seeing orange

Yesterday a hospice lvn came out to my home, expected but the visitor was not. She did her typical check the vitals, look at medicines, I told her where it hurt, in between the ringing of her cell phone and the obvious need she had to rush the visit, clock watch and then proceed to tell me she was running late for an appointment but, 'No I am here because I care,' the visitor nodding here head with agreement in the doorway of my room.

At this moment, like no other, I realized that hospice too was a business and I just a number, with a face, but a number that still provides them steady and consistent weekly income. I just shook my head and realized what the nurse said sounded good, but I have heard the same from strangers and when it comes right down to it, the empathy was forced as it has been on other occasions.

And if this was the end I would simply let it go, but the end it was not for somehow the nurse and the woman accompanying her thought that I said that if I had a gun I would 'blow my head off'. Now strangely, I do not own a gun, have only fired a gun at skeet once, with my father at the age of twelve and the recoil was so intense I fell to the ground and had a bruised hiene for a minimum of 7 days. Guns are not my friend and I have never had any interest in them for recreation of otherwise.

So this morning, my case manager and her supervisor, who I have spoken with over the telephone but not in person, arrived, uninvited at my parents home to make me sign a contract stating that I would harm myself. Upon saying that the only contract I sign is one with my G-D, I was told that they wanted to continue to help me through this difficult journey, but that in order to do so, I had to sign the contract, even after adimitly denying ever making an inference to a gun and especially to blowing my head of. I signed the contract with less than half a smile.

They proceeded to ask me for my medication and my casemanager, my regular nurse, counted my medicine in front of me, regressing my ego to the age of a mere two year and upon her supervisors approval, gave me back what was not considered 'medication of excess'. Now when I asked WHY the nurse, being so concerned over my life yesterday LEFT to go to meeting with a physician, there was no response. When they told me to increase my medicine for anxiety I wondered if they understood that their actions were increasing my anxiety. And I wondered if they just witnessed the contradiction that I did, throwing out medicine of excess on to tell me to take more of another...

My father listening in the background, excused himself but before making his exit, he decided to do it in grand fashion by saying; "Excuse me ladies but I have an appointment with my wife so I must leave you. And if I do not get ready she will come home and beat me". This prompted me to scream at my father as he laughed and the two ladies looked his direction with caution and wonder. He continued to say, "Well, if they don't believe me I can show them the deep scars and bruises." I shook my head and he belllowed harder and shut his bedroom door.

Now I can only imagine how this will be interpreted and watch as someone from social services will probably make a surprise visit to the house and question my mother over my father's demented humor. And although I did find it quite amusing, and fitting with the topic at hand, I do not think that hospice workers, nor my mother will feel the same. And in the event that someone does approach my mother when we least expect it, They will ask me what happened and in their hands will be a contract that I signed stated that I will not knowingly and willingly harm myself under the care of my hospice team.

The only thing left to do is to be thankful that I still have my shoe laces and my belt and I was not forced into an wagon, padded and asked to wear orange