end of life

I find it a quirk of fortune that I have found myself where I am in my career. I am a damn good nurse, compared to some that assertion raises to exceptionally gifted.
I travel, not long distances, but significant enough as a agency nurse. I work with the elderly, the young, and with the incarcerated. Though not all at once. More often then not I work with the geriatric population. I tend to be gobsmacked everytime I work with a nurse that seems to have no clue or even doesn't know how to buy one. I work with nurses that have worked in facilities for years and are lost or rationalize their ineptitude. And with young nurses in school currently who feel rules do not apply to them. But saving graces come in the form of nurses who are truly exceptional and have empathy to spare.
Don't our previous generations deserve better for what they accomplished so that people could choose to be foolish?

Born Again American

A new term. A Born again American. Interesting. Not me...Always have been an American. And everything that comes with it. The freedoms, the trials, and the responsibility.

Check This out.

Born Again American

I Found this by accident the other day. It has good lyrics that is more then the sum of it's parts.

We as a country should be ashamed to allow Corporate CEOs who fail to be rewarded for driving American companies and institutions into the ground. Why is it that all of the American's who would give their food from their table, the shirt off their back, and the breath from their lungs are having such a hard time in today's America, but greedy and useless CEOs have golden parachutes.
It's disgusting. Our forefathers would be apalled. They would weep enough to make the flag's colors run.

I try and do what I must to help my fellow man. But this site has made me realize we all must do more. We are Americans. We are a rare breed. We have a responsibility to be the Americans that our forefathers and our children would want us to be.

"Citizen" Joe

Who Am I?

I thought and pondered what I should write for my first official blog entry. There were many things I could think of and many I discounted, not because they were not of any importance, at least to myself, but because they neither summed up nor made an impact that an initial entry should.
I was once asked to make a mission statement ( I will post this in another entry) for a writing class once. It made me realize many things. The first of which is what am I made of? I could say I have had many things happen in my life that have tempered me. I could elude that we as beings are nothing but legos to be built and torn down again, with the older deeper legos getting much harder to take apart as we age, much harder to reorganize and rebuild.

But let me start from the beginning. I was born over 3 decades ago. My parents were told I should not make it through the night and if I did I could be weak or even mentally deficit. Obviously I made it through that tumultuous time. Yet years later, I was bitten by a tick and contracted Rocky Mountain spotted fever and very well should have died, I was six. The years after ever hazy in my mind, but as I grew older I became recognized and singled out by a father who took his angers out upon me. Especially directed upon me as my older siblings were able to escape into their lives and away from his wrath; leaving me to be the metal to draw the heat and the hammer. My father would whip me with his tongue and rub salt into the lash marks. “You are stupid, and ugly. You are fat and unpopular. You will never amount to anything and you will never have any friends.” It made me shy and somewhat distrustful of others. Yes this was the strap and the burn. As well as being struck, but that was nothing, merely flesh. Perhaps one of the reasons I can take the punishment I can now and continue to still try and not give up. My mother didn’t know, she feared my father also. My brother and sisters if they knew gave no inclination.

Once when I was in grade school I went to visit a friend down the street. That guy’s sister and her high school friends began to push me around out side his house. So I walked back home and grabbed a big piece of drift wood my mom used as decoration to use as an equalizer as there was 5-6 of um. (ala Captain Caveman or Beuford Pusser). My father asked me what I was doing. I told him that I was finishing something someone started just like he told me to do. “You don’t start problems (fights, etc). You finish them.” He told me to hold on that he would go with me. So we drove down there and he talked to um. First and only time I can recall him taking my side. There were signs everywhere that what I was being told of myself was a dishonest and skewed perspective.

In 6th grade my mother was told I was smart and a natural leader. But she wasn’t interested in that she told the story to my teacher about what the doctors said could be of me as a result of my poor health at birth. It was the first I had ever heard that I could be mentally retarded or ill. My teacher, I remember look at my mother squarely and told her I wasn’t, no doubt or hesitation in her voice. “Look at his test scores.” She said, “He scored higher then some seniors in high school had in subjects. Those that he scored average in were high average. I can tell you he is not handicapped.” Someone believed in me. I wasn’t stupid. And in that moment I would prove that teacher knew what she was talking about.

But one day while in middle school my father made me get in our van in California while I had been at the mall with friends for the day. He had told me to call when I was ready, but I had not yet. He had told me that I was being disrespectful. I didn’t know how. He said I was making him look stupid in front of visitors from Germany. I didn’t know how. He was yelling at me in my room. And then it happened. He backhanded me in the face. And my glasses flew off. In that moment something changed. My tears dried, the weeping welts upon my soul stopped and forever did Rage bind itself to me. My heart became hard and I vowed that he would never strike me without recourse again. Not long after he disappeared we thought him dead and we searched and searched. The children (some of them) in California were cruel being crueler when I told them what had been going on, and some friends became enemies and rivals. I attempted to take up the mantle of the “man of the house”, but I was a boy and I had an older brother who also stepped in to fill that role.

I entered high school. And idealism blossomed in my heart and soul though scarred they were. I became stronger and played football. I met men and mentors who began to teach me. I made friends. (True and honest friends, ones I still cherish, yet do not get to see as we have all grown, been scattered to the for winds and have had families all our own. But good men all, with good hearts.) I had have had many teachers and mentors who taught me to look at myself. I was no ignoramus, nor was I weak, I also had friends. But none could convince me that I wasn’t some monster, some thing.

But then my father returned. I was 15 or 16. And within 6 months of him returning he was yelling at me and he came at me and asked “you think you can take me boy?” and he shoved me. At that moment my vow asserted itself. I struck back, all rage and anger and broken heart. I grabbed him and slammed him three times into walls. He struck and kicked. My head into the fireplace, a boot to my side, a cut to my neck line and to my forehead. We stopped and I tried to leave, but he wouldn’t let me, again asking If I thought I could take him. His breathing coming in ragged gasps, as I felt as if I just made a few plays in football. I felt my bile in my mouth, full of anger and disgust. I at that moment saw my brother arrive. So I left the house through the garage. My brother stops me in the driveway and asks me what is going on I told him that if I had to go back in the house that I would kill my father. I drove to work. I was a few hours early for a shift in the old DQ. My brother arrived 15-30 minutes later. He wanted me to go to the hospital to get checked out. I asked why. Apparently I looked like I had gotten into a bar fight. A bad one. I had a huge lump on my head, a cut on my neck and cheek, a cut to my hairline, and tender ribs. I realized these things as my brother had been pointing them out as he drove me to the ER. Wow, I thought. He told me that my father had both ears bleeding. I had concussed him. He also told me that my father had said that I had started it. I began to sputter. But my brother stated he believed me. He believed….me. Me. You have no idea how that felt. I wasn’t some nameless shmo. I was someone he gave credence to. Following that I stayed at Mark’s for a week to a month (I really can’t remember which). Until my father and my mom came over and said I could come home. If I apologized and showed my father some respect. That was a bitter pill. To own up to a wrong doing I never committed. I believe this is one of the reasons that I will fight tooth and nail if I believe that I am right. Sometimes I have to be shown I am wrong.

Well I grew more in high school and made more friends. Became known, but shied from any popularity and even acted in away as to be unpopular. I excelled in Science, Literature, English, and some Arts. I took pictures for the year book, and even joined some groups.

I in particularly remember one Literature class I was taking. In some Essay I had written I had eluded myself to Frankenstein’s Monster. I was pulled aside as my teacher took exception to that allusion. She asked me why. I told her I didn’t ask for my life, but it was forced upon me. I told her what I had heard growing up. I told her why I was a monster; some dead thing. She listened, she actually listened. Then she gave me her perspective. I was no monster. I was a young man navigating the pitfalls of adolescence with nary a guide. I was no dead thing. Nor was I something to segregate myself from others and be lonely. She stated that she knew that I helped others with problems. Emotional, relational, and even school related. She said she has seen how I treat others with care and compassion and humor. I was a protector, a counselor, and confidant. She told me these things. And My heart shuddered and began to beat.

(More later)