I just read a comment on a post in a blog I read regularly. I'll put a link at the end to the post.
The post is about an abusive situation the writer saw in Costco last year. And now, he's written a follow up about how that experience, the comments and emails about the post has affected him. One man commented that he felt that the abused child would benefit from hearing that the parent was doing wrong. I did comment on that comment however, I want to talk a little about it here.
I had an abusive parent growing up. I was NEVER naughty in public (very rarely misbehaved at all really) but if someone saw him abuse me, and if another adult talked to him about it, it would have been MY fault. I would then have to go home with this embarrassed parent and bear the brunt of his embarrassment. NO ONE could protect me from that!
I was called into the school counselor's office one day and a friend had reported that I was being abused. She did the right thing! But, I held it against her for a long time. I had to lie and out think a counselor because I knew if HE found out I would get it but good! I lied! "No my daddy would NEVER hit me! He loves me and spends alot of time with me. I don't know why she would say that!" Even if they took me out of the home (I'd have died without my mother) I had a little brother at home. If HE couldn't abuse me, where do you think he would turn? Although he'd never abused him, yet.
People think it's weird that abused kids are 100% loyal to the abuser, but we are, because we have to go home, behind closed doors, away from anyone who will see or hear anything, with them. Can't save them if you don't see it.
Everyone has good intentions, we want to fix it and make it better, but speaking up, may make things worse. It would have for me. Embarrassed abusers, are angry abusers.
Regards, Jen
http://www.danoah.com/2011/09/you-just-broke-your-child-one-year-later.html
Friday, September 30, 2011
Don't Worry... Ummmmm too late.
A couple of years ago my uncle passed away. And, as I've seen family tragedies do countless times before, parts of our family were reunited. There was no falling out really, just a loss of communication. When my mom came home from my uncle's bedside she said that my great aunt was looking for caregivers. I've been a home health care provider in one realm or another since I was 12. I have experience and education, not to mention compassion and a strong will. We thought about this, prayed about it, took it to our church leaders, and finally decided to give it a shot. What could it hurt? What's the worst that could happen? I had so many fears about leaving "home". (My Pro and Con list is still on my fridge.)
I worked anywhere for 72-132 hours a week for 2 years, loved my clients, care for them at the best of my abilities, mourned my losses like a child losing a parent. Investing more of myself into this "job" than I've ever invested in another job. And now, my future is uncertain...
The client I have now, who is extremely ill, is in the middle of a bunch of selfish people who aren't really thinking about her best interest, just about how they can get ahead. It's sick and depraved and I am SO tired of being in the middle. It's a lot of heartache that I can't take much more of.
I'm getting a new boss... today, but have no idea who or when or anything. My client is going in for surgery today, the flooring guys will be here any minute to hopefully put in the floor finally, and I am hanging onto my last shred of sanity it seems sometimes.
I have to decide, also, whether to follow my mom south when this job ends, or whether to go home. If I go home I know she will be disappointed in me, but I hate it here. Will I find someone I trust to shuttle my daughter to and from school while I work? Is it best to go home like I want or to follow my mom somewhere I have no desire to go and suffer in silence? Should I even be thinking about taking my daughter away from her beloved grandmother? The life here is so fast paced, not for me. It just gets worse in the south. I want a quiet little life, with snow, and mountains, and a 9-5 (or at LEAST and 8 hour shift) job where I have time and energy to enjoy my kid.
Ask me what I WANT: I WANT to go home.
I have a very deep thread that wants to please my mom. I HATE disappointing her. I've already done so much of it.
Oh Lord, help me! I'm lost and struggling and I NEED You to guide me!
~Jen
I worked anywhere for 72-132 hours a week for 2 years, loved my clients, care for them at the best of my abilities, mourned my losses like a child losing a parent. Investing more of myself into this "job" than I've ever invested in another job. And now, my future is uncertain...
The client I have now, who is extremely ill, is in the middle of a bunch of selfish people who aren't really thinking about her best interest, just about how they can get ahead. It's sick and depraved and I am SO tired of being in the middle. It's a lot of heartache that I can't take much more of.
I'm getting a new boss... today, but have no idea who or when or anything. My client is going in for surgery today, the flooring guys will be here any minute to hopefully put in the floor finally, and I am hanging onto my last shred of sanity it seems sometimes.
I have to decide, also, whether to follow my mom south when this job ends, or whether to go home. If I go home I know she will be disappointed in me, but I hate it here. Will I find someone I trust to shuttle my daughter to and from school while I work? Is it best to go home like I want or to follow my mom somewhere I have no desire to go and suffer in silence? Should I even be thinking about taking my daughter away from her beloved grandmother? The life here is so fast paced, not for me. It just gets worse in the south. I want a quiet little life, with snow, and mountains, and a 9-5 (or at LEAST and 8 hour shift) job where I have time and energy to enjoy my kid.
Ask me what I WANT: I WANT to go home.
I have a very deep thread that wants to please my mom. I HATE disappointing her. I've already done so much of it.
Oh Lord, help me! I'm lost and struggling and I NEED You to guide me!
~Jen
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Cancer: my four letter word.
Cancer is a curse word. I'm so tired of it. I'm so tired of watching people be sick and I'm tired of watching people die.
The woman I work for has cancer and we went through radiation last year and now we're going through chemotherapy treatments. I'm playing fast and loose with the term "we" because I accompany her to the 8 hour treatments, but she really does it all. She sits for the IV and blood tests, she asks all day if she can go home, she is the one who gets exhausted, she's the one who lost her hair. I just sit there and keep her company.
A chemo day...
Go into the office, sign in and wait. When your name is called you have your finger poked for a blood test. (If you're my client you point at me and say "you want her." to try and get out of it.) If the test is good you go to a room in the back which has recliners lining the walls with IV posts in between. Some of the chairs are occupied, a few not, people reading or sleeping. People smile in recognition, greet you if you've shared a rotation. Some look close to death and others, you wouldn't even know are sick. Conversation turns to types, stages, meds, doctors, prognosis', hair loss, wigs vs. scarves and then the tech comes in. Searches for a good vein, pokes, flash and tapes the IV to the arm. Over and over as people come in you watch this one woman take care of everyone. Knowing names, diseases and little details that make her perfect for the job. You watch her poke veins, and ports and laugh and try to make people as comfortable as possible. I feel guilty. I'm well, here because the woman who employs me is sick. Wishing over and over I could ease this pain and fear, and praying in the same breath I don't ever have to do it myself. Feeling guilty for that too.
I bring doughnuts. A couple dozen every time, because the pink bakery box makes everyone smile. A little sweetness during a bitter time.
As we sit I can't read, though I try. All I can do is watch the people go in and out, knit, sleep, do word puzzles.
Someone always comes in, a former patient who'd gone through this before, had fought valiantly comes to visit the team who helped them. It's always a different person. Someone who'd been scheduled to die and yet through drugs and prayer has lived on. Someone who comes in just to say it's not impossible.
The constant, a married couple who has cancer and receives chemotherapy at the same time. They sit side by side, hooked to their IV's, she reads, he sleeps.
Another woman a bit younger than 50, needs to decide whether to have a double mastectomy or not. She's quiet, withdrawn, her mother or sister by her side, in my mind I'm thinking, "How is this a question? Your breasts for your life." But, then I'm not sick. I don't know how I'd really feel in that position. Something I realize is that she is BEAUTIFUL, she's just striking and had my attention when she walked in because it's not often you see such classic beauty. I wonder if she thinks she won't be beautiful anymore if her breasts are removed.
Sometimes I think I know how I would answer if it were me, however, I'm not arrogant enough to say it for sure. I wonder if I'd feel the same if it WERE me.
J, the funny man who you know was once vibrant and witty, sitting in a chair hanging on with all he has. Every week you see him he is weaker and weaker. He smiles that smile that tells of a million jokes he's told before. He's slowly disappearing and one day, he won't greet us. It's in their eyes when they look at him. He's looking at the end.
The first chemo treatment we went to was awful. I thought I could handle it. However, when I went to bed that night I dreamt horrible dreams. The one I remember is I was in the recliner connected to an IV. But, I was old, and had lost my hair, and I was grey and pale. My family didn't know where I was, and when they finally came in, didn't know I was me.
It doesn't matter that there are 20 chairs and 20 people in the room, they're all fighting their own tailor made battle of cancer and NO ONE can come with them. We can sit by the wayside, but the internal battle is fought alone.
I'm tired of cancer. Cancer took my aunt recently. She was vibrant and funny, completely ostentatious and we loved her for it.
Tomorrow is another chemo day so I was hoping this would help for tomorrow. ~Jen
The woman I work for has cancer and we went through radiation last year and now we're going through chemotherapy treatments. I'm playing fast and loose with the term "we" because I accompany her to the 8 hour treatments, but she really does it all. She sits for the IV and blood tests, she asks all day if she can go home, she is the one who gets exhausted, she's the one who lost her hair. I just sit there and keep her company.
A chemo day...
Go into the office, sign in and wait. When your name is called you have your finger poked for a blood test. (If you're my client you point at me and say "you want her." to try and get out of it.) If the test is good you go to a room in the back which has recliners lining the walls with IV posts in between. Some of the chairs are occupied, a few not, people reading or sleeping. People smile in recognition, greet you if you've shared a rotation. Some look close to death and others, you wouldn't even know are sick. Conversation turns to types, stages, meds, doctors, prognosis', hair loss, wigs vs. scarves and then the tech comes in. Searches for a good vein, pokes, flash and tapes the IV to the arm. Over and over as people come in you watch this one woman take care of everyone. Knowing names, diseases and little details that make her perfect for the job. You watch her poke veins, and ports and laugh and try to make people as comfortable as possible. I feel guilty. I'm well, here because the woman who employs me is sick. Wishing over and over I could ease this pain and fear, and praying in the same breath I don't ever have to do it myself. Feeling guilty for that too.
I bring doughnuts. A couple dozen every time, because the pink bakery box makes everyone smile. A little sweetness during a bitter time.
As we sit I can't read, though I try. All I can do is watch the people go in and out, knit, sleep, do word puzzles.
Someone always comes in, a former patient who'd gone through this before, had fought valiantly comes to visit the team who helped them. It's always a different person. Someone who'd been scheduled to die and yet through drugs and prayer has lived on. Someone who comes in just to say it's not impossible.
The constant, a married couple who has cancer and receives chemotherapy at the same time. They sit side by side, hooked to their IV's, she reads, he sleeps.
Another woman a bit younger than 50, needs to decide whether to have a double mastectomy or not. She's quiet, withdrawn, her mother or sister by her side, in my mind I'm thinking, "How is this a question? Your breasts for your life." But, then I'm not sick. I don't know how I'd really feel in that position. Something I realize is that she is BEAUTIFUL, she's just striking and had my attention when she walked in because it's not often you see such classic beauty. I wonder if she thinks she won't be beautiful anymore if her breasts are removed.
Sometimes I think I know how I would answer if it were me, however, I'm not arrogant enough to say it for sure. I wonder if I'd feel the same if it WERE me.
J, the funny man who you know was once vibrant and witty, sitting in a chair hanging on with all he has. Every week you see him he is weaker and weaker. He smiles that smile that tells of a million jokes he's told before. He's slowly disappearing and one day, he won't greet us. It's in their eyes when they look at him. He's looking at the end.
The first chemo treatment we went to was awful. I thought I could handle it. However, when I went to bed that night I dreamt horrible dreams. The one I remember is I was in the recliner connected to an IV. But, I was old, and had lost my hair, and I was grey and pale. My family didn't know where I was, and when they finally came in, didn't know I was me.
It doesn't matter that there are 20 chairs and 20 people in the room, they're all fighting their own tailor made battle of cancer and NO ONE can come with them. We can sit by the wayside, but the internal battle is fought alone.
I'm tired of cancer. Cancer took my aunt recently. She was vibrant and funny, completely ostentatious and we loved her for it.
Tomorrow is another chemo day so I was hoping this would help for tomorrow. ~Jen
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