Missing Scott

Dear Scott,

It's days like today that I miss you the most. Days where the clouds cover the sky and the rain and snow fall, causing a cold and bitter mood over the city. More than anything I miss how you would play your instruments on days like today- and how it didn't matter what instruments you knew how to play or not, it came so easily to you. I envied you for that- and you shrugged it off, not knowing what honest potential and talent you had. You could play the piano, the tuba, the trumpet, the guitair, the banjo, the fiddle, the saxophone and any other instrument you held in your hands.

Days like today remind me of when we were Juniors, and I was getting abused by the boyfriend I was with. You knew it was happening, and you were the only one I showed the bruises to.
Days like today were the worst when he would hurt me. I was in physical pain and emotional- but I knew I could come talk to you. We would sit on the front porch and talk about everything, you would make me laugh and I would cry on your shoulder. You would wrap an arm around me and hold me there until I was safe to go. When I was in my lowest point- you were the one there for me.

We met in middle school, when I returned in eighth grade from a private school. We had U.S. History together and you defended me when Dale made fun of me for being a girl. He told me to get back into the kitchen where I belong and you threw a punch. Our teacher broke up the fight, and I thanked you for defending me. We shared stupid jokes and added friends to our group. Each year we had more and more classes together and by the end of sophomore year we had four classes together and we even worked together.

It was the three of us. Bubbalicious, Rudy and Tuba. Me, Wes and you. I remember the first day they called you Tuba- the band teacher in middle school couldn't remember names to save his life and so he called you Tuba- because it was what you played. To this day we still call you Tuba, remembering how much you didn't like to be called Scott.

I can only imagine what pain your father went through when he found you in the basement like that. You mother was upstairs sobbing, your father not letting her actually see what had happened. He stormed down there to ask you to turn off the loud music- a simple request when dealing with teenagers- to discover that horrific sight. The story was told to me that you planned it our pretty well, and that by the time we could have helped you it was far too late and you were far too gone.

When I saw your father four days later he stood tall- just like you did. Not a tear to be seen- bragging about what an amazing man you are- about your big heart. He embraced me, tears filling my eyes. The only thing he could tell me was something I will never forget. "Not all big men have big hearts- but Scott...his heart was gold. He loved everyone. He didn't have a mean bone in his body." You died 45 minutes before my grandfather died- and I hated the world for it. I could not attend your funeral- and over the last two years I have walked the cemetry trying to find your headstone so I can finally say goodbye. Not knowing where you are is the hardest thing in the world.

I was out of town, by the air force base, competing at a HOSA tournament. You talked me into it- telling me that it wouldn't hurt any and I could only gain recognition. I forgot my phone charger and my phone died within the first day. I called my grandfather- who was placed in a care center and was in bad shape. That night the dead phone was receiving multiple voice mails from you. At the awards ceremony a mutual friend had to tell me the news. One of my EMT classmates saw my tears and donated a phone charger. What happened next stopped my world.

"You have seven new voice mails." The voice said, then led to the first one. You weren't well. You were upset- you needed someone to talk to you. The second one was the same, thirty minutes later. The third one was an hour later- this time you were crying. As I kept listening goosebumps covered my body and I buried my head in my hands. Guilt swept over me like a wave in this emotional ocean and I couldn't face myself and hung up before I could hear the last two.

Wes married Cassie after the joined the army. Wes and I still don't ever talk, and I don't think we will now that you are gone. I met Bubba, who you were good friends with through band. You would've gone on double dates with us- because we both liked you and your girlfriend. You would've been the first to congratulate us when we got engaged.

If you were still alive you would have married Clarissa. She made a mistake, and she regrets it all the time. I still see her from time to time, and she is in bad shape. The whole school blamed her for it. I wish I could talk to you, just to find out what happened between you two. It's her word against your actions, and everyone took it to heart. She graduated and then fell off the face of the earth.

Your myspace pages still exists, and is full of comments from friends, including me. We know there is no myspace or facebook in heaven, but we still post on there, getting the pain and the emotion out there, even if there is no where. They post about how much they miss you, about how they wish you could've made it two more months, about how much it hurts to have you gone. It's been well over two years, and still, the friends who were true still post. You can feel their pain, read the haunting words, and we all wonder why you did it.

You brought us together Tuba. You made us believe all over again- where we would normally doubt god, religion and heaven, you made all of us believe it- and we do.

You never ceased to make me laugh, and your talents were so different and you were so great at it. When I started dating a cowboy you brought a banjo to school and played 'Dueling Banjos' with Dale, just to harass me. You refused to get contacts, because you loved being 'the guy with the glasses.' You dreamed about being a Marine, and you would have made an excellent one.

Days like today I pull out my yearbooks, my old photos and your myspace and try to feel you around us for one more day. You left too soon Tuba- and you left a lot of us hurt.
I love you, and miss you more than you will ever know.
See you soon man.

"Why Bother?"

My Monday shift consisted of a patient dying. Tuesday one friend lost a grandfather, and the other her father. They say that people die in 3's, 7's, and 12's but is this true if you're the bystander?

Because of who they lost it caused me to lay awake last night, thinking about my life. I too lost my grandfather a few years back, and loosing grandparents is a simple fact of life, but it is incredibly difficult. Back then I lost two people in my life at the same time, the same night, 45 minutes away from each other, and I was out of town when it happened.

I found out about my friend first. A kid I went to school with for years, a kid I had worked with, and a kid who was like my brother. He passed away by suicide, something none of us would have predicted he was planning. He was an outgoing kid, a band geek, smarter than anyone else I knew and was going to an Early-College-High-School for Marine Biology. He was the kid I could turn to when my life got hard, and we spent so many cold winter days sitting on the front porch, talking, thinking and wondering about life. I was at an EMT competition when another girl from our high school tearfully told me. My heart sank and my mind turned off. I couldn't focus on anything, let alone our win. The bus ride home one of my classmates sat close to me, my head on his shoulder and slow, hot, tears falling down my face. When I got home, he would be gone.

When I arrived home I realized my grandmother was at our house. This was so weird for our home, we were remodeling, and the house was a mess. After kicking off my shoes and letting out a deep breath I shakily told my dad why I was crying. Sadly, he had me sit on the couch with my grandmother, all she had to do was say my name. I knew what happened. I locked myself in my parents office. Simply staring at the wall. Finally I turned on ITunes, and put it on country, hoping to find some comfort from the crazyness, instead Emerson Drive's song 'A Good Man' came on, and I sobbed even harder.

Two days later I picked up a friend of mine,(a man who still struggles with this to this day), both of us dressed in black. We were headed to our friends viewing. I would be unable to make it to the funeral, and I promised him I would drive. We both stood in that long line for two hours, just to pause for a moment and finally say goodbye. I closed my eyes and shook my head. You just cannot say a true goodbye to a corpse. Tears filled our eyes and my friend and I left, having no desire or intention to meet up with everyone else later. We stayed up til 3 a.m, talking and laughing about the 'good ole days.' But it still didn't seem real.

When I was 16 my grandfather made me a promise I haven't forgotten. He promised me that he wouldn't leave this world until he saw me get married. When I was 17 the doctors helped us realize how sick he really was, and at various trips to visit him I had to use EMS care to help him til the hospice team came. He was in pain, and now he isn't, but it still doesn't change the fact that I miss him, and I hate that he won't be around to see me get married. Its hard, going to see your grandmother and expecting to see him there, yelling at the soccer game on TV and laughing with that hearty belly laugh.

Last night I finally broke down and cried. I hate crying, I feel like it shows weakness, but I am so frusterated with my job, with the people I take care of, and my personal life. It seems like all anyone does is die.

"Why bother?" I asked my fiance last night with tear-filled-eyes. "All I do is take care of people who die."

"Because your the strong one who CAN take care of them before and while they do, and how many honestly die compared to the ones you have saved?" We talked for about an hour, and finally I was done trying to explain, and done keeping him awake all night. We turned in and fell asleep, but I awoke this morning to the same thoughts.

I'm guessing its something that everyone goes through, something that everyone thinks at one point or another. Today I saw that my friends have posts all over facebook and myspace, they too are wondering the same thing I was; 'why bother?'

Suicide, Attempted and Accomplished

They were the same age, had the identical diagnosis and were from completely different places of life. One was a wealthy woman, who wore more jewelery than any patient I had ever seen in my life. The other was a poor woman, who wore a motorcycle jacket and had no teeth. Both had ODed on over-the-counter drugs in an attempt to end their lives, and I was taking part in their 1:1. Both patients lived, both patients were going to be fine, but both patients were upset, the consequences of their actions made them regret everything and they vocalized their depression and anxiety about all of it.

Oddly enough I love working 1:1's with psych patients. If they are alert and oriented, we can talk to them like old friends and not like patients, but if they are not alert, oriented or even close to, they are fun because they say things and do things that simply make your day better. For example, we had one of them on a NPO diet, and she wanted Ice chips so badly. We tried to explain to her as we swabbed her mouth- but she didn't understand. "So do only the pregnant women get ice chips then?" She asked me, her big blue eyes looking into mine with genuine worry. I tried so incredibly hard not to laugh as I tried again to explain, but she was long asleep by this point.

Its something we deal with day in and day out. Life and Death. When you get a bunch of EMT's, CNA's, Nurses, Firemen and even Cops together eventually the subject will be brought up. How will we go? Going through schooling we always laughed at those kids who slashed across the street and were 'too stupid' to go down the river. We laughed at those people who thought a handful of baby aspirin would do them in, didn't they know that a whole bottle was needed at least? More than once have I talked about how I would go, and I always imagined myself doing something heroic. I'm not one who has ever wanted to be a old person, sure, I want to see grandkids, but I don't want to be that old that I only see them on Sundays when they come to the care center.

I hate it when patients attempt to kill themselves, and they succeed. I really hate it when they attempt, we care for them for nearly a month and they pass unbelievably quickly. Its terribly sad, and horrible for all of those who are doing the post-mortem care. I wasn't the one to do it- but it was terribly sad to know that another soul had passed on and that two of my colleagues, who had put their blood, sweat and tears into caring for him, had to now place him in a bag with a tag on his toe.

Not many people know this, but I pray when we loose someone, locking myself in the locker room or taking that extra few minutes before turning over my engine and heading home. I pray that their soul can find its way home and to peace. That all of their pain and suffering will disappear and they will finally find rest. At times I feel like the only person who does this, and I know my colleagues would laugh if they knew this, but its what I do to give myself clarity and peace of mind. Maybe I am crazy for doing it. Maybe I am just a believer.

Life & Death (The Full Circle)

This week has been a rush of emotions, but it has given me the chance to focus on two big points.
Life & Death

On Sunday we took a big trip to see a little baby be blessed. I love taking the trip we did, not only because my family is there, but because my family comes from a small town in Idaho, and I absolutley adore small towns. Having lived in both areas, big cities and little towns, I have come to embrace the perfection of a small town. Sure, it has its flaws, but the reasons for loving it included what we saw in sacrament meeting- people actually loved each other. People genuinely cared for one another. The drive was a long one, and the rain patted down on the window, the passengers were quiet, and I got to spend quality time with the two people I love more than anything, my Bubbas. (Bubba J, or Jeremy is my boyfriend and Bubba Kanoosh is Nick, my little brother.) It was definitley an experience I loved to have, and as I drove, I had the time to think about life, and about how blessed I am to have what I do.

After the blessing there was a small lunch party where we got to see mom and baby Kayla. I love this side of the family, and I envy Lindsey, I am young and she makes me look so old compared to her. She is definitley not the typical Idaho gal. We visited with the family and we all had turns holding the cute little peanut. When my turn came I started to think about the beauty of it all, of lif

The whole day the rain had been pouring and the roads weren't the best, but still it was a beautiful drive and Jeremy (who was the designated photographer for me) was constantly taking photos. Everything was beautiful and left me feeling refeshed and inspired.

However, it wasn't too long before I had to return to my life, and thats when things got difficult.
Monday is my secondary unit at work. When it comes to work, Tues, Thurs-Friday are all my 'Grey's Anatomy' units. Monday is my 'House' unit, and as much as it is interesting, I was nowhere near ready for what was thrown at me. I guess thats how you learn though, by never being ready.

First off, I was supposed to still be orienting with a light patient load, but they didn't have enough staff so I was on my own for doing basic patient care of my own patients, like a regular aide. I had to keep asking for help because I was called to different units, different floors and different areas of the hospital to help assist with my patients, but being new, I still had no idea where everything was.

I was asked to go three floors down to assist a patient with some basic needs. The tech's could have done it, but instead called us. When I laid eyes on my patient I knew that something was wrong, but all I felt was compassion. I felt like there was something that needed my attention, but there was other people in the room, including doctors, and I assumed that they would catch if anything was wrong.

45 minutes later I walked past the nurses station by chance to hear one nurse tell the other that my patient had passed. My stomach fell, my heart raced and my mind stopped. I had only ever lost one patient that I was aware of, and I had no idea what to do now.

Post-mortem care is by far the hardest thing I have to do in my job. When you work in a long-term facility, you get to know your patients extremely well, so doing it in a hospital is alot different than in a care center. However, a hospital is alot harder of a place to do it in. In a care center, they don't ask you to 'tag'em and bag'em.' Not only had I worked with this patient for three weeks, but I had to do the post-mortem care. Being fresh out of orientation I was scared and called in an aide to help me out with it. They did me one better and had the nursing intern helping me.

On any given night I work myself tired and so I eat alot on breaks. But Monday, I couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead I rode the elevator out to the parking garage and sat there, thinking about what I had seen in the last few days. As a person I am inspired, always looking for the bright side of life, and on Sunday I was an Izzie, but on Monday I quickly became a Meredith.

Its Wednesday and this week and all the emotions have definitley messed with my mind, however it has given me more knowledge and more strength to keep doing the job I do. It has reminded me that my job is all about life, and with it comes death.