I know who I am, but who are you? in 2023

Last week was probably my worst work week since joining hospice.

Every single day there was drama and bullshit. Even on my day off, I was getting calls and emails about the BIG drama. Which I actually didn’t mind taking because I was so anxiety ridden, I needed updates and a plan.

The least of my worries are some very annoying, truly dumb families who have no common sense. Who want me to come over daily to change mom’s diaper. Who actually asked if it’s okay for mom to sit in a soiled diaper for 24 hours. Please kill me. I tried SO HARD to get them to revoke, but they decided against it. Torture.

The BIG drama is that I discovered my patient’s spouse is diverting her narcotics. The hospice medical director had to do a big investigation and now we have to portion prescriptions and I have to go out and count meds daily. Which is a waste of my time and resources. We should discharge them for cause because I DO NOT FEEL SAFE GOING TO THAT HOME. I haven’t for awhile. I’ve asked several times to be reassigned or at the very least split the visits with another nurse (because this patient isn’t even in my territory) so I only have to see them every other week.

But no. That’s been declined multiple times. The patient’s husband is skeevy. And while he’s never done anything physical, he has made inappropriate comments and he got my number from one of the aides he hired so he’ll text me sometimes. Usually nothing inappropriate, but sometimes there’s a lewd comment.

This is all cause for me to take myself off the case. In my mind, there is absolutely no excuse for keeping me in this home. Red flags everywhere. This guy accused the two elderly Jamaican woman who take amazing care of his wife of taking the narcotics. I would bet my life those women have never touched a narcotic in their lives. One is diabetic and is afraid to take a GLUCOSE TABLET if her sugar is low. You think she’s popping pain pills? Mmm no.

I feel like a sacrificial lamb. The only person on my side in this entire clusterfuck is my social worker, Mary. She has argued that no one from the team should go to that house alone. And this is in an affluent area, this is not a dangerous neighborhood. And I don’t complain about SHIT. I’ve gone to hoarding houses, houses of alcoholics, patients with absolutely psychotic families, and this is the ONLY ONE I’ve complained about. Does my word not mean anything? Does my assessment and gut feeling that things are unsafe in this home for me not count for anything? I told my manager that I routinely have to take anti anxiety medication on days I visit these people because I’m uncomfortable there. I’ve had to leave the home TWICE because of anxiety attacks.

HELLO??? Is anyone listening? Help!!!!

I’ve put all of my concerns in writing, obviously, and sent it to the team. Mostly, it’s been widely ignored.

I will say… If I go missing or I get murdered (and some of you are FB friends with me so this is why I mention this....).... Have the detectives/cops check my voice memos and iCloud. That’s all I’m saying. I’ve instructed Craig and some of my coworkers about that, too. Just covering my bases because my employer is not putting my safety first.

So I’ve been very badly spiraling all week. Binge eating, nervous shits, short temper, impulsive. I worked yesterday and was driving through a town and pulled over at a shop to get a tattoo. I was dead ass gonna walk in and ask for a tattoo. Of what? I dunno. Just something small and quick bc I was on the clock and wanted to see if I could handle the pain. And wouldn’t it be fun to show up at home and tell Craig I got a tattoo? Boy he’d be pissed!

Like that was my rationale. And I called my friend Brenda and she talked me off the ledge.

I’m still sorry I didn’t go in and get it done. I think I’ll end up going soon TBH.

Today as I was walking to my car after going food shopping, I thought “I hope I get hit by a car. Put me out of my misery.”

I feel incredibly fucked up.

Craig is absolutely off his rocker, too. He’s been so angry lately, yelling all the time. I don’t know what’s going on with him. Last night, Alex was being a fucking dick and wouldn’t go to bed. Throwing off his blankets, kicking the wall, all sorts of shit. So I sat in the room with him and barricaded the door until he calmed down. Craig was on the other side of the door telling Alex to “knock it the fuck off” and if he didn’t, Craig would “punch his fucking face in”. NICE!

So that was cute. Alex thought it was funny (oppositional defiance disorder?). Craig gets nowhere with his yelling and threats. It must be traumatizing the kids though. Has to be.

So we’ll talk about that today.

Craig said I should come off my meds because I’m “unfocused and not paying attention”. I pay attention to everything. I’m just completely overwhelmed and overstimulated and have to save my energy and pick my battles. Yes, I see the dog chewing up papers the boys left on the floor. They should’ve picked it up the first 80 times we asked. Yes, I see the dog pissing on the wee wee pad because unfixed male puppies can mark in the home for up to 6 months. No, I will not take the dog out every 45 minutes (like Craig does) because he’s old enough to hold it (he holds it from 9p-6a) and he’s starting to give us signs when he wants to go out.

You think I can get up at 545 am, walk the dog, feed him, get the boys school shit together, walk the dog again, get the boys up/fed/dressed, walk the dog again, put him in the crate, get the kids to school, work a full 8 hour day (stopping home in the middle to feed the dog and walk him), come home, do the laundry, the homework, the baths, the dinner, finish my work, AND walk the dog every 45 minutes once I’m home? Does that sound feasible? Does that sound practical? Does that sound realistic? And he can’t understand why I dissociate and need time alone to regroup or why I’m so tired or why the house is messy.

The workload is unbalanced. We both agree that it was a mistake to get a puppy bc we’re the only assholes doing anything with the dog, and we’re not even doing it consistently. But we’re here now. We won’t get rid of the dog, that wouldn’t be fair to him.

I told Craig that me coming off my meds would be the worst possible thing. Lexapro is the only thing keeping me tethered to this earth right now. I would fly off the handle if I wasn’t taking it. Hell, I’m taking it and STILL feel on the verge of breakdown.

I should talk to someone, obviously. Get a therapist. But where to start and where to carve out the time and more shit I have to do and blahhhhhhhh...... Like who even cares anymore.

We’re going to take a ride with the kids now and I dunno who knows what. But it’s nice out so we should spend some time out. Before we all snap.