, it is empty.  I prodded every branch with a stick and nothing fell out except the crab-cherries).

Isn't summer over yet?

Little PSA

I don't care how 'good' a friend you are, telling a depressed person, "But you have so much going for you" or "You should be thankful" or "You have so much to be grateful for, how could you be depressed?" is NOT helpful, good, or kind.

In fact, if you've said any of those or similar things to a depressed- or heaven forbid, a suicidal- person, you are not only guilty of cruelty, you may also be guilty of making it worse.

Watch your mouth.  Stop trying to 'figure it out'.  Be glad you're not depressed if you must, but don't project your limited experience onto those who challenge it.  Depression is real, it is debilitating, and it is an illness.
If it's not something you suffer from, that's a blessing for you.  That doesn't make it any less real for those who do.

Seventeen Second Miracle: Conversation with a Stranger

It started with a comment about a purse.

It ended an hour later.

There was nothing profound in it.  I didn't make a lifelong friend.  I honestly had to struggle to even remember her name.  We talked about her conflicts with her manager at work and about our similar outlook on men and faith and sex.  We didn't exchange numbers or email addresses, and if I ever see her again, maybe neither of us will recognize the other.

But for that hour, she and I connected in a very human way.  We related.  A conversation has the potential to be an intimate, spiritual experience.  Not because all we talk about is God.  But because the spirit inside the two people involved connect in a significant way.

So today, that was my Seventeen Second Miracle.

Because I wasn't the one who commented on the purse.  She didn't even have one.  In fact, I was trying to keep my head down and avoid small talk (I hate making small talk).  But her efforts at engaging me in conversation made for an enjoyable hour spent being social- an opportunity someone like me doesn't often get.

Tears as prayers

As some of you may know, last week, I lost my full time client.  I've taken care of her for a year an a half- first two days a week, then three, and for the past five months, four days a week (literally, I lived with her four days a week.  I spent more time with her than without her).

Her passing wasn't dramatic- there was no earthquake or crash of thunder.  I'm sure the angels celebrated, and I have this vision of her raising her cocktail glass in heaven.  She simply...stopped breathing.

I was trying to read the book of Acts to her, but my tears kept getting in the way, so I just held her hand.  Her loss is felt, definitely, but it didn't break me.  Not with God holding me up this past week.

Not many people realized what happened.  This is one of the costs of being a loner, I get that.  But I'm finally ready to talk about it.  I'll keep her in my heart- because that's where you keep family.

I've spent the past week cleaning and praying and thinking.  Some crying, but not as much of it as I thought.  I can't cry.  She's where she belongs, and someday I'll see her again.  We'll have a drink when I get home. :)

Now that's an image I know she'd like.

But tears or no, losing her has left a huge hole in my life and my heart.  I'll always miss her, and whenever that missing hits me, I'll cry.  That's what you do when you lose someone you love.

God knows.

Don't tell me how to do my job

I'm so tired. 

Tired of worrying.  Tired of working.  Tired of watching people I love die.

I haven't been sleeping well.  My apartment is a mess.  I haven't been to church in more than a month.  I feel too much and yet nothing at the same time.

End of life care is not for the faint of heart.  Trust me, I speak from experience.  It is grueling, heart-breaking, soul-piercing work.

I've had people say to me, "How can you be so tired all the time?  I work nine hour days lifting and hauling, and I'm never as tired as you say you are."  I've had people say to me, "Try being on your feet eight hours straight and then tell me how tired you are!"  I've even had people tell me, "You've got it so easy!  You get to sit around and play with old people all day!"

I can pretty much guarantee that every single one of those people is 100% ignorant of what it is that I, and so many like me, actually do.

So here's a basic idea of things I'm trained to do:

• empty catheter and colostomy bags
• light housekeeping: vacuuming, dusting, sweeping, mopping, scrubbing toilets/commodes, cleaning sinks and showers, laundry, washing dishes
• cooking
• changing bed linens
• transferring non-ambulatory clients from chair to wheelchair to bed to toilet; sometimes, we use a tool called a gait belt, if our clients allow it.  Other times, there's a lot of pulling and lifting involved.
• if a client is bed-bound, we change diapers, give bed baths, lift and roll, sometimes while the client is actively resisting our efforts.
• personal cares, such as brushing teeth and hair, assisting with showers, sponge baths
• pushing wheelchairs if clients want to go for a "walk"

(I'm also CPR certified, and I not only know how to empty a colostomy bag, once upon a time, I learned how to change them, too.)

These are just things I've had actual training to do.  Here are some of the things I do that I was never trained to do:

• spend more than 50% of my week at another person's house, where I sleep on a couch if I sleep at all
• get up multiple times in a night when my client has trouble sleeping or is in pain
• invest my time, energy, and heart into someone who is not related to me by blood
• spend my free time thinking of ways to engage my clients' interest
• make sure the family is kept informed; usually doing this myself, since the office I work for isn't into the daily details so much as the bigger picture of service.

So the next time you want to hang out and I beg off because I'm too tired, don't ask me how I can be so tired.  Just let me take my nap and ask me again later.  Or better yet, come to work with me, and I'll show you how I can be so tired.

Because I can

These arts are brought to you by Brooke Clayton (aka Tsuzukikun) who is one of my very favorite artists.

 

Her renditions of my character, Sweetbreeze. 

No, you don't have to get it.  The point is, I love them.

It's been on my mind lately.

Dealing with the anticipation of grief is almost as difficult as dealing with the grief itself once it comes.

Some people might read that and think ‘why anticipate grief if you know it’s coming anyway?’ 

Can you really help it?  Yes, maybe it seems like you’re compounding the grief unnecessarily- it brings to mind the argument that worrying about something doesn’t make it come any faster, but it can give you ulcers.

I’m a caregiver.  It’s more than just my job.  According to my mother, I’m patient and compassionate and it’s a good fit for me.  I think she sees me as being better than I actually am, but I’m not complaining.  It’s nice when people think you’re better than you are.  At least with me, it makes me want to be better than I am.

Unfortunately, being a caregiver comes with certain risks.  Not the risks you might think.  Aside from the occasional injury from trying to lift too much at odd angles, most of the risks of my job are emotional and mental.  It’s almost impossible to avoid developing close relationships with clients, especially when you spend all your time at work with only one or two clients.  Since I work long shifts with the same client, I can’t stop myself from falling in love.

The first time I had a client pass away, it devastated me.  I was useless for two days afterwards (I literally slept all day following her death at my parents’ house and then finally made it home- my mother demanded I call her when I got there just to make sure I was okay), and almost numb for the following week (I couldn’t even go to the funeral by myself; my parents came with me and we stayed a grand total of seven minutes- long enough to hug my client’s ‘girl’ and deliver my condolences to the children).

I remember how much that hurt.  I remember how it felt, to lose someone who had been almost completely the center of my life for more than a year.  My life went on- it couldn’t not, even I know that.  But I still miss her.  On the anniversary of her death, I was a wreck.  I still miss her, still think about her.

Now, I’m observing her later condition in a client I have now, and the memory of those feelings comes rushing back to me, prodding me with the dread of what will happen when she passes.  When you go through something like that once, it’s painful enough.  I’m not even thirty, and this is what I’ve chosen to do with my life.  I have my life to look forward to repeating this experience of loss over and over again.

I’ve been wondering lately if I might be something of a masochist.  After all, there has to be something wrong with someone who actually chooses to experience such deep emotional pain over and over throughout their life.

But the thing is…I really wouldn’t trade the good times, the relationships I form with my clients- and even, by extension, my clients’ families- for anything, not even the pain of loss and grief.

Contemplations on a whim

I have a design for a character in my head, and yet, I don’t know what I’m going to put her in.  I have all the characters I need for my Aenen storyline, and she definitely doesn’t fit into any of my Chick lit stories.  I’ve sketched her a dozen times and cannot get the character out of my head. 
It’s possible I’m looking at a new fantasy story.
I’ve been pondering my process lately.  The most seemingly random things inspire me.  I have a couple of short stories that were written based on a necklace or a hairstyle.
Yes, I know that makes it sound like they’re fluffy little pieces about girly things.  Not really.  One based on a necklace actually doesn’t even mention the necklace itself.  It’s a story about a girl who makes friends with a leopard.  It was the necklace that made me think of talking animals.
See?  My process is so totally random that it makes no sense when I try to examine or explain it.  All I know is that it works, and I should stop trying to question it.

Nahemii-san's designs, which I "purchased/adopted"

I think I’m also getting pretty good at sketching.  Not faces, mind you, but I’m definitely improving on hair and clothes.  My only problem is that I don’t have any ability to draw bodies, so I’ve been using models.  I “bought” a couple of different poses from one of my “friends” on deviantart, Nahemii-san. 
Now there is an artist who can draw clothes!  I’ve adopted a couple of outfits that I’ve tried redrawing- they never look as good when I do it. =D  But, again, they inspired me, so I “bought” them.  I do love deviantart points.

 

Mom is right; I need to make changes more often if my reaction is going to be so prolonged.  Every time I look at my pretty blue toenails, I get all giggly again. J  I’m such a dork.
So, it’s been more than a week.  I feel comfortable reviewing Lucy now.  Even so...

CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN RISK.  SPOILERS AHEAD.

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

Okay, I'll start with my assessment of the movie:

It was totally weird. There were three of us watching and we could only come up with about one word to describe it: weird.

Now, from here on, there are spoilers ahead, so please, please don't read this if you haven't seen the movie yet.

So far as movies go, it actually started out really well. Very intense from the beginning, Scarlett Johanssen made a rather believable character.

So the basic premise of the story is that Lucy is hijacked to be a drug mule, the bag leaks, and she ends up developing super powers as a result.

She goes on something of a rampage, killing everybody responsible for her kidnapping and the drugs- or trying to- along with a couple of innocent bystanders. Which was a MAJOR personality shift from the character in the beginning of the movie who was freaking out from being kidnapped.  I mean FREAKING OUT- she threw up and her nose was running from the crying she was doing.  As she gains more and more powers, she starts to become kind of loopy and emotionless, which totally distracts from what should be the coolness of the character and her powers.

The effects were amazing, and the acting, such as it was, was very well done. Morgan Freeman did an excellent job as the professor.

The ending though...it was just WEIRD. I liked the cop character, Del Rio, but didn't really understand his purpose. Lucy claimed to want him around to remind her of what it was to be human, but she kissed him and it felt awkward and out of place and, frankly, pretty pointless. It didn't feel romantic in the slightest.

And as for Lucy's "death"- I'm still not entirely sure how that came about.

In all, I'd give the thing a C. It could go either way, but the last time I was so confunded by a movie was from watching The Fountain.

My suggestion: wait until it comes out on DVD, and either rent it or add it to your netflix queue. The scenes in the trailers were easily the ones worth watching in the whole movie. Unless you enjoy the plot holes and randomness of this kind of story.
Thus endeth the review.

It's such a pretty blue!

Chibi Beryl and Shitennou by SemiMage

I found this art when I was checking my dA messages, and (after asking permission to share it) decided to post it here because, let's face it, whether you know what it is or not, it's adorable art:
So, there you go.

I think my mom is right; I need to change things up more often, because I am waaaaaaay too excited about the polish on my toes.  And the highlights she put in my hair last week...
On the up side, I totally wrote like three more pages today, so woohoo, go me.
I just wish I didn't feel like I needed a nap now. :)

 

Meghan Trainor - All About That Bass

I watched this video and then promptly shared it on Facebook.  It's got a beat that makes it immediately catchy, but then listening to the lyrics, it was even more fun.  It's important to claim who you are, no matter your size or anything else about yourself that might be "objectionable".

Own it, honey, you're beautiful no matter what you look like!