Life Goes On

I was awakened last Monday by a telephone call from Annie, the administrative assistant at our corporate office. (Translation: The secretary who secretly runs everything.) She was phoning me because the people who had volunteered to make the quilt from the blocks had no idea how to do such a thing. Her tone was almost that they (the supported living division) hated to put upon me to ask if I could do it. As I work for a separate division, and this was “their” project, not “ours.” In truth, I felt very honored to be able to be able to put these individual expressions into a singular, creative whole.

As I spent last week ill from the kiddie krud, staying with the rotation of ailing children who could not go to the babysitter’s, and still having to work over-time because I have no nurses/am short on competent nurses, I could not get started on the quilt until this week.

So, I have spent the last two days at the corporate office piecing the blocks together. And, I’ve had a wonderful time and received a bit of an epiphany.

Being a quilter, I subscribe to the methodology of modern quilt making. Rotary cutting, strip piecing…. Speed and precision is the name of the game.

It isn’t working with this quilt.

The squares of fabric had all been cut by hand. Not one of them is exact same size or shape. No uniformity what so ever. Some of the blocks that the clients made from the squares have embellishments that go completely to the edge of the block. No room for seam allowance.

So, I’m having to do this quilt the “old fashioned” way. Take each block individually, give it the particular attention that it requires in order to be able to piece it into the whole, and one-by-one, add it in.

As I was fidgeting with these blocks yesterday morning, it occurred to me that this quilt represents exactly what it is that we do as a company.

The individual blocks that our clients made are a personal, unique reflection just as each of them is a unique being with different interests and different abilities. Those blocks are just like all people. We are very similar, we all have the same basic components, but no two of us are alike. We are all a bit non-uniform and have our own particular quirks.

In modern quilt making, there are degrees of “one size fits all” methods of doing things. With this set of blocks as with our set of clients, there is nothing that is standardized and uniform and applied unilaterally. We must tailor each thing that we do for that particular individual to their particular needs. Just as I must take each individual quilt block and give it the particular attention that it requires.

This quilt is an exact representation of what it is that we do as a company. It was a very cool thing to realize that.

The supported living staff has been very appreciative of my efforts in assembling the quilt. The director of that division commented to me that their clients had simply fallen in love with me during the day of block making. I guess several of the clients had told their family members about me and the families had called the office to relay this information to the administrative staff, as to how appreciative they were that one of the nurses from another part of the company would come and take the time to do this type of activity. As I told Becky, I enjoyed making the new friends that I had made that day.

For me, being able to put this quilt together is an honor and a privilege. It took the office staff of the other division a couple of days to realize that. They had initially felt that in asking me to have to do this for them that I was being “put upon.” I am really glad to see that they have realized that is not the case.

Yesterday was May 6^th, the one-year anniversary of my dad’s death. As I was running home at lunch time to grab a couple of more handy widgets from my sewing box in order to better work on some of these quilt blocks, I thought I should give my mom and my sister a call at the ice cream shop. Realizing the time, I figured I would wait until the lunch rush was over.

Just as I was pulling back into the parking lot at the corporate office, my phone rang. It was my baby sister. I told her I had thought about ringing her up but had decided to wait a bit. She asked if I was working. I told her I was at the corporate office working on the quilt. “I know you’re loving that,” she replied.

Everyone was meeting for dinner at 5:30. I told her that I had to pick Amanda up from work at 5:15 and wouldn’t be able to make it to dinner. She told me that they had set Dad’s headstone on the grave this last weekend.

His headstone, it would seem, is the only one in the entire cemetery that is truly facing the “right” direction. The cemetery borders a river. Everyone is buried with their feet towards the river. Therefore, all of the headstones are placed at everyone’s feet. You gotta love my mom…. Dad’s headstone is at the head of the grave with the information facing towards the river, towards his body…. Completely backwards from every other headstone in the graveyard! LMAO only my family!!

That’s what my Dad gets for wanting that plot right up by the road and having to have us drive by and see him every time we head to the house! Yes, I still think he’s an asshole for having done that to us intentionally. That’s OK; I wouldn’t want him to be any other way. As I drive by, I wave and say hi to him and cuss him for being such an asshole for doing that.

I made it through most of yesterday OK. It was the quilt that kept me busy and focused. At some point, I realized that the shirt I had grabbed from the top of the laundry basket and put on was my “ICU sweater” that I had crocheted last year when dad was in the hospital. I even managed to maintain after that realization.

The drive to pick Amanda up from work yesterday was longer than expected. Traffic on the interstate was at a dead stand still due to an accident. I had picked up the kids from the sitter’s, stopped by the house and told them to get something to occupy themselves with for the drive. By the time we piled back into the van, it was reported that there had been traffic accidents at BOTH of the alternative routes that I could have used. Just figures.

Off we went. It took 50 minutes to make what is normally a 12-minute drive. Getting home was nearly as nightmarish. We had left the house at 4:40pm and finally arrived back home around 6:15pm.

Things, being how things generally seem to go in my life, continued as “normal.” I think both of my cell phones may be ruined from being drenched by a single coffee spill. I have more paperwork and forms to update for work than I care to think about. My house seriously needs cleaned.

And, just to give you an idea of how bad things really are… I’m choosing the “cleaning house” option.

Ciao!

Weekend Recovery

The meaning of the title is two-fold… I would much rather be detailing how the events of the weekend provided some much needed recovery. However, the events and the occurrences of the weekend from which I need to recover predominate my thoughts and occupy waaaaaay too much of my time and energy at this moment and also will necessitate a repetition of the same pattern for several days to come…

I would love to elaborate and give the details of my co-workers’ exploits and actions that are the reason I need recovery, but it simply pisses me off too fucking much to even begin the thought processes necessary to merge the actions of the three nurses who created this cluster-fuck on Saturday night into a single time-line. Let me sum it up by saying two things, when I even begin to think about it, the screaming headache returns in an instant. No, that is not exaggeration for the sake of literary license. That is a fact of truth. The second thing, I am awaiting the written report from the on duty physician and charge nurse from the local hospital’s Emergency Department that is being sent to the investigative unit of the county board of mental retardation in which they label my staff as “incompetent.”

Finally, it will be documented correctly on paper for everyone to see. Hallelujah!! Amen!! Thank you Jesus!!

As I have been prohibited by my superiors from using the “i” word in any of my written reports, corrective actions, retraining documents, I am overjoyed at the impending prospect of being able to see it in black and white and out there in plain sight for the people who need to see it to see it. This is a banner day in my quest to be able to finally make a sweeping change in who works on my shift, and more importantly, who is charged with taking care of my clients. More accurately phrased in my reality, who is entitled to be able to take care of my clients.

The other part of the title refers to how I spent my Saturday. All day Saturday after working all night on Friday. I had seen a memo posted that for the 25^th Anniversary Open House next month, the clients from our supported living division had decided to make a quilt to celebrate. Implements of construction, fabric, embellishments in hand, I headed to the corporate office for a day of block-making.

By the time 3pm rolled around, I was exhausted, fulfilled, and amazed. I had made several new friends, had finally gotten to put faces to names with some of our supported living staff, and was in awe of the creations that the clients had made. It was such a very cool thing to me to be able to see how they had incorporated the various “bits of stuff” into expressing their vision. It was truly the stuff that art is made of.

For now…. I’m off to re-write policy & procedure…..

Yes, I Did It

Disinformation – The deliberate dissemination of false or misleading information that is leaked for the purpose of influencing opinions or perceptions. A common practice is to mix truth, half-truth, and lies.

My plea - Guilty as charged. However, I don't like to lie.

We had a nurse get fired a few weeks back. It doesn't happen too often, but it does happen.

The nurse who was unfortunate enough to be working with this nurse the day that this happened is a really nice guy. He is also a very good nurse. He has integrity. He also has a great sense of humor being that he survives my good-natured harassment on a weekly basis. (I let him know that he is the Number Two man in my life, and that I would be perfectly willing to solve his "can't keep a girlfriend because he works too much" dilemma. I told him he merely needs to call me when he gets a couple of free hours ~nudge, nudge, wink, wink~ and other than that, he can feel free to work as much as he wants and I will keep myself busy with shopping.)

The rumor mongers have it that he is directly responsible for getting this nurse fired. As I told my supervisor, I thought it was her actions that got her fired. Gee, personal accountability? So, anyway, he hasn't been a really happy guy of late. When I heard that the rumor mongers had him upset, I went in to work a couple of hours early just to talk with him.

OK, my interpretation of "talking with him" would probably differ greatly from yours. I told him that he needed to ignore these people. He has his own agenda and what he is doing works for him, and to let these miserable sons of bitches who have no life complicate his thing is absolutely ludicrous. I even offered that I have no problem with telling those who need to be told, "Fuck off and mind your own damn business."

So, he's still not convinced that he doesn't want to change his schedule, job situation, etc. etc. He works for us full-time, works a regular part-time job, and works for at least two other places contingent.

It's a matter of credibility for him. I understand that. I respect him for that.

Being that we (he, me, the supervisor and several other people who would prefer to keep their views to themselves because they're just not into being a blatant asshole like me) had a pretty good idea exactly who the gossiping fucking traitorous cunt in the department was (Not being sexist here at all. If a male nurse were suspect, he would bypass bitch and move directly to cunt as well.) I (being one who doesn't give a shit about much that goes on around work other than the well-being of my patients) decided treachery was the order of the day.

I will say that it was successful if the anger and vehemence that I got from the y-chromosome person of significance is an accurate measure of success. Oh my gosh he is PISSED at me! He was talking so fast I couldn't even understand what he was saying at one point. Being blonde, I was stupid enough to ask him to repeat it because he said it so fast that I didn't catch it; that merely served to piss him off even more.

It's going to take him a while to get over this one, if he does. I would hate to lose him because I really do love him. The guy is very private. He doesn't want his life to be the subject of the grapevine. I cannot fault him for that. He has a history with the grapevine having ruined a relationship for him already. In hindsight, had I known that, I may have done things differently. If he can't forgive me, I would hope that we could stay friends because having had him as a part of my life, I could not imagine not having him be there in some capacity.

So, back to the tale of subterfuge...

I told three different people in our department three different scenarios about me and the guy.

The disinformation that was given to the prime suspect was what came back to me via the wrath of the y-chromosome. And, was it ever distorted and mangled and twisted. OH SHIT IS HE PISSED!! Hell, it even pissed me off with the degree to which it had been folded, spindled, and mutilated.

But, my suspicions have been confirmed. I really didn't have any doubt, but you know, you can't come up with a proof if you don't do the experiment.

So, it is beyond our department now.

It is beyond our division.

It is beyond our corporation.

It is the property of the world via the web.

Just gotta love the religious people of the world.