Vicarious Trauma

I hate hearing people. There are days where I simply hate hearing people. Not for being hearing per se, but for the attitudes, ignorance, arrogance and pure stupidity around Deaf people and deafness.

I had an assignment this morning, the kind that tears at your heart, makes you enraged, and makes you hate yourself for delivering the message. It's a relatively common message, hundreds of American families say it every day.."it's time to leave your home and make the move to an assisted living facility or nursing home." It fucking sucks, but for most hearing people, it's a discussion, an acceptance, and making the decision for yourself. Then if you're Deaf, you often have hearing familiy members making the decisions for you. It's a patronizing, demeaning thing and I want to stomp on all the hearing people who do it. Vicarious trauma is a bitch.

I get to my assignment this morning with the information that it's about discharge and planning meeting. Seems benign enough. The first person I meet in the lobby for the meeting is a lawyer. This is not going to be good. After the family and my client's husband come, we all go upstairs for the meeting. During the meeting, the social worker, physical therapists, lawyer, and family are all talking over each other and their heads, having multiple conversations at once, making these decisions, and getting annoyed that the patient is non-compliant with physical therapy. I'm stuck in the middle, trying to interpret what's going on and trying to follow 3 or 4 conversations at the same time. Several times I stopped the conversations and asked them to speak one at a time, letting me catch up. That lasted for about a minute and then the mayhem began again. When the therapists complained about her being non-compliant, I couldn't remain silent and "impartial". I simply asked if they had ever had an interpreter with them during her sessions. The room pretty much got silent. Fucking DUH. She may very well be a stubborn pain in the ass, but at least make the fucking effort to communicate fully with her before you label her. The final decisions were made by the family members and social worker. The husband basically had no say in the matter, his only option was to agree to their terms. How fucking oppressive!

I.wanted.to.scream. I wanted to join Estelle's quest for boiling orange juice. I hated them for doing it and I hated myself for passing along the message. I also hated myself for not stopping the conversations more and emphasizing that he needed time to process what they were saying. They were changing his life without his consent. I left there feeling dirty. I felt like I committed a crime against this man and basically ended his life as he knew it. God sometimes this work totally sucks.

It's official

I admit it, I do stupid things. Usually way too often for my own good and way too many times for me to list or admit, but I do stoopit things. Yesterday was one of my more classic attempts at getting a Darwin Award. I may win one yet, I'm at least a nominee for this one.

I was getting gas and had to wash my rear window. Now, my legs don't work, this is not news, but my left leg, for some reason, has lately been much worse than usual. I started a new medication for my pain about 3 weeks ago and I'm thinking it's simply a symptom of chemical assault on my nervous system, but the result is that my left leg that I normally depend on, is on the fritz. I'm not used to this new development. So ...back to the story...I'm getting gas and need to wash my rear window. I already have the nozzle in my car, hose dangling, tempting me. I have a dripping wet squeegee in hand, all eager to have a clean view of the cars behind me, and instead of doing the logical thing and walking around my car, I step over the gas hose. Hey, it's a shorter trip...trip being the key word. Yup, my left foot gets caught on the hose and I take a flying header onto the pavement, landing on my right knee. FUCKING OUCH. I'm sure this is all on security film somewhere, news at 11, but nobody from the gas station even opened the door and yelled, nada. One guy from 2 pumps away came over and offerd to help me up. By that time, I had already managed to get up, but in lots of pain...something that instantly has me concerned because my right leg doesn't normally feel pain, or at least doesn't feel it in a normal way. I have two nice abrasions on my very swollen, stiff, sore and bruised knee. The last time something like this happened, I had actually fractured my patella and didn't know it for 2 weeks, too late to do anything about it.

I'm debating about dealing with the emergency room tonight. I can pretty much guarantee that I won't get an appointment with an orthopedist for at least a week or more, too late if it's the fracture that I suspect. Shit. Well, my first assignment tomorrow isn't until 11am, so if it drags on, it won't be too bad. Let's see...what's my deductible for the emergency room?