Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Oh! You Mean Mama!

For those of you that do not know me personally, I work fulltime in the medical field. I have not always worked in this field but I have always had a career in customer service.
My current career began as a nurse’s aide in a nursing home…excuse me, a “nursing facility”. Having been politically correct, it was a nursing home. I have dealt with Fred who only spoke in threes, play with his feces forming little balls of shit. Fred would line these on the side rail and use the aides as targets as we walked by. I began to enjoy the dodging exercise. Catherine thought I was her daughter Agnes. Catherine also thought Peter was her daughter Agnes. Our deaf man, Ed, would go through blind man Walter’s window for escape. John once choked me until there was a purple mark around my neck. Just some of my favorites.
The nursing home and all the abuse I received was left behind when I began working at the hospital. Because of my nursing “facility” experience, I would float to the skilled nursing floor on a regular basis. There, Fred was replaced by Jack. He did not form little balls and use us as a target, he would just fling his colostomy bag out into the hall. Customer service, another word for dodging shit.
Because of health reasons (I have learned that when a patient tells you he can walk, it does not necessarily mean he can stand) I jumped on the opportunity to go back to school. I choose medical billing. Yes, I often kick myself for not going for that Health Information degree. However, if I did, I would be very bored on a daily basis.
Talking to patients is my career. I get more abuse now than when I was working in the nursing home! The best way to handle the abuse is to ignore it. Sure, I am yelled at. But every call I think to myself, this patient is sick (mental really) and can’t help but get angry. Most times, this does not work.
Laughter works. I get a charge out of each and everyone of them. Some more than others. Today I returned a call to a patient. A male answers.
“Hello, this is Lynda (blah, blah, blah), I’m returning a call to Charlene (name change). Is she in?”
“Who?”
“Charlene.”
“I’m not really sure…..” male voice trails off.
“Charlene, C H A R L E N E, Charlene. Is she there?”
“Ohhhhh, you mean Mama!”
Why the hell didn’t I think to ask for mama? Thank you Billy Bob and Backwoods Mama for making my day!
If I not been aware of the passing of Truman Capote in 1984, I would have swore I spoke with him today. He made an appearance on The Tonight Show or it may have been Dick Cavitt (omg! I’m old!) when I was young. I had read In True Blood, a fabulous work and yet I always picture him sitting there telling how all of Hollywood are cannibals, eating baby lambs, baby peas, baby carrots. Believe me, when talking to that gentleman, I did everything I could not to laugh.
And, like, there was a young man, like he had some equipment, like but like he had it, like picked up, like months ago and like he was like told he was like done paying for it…..like.
To make the end of my day was an elderly woman, until she actually told me what the problem was, I saw living in the brownstone next to Rosemary and Guy with a drink of tannis root (I loved Ruth Gordon). But as she begins to spin her tale, the inside of my cheek becomes sore. It seems “Minnie’s” physician ordered a raised toilet seat for her. She said it was lovely of him to think of her comfort. She wanted to know exactly what she should do with the “damned” thing.
“Every time I sat on it, it fell inside the toilet with my ass end following after it!”
“The seat belongs to you Minnie. You can do with it what you like.”
“I’d like to give it to the old biddy (Ruth is in her 90s mind you) down the hall. It will keep her busy and out of my hair!”
I picture the “old biddy” getting a delivery in a light blue Tiffany’s box with a lovely white bow at the top.
I love to laugh, my job almost demands it. So thank you Backwoods Mama and her boy Billy Bob, Truman, the Valley Boy from Asia and Ruth. As always, you force me to love my job.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Let me begin by saying, “Mom, I’m so, so sorry."
I admit it, I wanted to be part of that “hood”. Motherhood. I was groomed for it. Like so many girls of my generation were. That’s what my mother and grandmothers attempted to do while I was growing up. I believe my mom gave up on the idea when I was 23 and living single. Her mother, bless her, went to her grave thinking I was a spinster while my devoutly Catholic grandmother (dad’s mom) began begging me to marry a nice Jewish boy.
To begin, you have to understand I am the oldest of five children. I love my siblings…now. At the age of 13, not so much. While my friends were joining clubs, after school activities, hanging on corners, I was helping feed babies and wash diapers (yes, I am pre-disposable). Because of this, I announced at the age of sixteen I would not get married or have children before I was thirty! By the age of 26, mom believed this threat to be a promise.
The nightmares began after attending a psychic party. One should never go to one of these things unless truly prepared for what you will hear. I was told by the Reverend Ruby I would have two children, one pregnancy. I’d say I dodged the bullet on that one. No twins, one beautiful daughter and a handsome stepson.
My stepson came to me when he was eleven…YAY! Potty trained! This boy stole my heart from our first meeting, please don’t tell him, it will go to his head. From dressing in a paper bag to blame the aliens for the mess in his room to the police bringing him home for breaking curfew to seeing him off to boot camp to handing me his newborn daughters. I have loved him every minute. There were times I didn’t like him but always loved him.
I’d always wanted a son so when my daughter was born I couldn’t have been happier. After those teen years with my stepson, I welcomed the break. She was born too early and was my little monkey. I’m often told what a great job I did with her…not me, she raised herself. She raised me! There were two times she received a “spanking” (nothing like her mom, I believe I still have a mark the shape of a wooden spoon). The first time she was still in her walker…it cost fifty dollars to have that toy removed from the VCR.
The second may have been my fault if you look at it in a twisted sort of way. I was on the telephone when she bit my butt. She was trying to get my attention I believe. That scar is next to the wooden spoon shaped one.
Now a young woman, she is not only my daughter but my friend. A snarky one at times but I’ll keep her.
And then the others came. My stepson’s friends began to call me “mom” as do some of my daughter’s friends. But there are others who also call me “mom” and young friends who deep in their hearts consider me “mom” when they need one. I’m happy and proud to have them in my family. These children happen to be very close to my heart.
There is this soldier who has my heart, he calls me mom. I met my soldier son on a poker table one evening. Since the war began, I have made a habit to thank any soldier I meet for serving. So as my custom, I thanked this young man for my freedom. We chatted, became poker buddies. The more we chatted, the more drawn I became. In one email, he spoke of his mom and how she passed away from cancer. He touched my heart. When I responded to that email, I told him if he was ever in need of a mom, I would be there. The email later that day started, “I think I will adopt you as mom.” The same email ended with hugs and kisses, I love you, Mom. I’m positive he’s mom is watching and proud of him.
This young man makes me laugh on a regular basis. The status only said, “missing someone”. I laughed until I cried reading comments from young women he is friends with. The email I got! An email quickly went out to him. “You think you have women problems now, wait until I email all the messages I got from your “women”! His sheepish response was “I was talking about you mom”. Yes, I love this kid with all my heart.
I’ve acquired another daughter over the past year. A lovely woman with three children of her own. As time has gone by, our acquaintance grew to a friendship. The friendship has grown into one of mother-daughter. I laugh at her rantings, she is so like me at times. I have cried with her when she is in pain, smile at her finding the woman she really is and protect her as only a mother can. I believe we are truly soul sisters and she was bought into my life now for a reason.
My family grows larger all the time. As a child, I never understood how my mom could have enough love for all five of her children. I now know. My heart will always have room for one more.