Things I have learned despite my best efforts...

That there is no destination except "here."
That you never "get over" loved ones who die.
That chewing your cuticles will give you bad breath.
That worrying changes nothing except the amount of quality time you have.
That forgiveness is about "giving up all hope of a better past."
That sometimes it's better to be wrong.
That if you have the perfect comeback you should probably keep your mouth shut anyway.
That there's nothing wrong with gray hair.
That there's no need to ever buy anything that's not on sale.
That there is no such thing as a comfortable bra or a comfortable thong.
That there's no such thing as black and white, but an infinite range of greys.
That you can take yourself too seriously.

I have no idea why I've suddenly got diarrhea of the blog.
Pardon the mess.

A beginning therapist’s guide to the universe, or “How to run a relaxation group while a patient vomits…”

Granted, I knew becoming a clinical social worker would be challenging—more challenging that writing brochures and thinking up new ways to respond to the following: “I’m not telling you how to do your [marketing] job but look at this brochure I found” (said brochure is always the most expensive piece known to man)…and then, “Yes, can we make it look like that (the very expensive 4-color brochure) and pay $500?” You might as well have said, “…for the same price as drawing with crayons on recycled newspaper?” Or, “Oh, you know, make it creative.” Or, the best, “I just have a few changes” the day before printing.

Then, I moved into the far away and strange world of social work, where you find both the best in humans and the very worst. People stealing from the disabled, people suffering unspeakable tragedies and abuse, but still giving life their best shot, people blowing their life savings during just one bipolar manic phase. You name it. You get the joy. You get the heartache. You see people practically come back from the dead. You see people struggle with things that are unimaginable. You learn some sort of painful (and immeasurably valuable) life lesson just about everyday.

Then there are times that make you incredulous or just make you laugh out loud. I remember when I started this new career I was leading a relaxation group with about 12 people. During the most calming deep breathing part, I hear “heclgh, heclgh, heclgh, bleeeeeehhhhhhhhh!!!!!” I open my eyes to a patient spewing all over the carpet with absolutely no control.

I was surprised to see about half the group was still in a deep relaxation. Several are aghast. One runs from the room hand over mouth. “Uh, just keep breathing…um, don’t worry, just keep your eyes closed and keep breathing (thank goodness it didn’t smell)…we’ll take care of this…”

Well, we moved to another room. It was a little difficult to return to the same level of relaxation. The patient was unaffected by the whole thing.

It has taken me a full year to get to the point I don’t collapse at the end of the day. At first I was completely exhausted and emotionally immobilized after the work day; now I’ve started beginning to practice the survival skill of detaching from work when I go out the door. Patients still creep around in my head, but they don’t keep me awake or distracted during my free time. It’s finally starting to BE free time again.

The main thing I have learned so far is that there is so, so, so much more to learn. Beginner’s mind is useful here.

...the worry people are after me...

JEEZ... I have had a hell of a week and it is only Tuesday...My mother wound up in the ER over the weekend (she is ok now) and all hell broke loose as soon as I walked in on Monday morning... but, so far, I am still alive... and so is everyone else.

The picture is of Guatemalan worry people...tell them your worries, stick them under your pillow and voila! your worries will be taken care of...no wonder they look so disheveled!

golly I sure do miss some things...

I really do miss my blog. I no longer write for eloquence or wit, but for speed to meet an insurance deadline. I write about symptoms in sentence fragments, instead of worrying with the musical lilt of the words...which, at first, nearly broke me out in a rash.

But I have learned SO much as a beginning therapist. Although we are still fighting short staffing and program changes, I have really gotten an education on a lot of things...on hope, on the tragedy of cognitive decline, on the perils of insurance bullshit, on learning a new lingo and becoming part of the clinical world, on priorities, on self-care, on dignity, respect, and honor.

There have been days when I really felt like I made a difference in a person's life, which is a heady reward for someone who churned out newsletters and intranet snippet-writing. There have also been suicide prevention contracts to sign, frightening stories, and heartbreaking situations.

All in all, the rapid pace of being immersed in this new profession has my head spinning, and it will take me a while to regain balance again...to be able to leave the patients at the center and not hear them ruminating, asking me questions, and mucking around in my head all evening long. But I've heard that skill of separation simply takes time and experience. It is quite an adventure and one I do not regret.

oh, the frickin' woe of it all...

Wah. Wah. Wah.
I am still in school, taking one last class to get a graduate certificate in gerontology...and the "frickin' woe of it all" has to do with a paper I need to be writing right now.

But I don't wanna.

Like a 5 year old doesn't wanna...

I have been so tired and stressed out over the past two weeks that I don't frickin' wanna do much of anything when I get home. We are under-staffed and reorganizing all in the same breath at the hospital I work at and it is excruciating. Everyone is trying to stay afloat and not kill one another. Our director just left, everyone on staff is fairly new and admissions are flocking in like stuck-together boogers on a stick.

I dare say my marketing job at its busiest was akin to sitting around and picking my nose compared to my job as a therapist at this partial-hospitalization program. I do still love it, but it is fast-paced, extremely emotionally and intellectually demanding, no time to eat or take a piss... I've worked through my lunch everyday since May 25. Come in early and stay late--and be nowhere near caught up on Medicare's evil and mighty stack of required paperwork. Suicidal? Yeah, well prove it with these 15 forms...

Like I said...wah, wah, wah.

I still wouldn't go back though. The rewards of the job are worth the growing pains.

Unfortunately, the blog has suffered mightily, and probably will continue to do so until things smooth out a little more...

I guess I'd better go squeeze that paper out of my ass now. Bleh.