The first speaker is on diffusing difficult
situations and employee safety.
Everyone wants more protections
from the students, some of them might be
Crazy, or mentally unwell, you know.
Higher education remains stressful,
And the general consensus seems to be
that we need more funding for Plexiglass and
panic buttons
The whole department is here, but I sit with fellow nurses,
about eight of us, most with multiple decades more medical experience.
My job is one where nurses go to "retire," but I’m still a newbie
in this later life career. A clinic nurse role fits my capacity and
won’t exceed my limitations to maintain functionality.
Hospital nurses usually switch up
schedules every week. Two days, two nights,
sunshine, graveyard,
back and forth
sunshine, moonlight,
noonlight, moonshine
(Ok, Sir Terry, maybe not moonshine.
Nobody’s got a home brew cooking,
except maybe some delinquents in the freshman dorm.)
At a bare minimum I need regular sleep, and such schedules
would no doubt exacerbate this delicate balancing of sanity
and I could never pull off giving no fucks
as our dearest princess advised
Across the room sits our senior psychiatrist
Who treated me at my last outpatient hospital visit
He's part of our team here, but he's
never recognized me. Twelve years since my
last break and he never knew me well anyhow.
I was just some unwell individual, bouncing on
His chair, insisting on the significance of
Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper”
And like a creeper, meanly insinuating he didn’t care
About patients at all because he’d never read it.
Wouldn’t read it now. Insisting, you know, you could,
It connects all the dots! If you’d only read it
You’d understand! Well read it later maybe,
for sure, I can show you how the pieces fit…
He listened politely, but just upped my meds and
Told me to schedule a follow up.
I felt dismissed
And it pissed me off so I didn’t schedule a follow up.
But I did increase my anti-psychotics.
That helped.
The guest speaker divvies scenarios between groups,
and at our table rather than role play, we collectively
talk shit about the real life situations inspiring these cases.
I'm quite the thespian, so I’m slightly disappointed,
by the lack of role play in the scenario, but
I yammer out a proper response to the nodding of my peers,
until Sandra hands me the notepad and microphone,
saying with standard snark, “Since you're so good,
you speak for us.” --so I make some notes.
When called upon, the table with our senior admins
admits they didn't discuss the scenario at all,
as they were too busy waiting to be told to begin.
With them sits my doc, our senior psychiatrist, a kindly
grandfatherly type, long past retirement age,
But his service remains so essential with few to fill his shoes.
He looks unassuming but I've heard workplace rumors
that he once held wild and swingin' parties back in 80s.
Irene says he never remembers her name, but always
calls her by a retired former nurse's name. It’s happened
5 or 6 times now and she doesn’t know how to tell him
she’s “Irene.”
When my turn to speak comes, I burble on
Intelligible enough, and our speaker is short on time,
so we rush and my comment is acknowledged as sufficient,
as they hurry to their concluding summaries.
Irene compliments my assessment and I shrug
"I have my moments"
but my paranoid brain wonders why she would
praise me, giving pats on the head
like some dopey mutt who just
managed something
not entirely stupid.
Or is she just kind,
and I'm being wacked
and mean to myself?
Either could be true.
I’ve learned not to believe my own thoughts.
Or well, I try not to.
Byron Katie taught me that.
My thoughts about myself can be meaner than I would ever be
to anyone, meaner than the comment I teasingly made
to Sandra later during the next speaker’s
“Psychology of Happiness” presentation
I want to share about how I've read that
Contentment
remains more attainable than Happiness.
Sustainable, shall we say?
Don't we all want more sustainable living?
Number 46 of the Tao Te Ching sustained
me through the years
There is no disaster greater than forgetting contentment
and more importantly remembering
that I am not obligated to believe
my own thoughts.
This is the path.
There's one of those blocky QR codes to scan
to anonymously answer and share 3 things we are grateful for
And then the answers will be displayed for everyone to see
On the enormous video screen.
I think “I am grateful:
1. That I am well enough to work with such lovely people
2. That I am good at relating to unwell people
3. That Dr. <insert Senior Psychiatrist’s name here> doesn't recognize me as a patient.”
But I do not write those down to be projected for everyone to read.
Then the speaker suggests writing a gratitude letter
To someone you love or care about,
and maybe it sounded like a boast,
But I couldn’t help myself from stating confidently
"All of my people know how grateful I am for them"
And how important they are to me”
But I didn’t help validate the statement by quantifying
the low low number of peeps I claim as my own.
Sandra quipped in reply, "I dunno, T,
I'm still waiting."
I rebounded immediately,
uncharacteristically witty with such a gift wrapped
Opportunity.
"Maybe that should tell you something."
And I remembered to laugh to show I was obviously joking
although husband says such jokes are best served dry dry.
But Sandra’s back was to me, so I don't know
if she saw my friendly smile
and despite my consolatory pats to her shoulder
and my text later that I do actually appreciate her,
she still hasn't responded
and so I am feeling mean inside.
And that’s why I never tease people.
Up after midnight full of doubt
writing a poem
about my day at work.
