Mi primo is no longer hurting…

My cousin Zarak Mohandas Delattibodier has kidney disease and received dialysis two to three times a week.

He needs a kidney.

A donor was identified and during the beginning stages of gathering donor information, he developed an infection in the mitral valve of his heart.

The infection was resistant to antibiotics.

Zarak also had severe periodontal disease.

The hospital released my cousin after a four-day stay and sent him home with antibiotics for the heart and dental appointments to begin work on the perio. One week later, Zarak had difficulty breathing and went back to the hospital where he lost consciousness and was placed on a ventilator and an iv catheter with major antibiotics.

The infection of the heart was  fungal.

Mi pimo’s body was too weak to fight. He coded numerous times and stabilized with resuscitation but brain damage may have occurred and he could not breathe on his own.

The ‘No Resuscitation’ directive was put in place. Then rescinded by his wife who is separated from him.

Mi primo is no longer hurting…
No anxiety about the kidney donor’s health condition or going through dialysis

Mi primo is no longer hurting…
He may pass on in California, where he wanted to live and will receive a military burial

Mi primo is no longer hurting…
He’ll join his mom, mi Tía, whom he loved and whose hand he held as she drew her last breath

Mi primo is no longer hurting…
He can play his sax and jam with the angels

Mi primo is no longer hurting…
He can eat all the beef jerky, fried chicken and fries he desires with Excelsior Cabernet

Mi primo is no longer hurting…
He doesn’t have to carry the weight of his family’s dysfunction on his back anymore

I wish the decision could be made to turn off the switch that would enable his alma to be free…

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Counting…

My days at work are numbered?

My days at work are numbered.

That statement no longer is the question I often turned it into when the thought of leaving this place first surfaced. Fueled by the unknown (can I find another job?), accelerated by the uncertainty, (how will I pay my bills?) and strangled by the fear of hopelessness and danger (NO HEALTH BENEFITS!), I remained at this depressive and stagnated job for two years.

The Director I adored working with is gone, driven out by VP’s who were not impressed with her leadership style and fancy excel data spreadsheets. She made the place tolerable and kept me busy with work, so busy that no time existed to socialize with staff I did not care to socialize with. She was fair and treated staff who gossiped about her horribly with fairness even though she overheard what they said. She understood my personal trauma, took the time to find out about its source and although we did not discuss it, it was understood that working at this place was in some way therapeutic.

The Director who took her place does not deserve to earn 70 grand a year but he is here and she is not. He had connections and smooth talking ways. He’s a peacock. peacock-new-zealand_10933_990x742[1]

All fluff, wearing all the colours of the rainbow suits lacking in substance. He’s also a pimp daddy for he wore a full-length mink coat all winter.

imagesCA3ZZ6SWTo wear such a get up to a homeless, mentally ill and substance abuse women’s’ shelter, in my opinion is disrespectful and insensitive.  But, I guess he can for he is the Mack daddy-who can’t work a Xerox! He gossips about staff, mimics the speech of clients’ in front of them, and passes his workload down the line of staff until it is all gone. Then time to sit back, close the office door and watch movies on the tablet.

I do not work for a city shelter. I work for a non-profit organization that is funded by Medicaid and the city. The ex CEO is under investigation for embezzlement of Medicaid funds and earned approximately 60 grand a month while the staff received no cost of living increases or raises. Our Christmas party was potluck!

I will miss the clients who at times are inspirational in their
accomplishments against such unfavourable odds.

I will miss my easy 2-mile walk to work.

Will I miss working for this company when my day comes? No. Will I miss my co-workers? No. Will I miss Big Peacock Daddy? H to the ell and n to the o!

Most importantly, I will not miss the metal detectors that greet me every time I step through the doors of the place I will not affectionately remember as ‘the place where I used to work’.

 

**Pictures courtesy of the internet.

 

 

 

Complainers

I work part time at a homeless women’s’ mental health shelter. It is not the most desirable job but it helps to pay the bills, offers insurance (if it ever kicks in) and allows me to assist a population often neglected and discarded in society. The shelter is a new beginning for most of the clients for many come off the streets, jail and abusive environments. The shelter along with health and mental health services provided, offer the clients a chance at rebuilding their lives. Counseling and treating their mental health issues allows the clients to regain control and responsibilities of their lives. The ultimate goal of the shelter is to provide these women permanent housing and the tools to exist in society with a mental illness.

Some of the obstacles the clients deal with:

Unprotected sex
HIV/AIDS/HEP B
Medical complications-Diabetes,
Hypertension, Anemia
Loneliness
Isolation
Schizophrenia
Bipolar
Depression
Obesity
Hygiene
Socialization
Combativeness
Loss of children and family
Homelessness

I have grown less tolerant of complainers since working in this environment and most especially, complainers consumed with complaining ignoring fortune and gratitude in their lives. The complainers are not grateful for what they have during economic crisis and in comparison to what the clients at this shelter have.

Complainers complain.

I hate my job.
You have a job and have medical insurance.

I do not make enough money.
You have a job, have medical insurance and went to the Met last Monday
night to see an opera.

The job stresses me out.
You have a job, have medical insurance, went to the Met to see an opera
last Monday night and got a pedi/mani on Friday as consolation to the stressed
out work week.

 I am broke.
You make 50,000 a year, live in your own apartment, have a job, have medical
insurance, went to the Met last Monday night to see an opera and got a
pedi/mani on Friday as consolation to the stressed out work week.

This can continue but it stops here.

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