Selfishness

For pragmatic reasons, I love the routine. I love the structure of it. I love knowing that my days are free. I know where I'm going at night. I know my life is kind of orderly. I just like that better.
Andrea Martin

I am having a really hard time right now reconciling my need for consistency with my need to keep my family chugging along peacefully and without ripples. Consistency and planning ahead help me maintain this control as well as managing to care for my own physical, emotional and spiritual health. This week a health crisis popped up in our household that has splintered my plans--particularly for that down time. I need to be able to express how that makes me feel without it being taken personally. Selfishness confronted with selfishness is destructive. Right now I don't know how to express how it makes me feel-- I'm sort of frozen by the mix of emotions brought on as I fear for our future and deal with the loss of control of my routine. Instead of being able to say how it makes me feel I just say things like "this wasn't part of my plan..." "I don't want to do this..." etc. It leaves me in a state that makes even cohesive thought difficult. My mind is in 50 places and so focusing on just one is challenging. I'm a wreck and that's that.

Caution: may be disturbing to regular people

I have to get this mess out of my head so that I can sleep. I could choose not to publish it & yet, because I am who I am, I need to publish the ugly with the good, otherwise you will have a view of me that is skewed like the view through an antique glass window. This post is ugly. I tried to leave the ugliest details out. Feel free not to read further.

Tonight I took a call--maybe lasted 15 minutes (or less it always feels like an eternity)--that hours later is still with me. I had almost forgotten about it (because that's what I do--on purpose) when one of the responding officers called in and realized I was the one who took the call, he told me all that ensued after I hung up the phone. I'm actually glad that he got me because I know that, just like I'm doing here in this note, he needed to speak the horror (pretty mild considering somethings they see and yet horrible and freaky all at the same time) aloud to someone who got it so that he could get past it.

The call was from an emotionally disturbed older male that we have dealt with many times in the past. This time he was angry & frustrated and had decided to end it all--with a knife to his chest. Now, side note, if you are going to do yourself in, this method is not the one I would advise. So, he tells me that he needs an ambulance (he doesn't want the police because he isn't real fond of them) because he tried to stab himself in the abdomen but after getting the butchers knife in about an inch it got stuck (he actually had it in his rib cage & probably hit a rib). Anyway, so I'm listening to this extremely bitter angry man rant and rave his homophobic hateful spew of filth (he kept saying that he was a good man--I couldn't argue because well, I was trying to keep the status quo, but it made me ill. He kept suggesting that he should A) try to push it harder to get it to go all the way in or B) pull it out (so he could try again). In order to keep the status quo I suggested that if he moved the knife at all he would end up in more pain & could very well die a horrible death (nicking his lungs which would then fill up with blood and he would slowly drown--I know probably not what you should say to a suicidal subject with a knife in his chest but you know... it worked). He was hoping to die quickly and painlessly.

Finally, after what seemed like an extremely long time, I hear some voices that sound far away talking to him so I hung up the phone. They tell me that after I disconnected they talked to him for a bit & at one point it looked like he was going to fall on the kitchen floor on the knife to succeed in his attempt to end his life...what a helpless feeling to be watching that. Finally he just pulled it out & they were able to take care of him. Gross, I know. I'd like to think that he will get the counseling and help that he needs, but I don't think that he will. I struggle with feeling like the world will be a better place if he succeeds next time. My heart really wants him to get help & hope, but his spirit was so resentful & full of hate it is hard to have hope for him. I feel bad for thinking these things but they sneak in. All I can do is pray for the best outcome, right?

Sometimes the effect of a call is compounded because it brings up memories of previous calls that we had stuffed and forgotten still clung to us somewhere. Way back (five years or more ago-it was after the new Goodwill store went in on Fourth Plain) I was part of a call (I think I was dispatching, but I cannot remember clearly) when a suspect slit his throat in front of the officer. It was the most horrible thing that had happened in my experience up to that point. All those feelings and fear that A) tonight's subject would proceed with his plan to kill himself while he was on the phone with me or B) he would do so in front of the officers when they arrived welled up again and compounded the effect of this call. It is never just one thing. It is one thing and all the other one things that came before (and were stuffed and forgotten, but not completely).

Hopefully you won't read this, but if you do, hopefully it doesn't stay with you. Go watch youtube videos of silly animals or people. look up "fuzzy fuzzy cute cute." Hug your kids, tuck them in, read them a story, remember that you have the power to affect little lives so that hopefully they won't grow up to be dark hurting souls. It helps.

The Little Things

It seems that people think what makes our job worthwhile is the saved lives-- the CPR that saves a life, the healthy baby born in undesirable circumstances, keeping a frightened child safe while a fight rages in their home and such. While dramatic and certainly rewarding, sometimes it is the little things that make the day seem worthwhile. Tonight I had one of those experiences, and though it seems silly to write about, I want to- so I am.

It starts with a call I took yesterday evening. A woman called for her friends whose dog had run away while they were moving into their new house. It was a valuable pure-bred dog. They had moved from another state and the dog didn't know the area at all. In minutes she ran off and disappeared. Sometimes we would just refer the caller to check with the humane society and animal control in the morning, but I felt really sorry for these people so I made up a patrol info call (which was, of course, taken as information only by the officer). It was the best I could do for them. I hoped that maybe as he was driving around during his shift he might spot the dog and get it back to its owner.

Today, I was working a radio (thus not taking calls) when a message came around the room that my coworker's son had found a dog near his home in case someone called in a missing dog. I looked at the description and thought..hmm that sounds a lot like the dog that ran off last night. Then I went to lunch (it takes a long time to look things up in our new computer system). When I got back I looked up the call from the night before and my confidence that the dogs were one in the same grew. I called the owner & asked if she had found her dog yet. She said that someone called (she had posted on Craigslist) but it turned out not to be her dog. I told her that we had a found dog matching her dog's description & would it be alright if I gave him her # so that they could meet up. Well, this sounds like a happy ending, right? Not yet, not quite.

I called and told the young man that I thought I knew where the dog belonged and could he call her. He said that the dog had gotten away from him. I told him that the dog was a special purebred dog and that the people had just moved to the area and asked him to keep his eyes open for her. Sadly, I called the woman back to tell her that the dog had gotten away again, but I offered (a small grain of hope) that perhaps she would like to check that area on her own since it had just been spotted. She was very excited and immediately went searching.

A little bit later my coworkers son called back. He had found her again and this time was holding on to her so she couldn't run away. I was so excited to call the owner back and tell her that her dog had been found again. I kept her on the phone and gave her turn by turn directions until she got to the spot (her gps was giving her really off the wall directions). As she drew close she said, in a most disappointed voice, "Its not her. It's not my dog." My heart sank. Then with just a breath between she said "It is her!" I nearly cried sharing her joy (okay, maybe a tear or two escaped). Quietly I hung up the phone so she could enjoy the reunion with a pet she had doubted she would ever find.

Now, I don't write about this to pat myself on the back for remembering the call from the night before. It was neat how things worked out. If this call had happened on a night when I was not working. No one would have remembered- or found the call from last night (since I had coded it patrol information instead of animal control problem). If my friend's son had not found the dog the outcome could have been very different. A less scrupulous person might have recognized a valuable (and sweet) dog and taken it home for themselves, or worse, to use in dog fighting (it happens). If the person who took the original found dog call hadn't sent the message around I would not have become aware of the found dog. I just wanted to point out how a few circumstances can lead to a great outcome and being part of THAT makes this job great. I drove past the area where the lost dog call had come in from (it was on my way home) and my heart was glad thinking of how happy that household must be tonight- finally all together and safe. Good Stuff. Makes you think maybe someone said a prayer that their dog would be found.

Decompressing; or what happens when decompression doesn't happen.

People often (always) ask when they learn that I am a 911 dispatcher, 'Isn't that a stressful job?' I pause and then reply that yes, it is a stressful job but not in the way most people assume. It is not the major incidents (which are generally few and far between--spread out between many dispatchers and shifts, etc) that cause the most stress, but the daily garbage in, fear of "failure," regular criticism and dealing with the unhappy public that accumulates over time. Major incidents are certainly stressful and scarring, but since they are accepted by everyone as a valid stress they are easier to deal with than what seems irrational to others. Why do I feel a need to write about my experience with stress today? Well, some of you will have noticed that while I came to the Easter service this morning I quickly left in tears. I want to let you know that it had nothing to do with anyone or anything at church.

I am a stress stuffer. I am a just "deal with it" person. I am a problem solver and an emergency handler. I take on the stress so that you (and my family) don't have to. I head off so many things that other people are never aware of. However, in "just dealing with it" I also stuff the worry and stress and anxiety that come along with the issue. I stuff the leftover garbage from the day at work so that I can greet my children with a hug and a smile and jump straight into asking about their day (and truly being interested in it).

There are many ways to decompress. For some people that is long jogs or walks, video games, reading, music, etc. For me the essential key to decompression is alone time. Generally that means playing on the computer (facebook--bet you all didn't know how important our virtual interactions are) and watching crime dramas on tv (its nice to know that it could be oh so much worse lol). It means not having to talk to you (whoever you are) (ever heard me say that I hate to talk on the phone) or answer questions or deal with your stress. I listen to music or watch tv or walk on the treadmill or read or sleep or all of the above. Sometimes life flows nicely and there is regular, daily time for this self care. Other times there is not. When I work weekends it is very hard to find this time. Everyone is always home and everyone expects or desires my attention/presence. Which is a good thing. Who doesn't want to be wanted and needed? However, it is very hard to find space and quiet.

All that was said to give you a background for my sudden departure from church this morning. I got up early when Abby came into the room and wanted me to come look at her Easter basket. Then it was time to fix breakfast--which wasn't quite what they were hoping for. Then there was a kitchen to clean, garbage and recycling that were overflowing and needed to be emptied (should have been emptied the day before) and animals that were hungry (but not being fed). Add to these little things a mad rush to get everyone showered and ready in time for the service (which someone had determined was at 10:30 not 10:15) and I was a very tense ball of anxiety. There was a brief conversation with my mom about my friend who had suddenly lost her father yesterday morning and this brought a brief conversation about the sudden passing of my dad a few years ago. It was perhaps too brief of a conversation--bringing up the memories but then stuffing them because we needed to get ready for church. I actually sat on the couch with Abby and asked if she would be too terribly disappointed if I didn't attend church with them today. To which she, predictably, replied that she would.

So, we left for church. When we arrived we realized that we were a few minutes late. We began looking for seats and while there were a few spaces they were hard to find. So, you might say that yes, it was the difficulty with finding a place to sit with my family that made me cry and you would to a small degree be right. In reality though, it was just that I had stuffed so much stress and anxiety that one more tiny thing combined with the presence of a great deal of people and a great deal of perceived expectations and my inability, suddenly, to meet them was just too much to stuff and so I cried. It is what happens when I don't decompress. I also determined that I was not going to stop crying and that would be distracting to others who were there for a joyful celebration of the resurrected Christ I wasn't sad. Not at all. I was tired. Infinitely tired.

I told my sweet girl that mommy was going to cry and had to leave & she should go sit with her brother. She apparently is quite okay with mommy's random tears because she just said 'okay' and enjoyed the rest of the morning (she told me about it later). My plan was to walk home or catch the bus because I realized that really I just needed space, but my sweet husband took me home (missing much of the service himself). I came home and I cried until I fell asleep. By the time the family came home I felt one hundred percent better.

The bottom line is that I was not sad & if you had asked me what was wrong I would have told you nothing & I would not have been able to explain. (I have, most likely, even neglected to mention more stressful things that have been stuffed and not yet dealt with --or which I am in the process of "handling")

Is it a stressful job. Yes, of course it is. Extremely stressful. But most of the time I deal with it just fine. But sometimes I don't and that's when I just need to step away from the world and what I perceive as its expectations and remember that I am no good to anyone if I am not first caring for myself. Anyway, I felt like I owed a few people an explanation. Thank you for caring and taking the time to ask what was wrong. It is really good to know that I have friends who care and that perhaps you saw me leave and said a quick prayer for God to take care of whatever part of me needed his touch. It worked.

Tonight I am taking care of myself. You might think my snail hunting habit strange, but I hate those pesky slimy creatures (and their cousins the slugs). I have found my preferred method- sticking them in a Sobe bottle partially filled with water & dish soap is the most effective (albeit time consuming) method of eradication. Tonight, my hour spent in the front yard filled two bottles and I know I squished many unseen ones (I could hear them crack). I also know I didn't get them all, but I hope it helped. It helped my spirit to be out in the fresh clean air in the anonymity of the dark (well I had a flashlight). When the rain started to fall (it was a gentle spring shower) it felt good and now I watch X-Files and play on the computer and it is good and it is what I need regardless of whether anyone else understands.