…Ay ay ay (a-a-a or i-i-i)…

I find it necessary to write tonight, after my days work, but usually this feeling calls for written reflection. Tonight, it is already 2249 and I report back to work at 0645 so I figured typing would do, especially because I love typing more than writing script…and, to tag along from my last post, I also thought it may do well to talk about my job on a public platform.

Reaching out to all city kids and those who work hard to identify as such – where have you been in Coney Island? I could guess, there’s almost absolutely no reason for you to go anywhere else in the area, unless, possibly, you know someone in Seagate. I think hard on how to properly express my perspective on the contrast of realities I experience, Seagate vs. the rest of the area is definitely one of them. For the sake of everyones time, Seagate is Magenta, the 4-5 block radius that you’ve been to is Orange, and the rest is Dark Red.
There’s nothing really out of the ordinary, really. There is always severe poverty in close proximity to the rest of the world. Again, but in a broader statement, there is no reason for you to place yourself in an enviornment just to experience the enviornment, which is ironic because many of the impoverished community strive to experience “wealth”, even just for a day. This society does not have their riches in order, and those are classified with such, work to keep us far from it.

Anyway – typing makes it a lot easier to go off on tangents – the reason for my scribing tonight, is predominantly because of a call I had….but also the harsh reality of moving on from the death of a 30 year old who got hit by a garbage truck… a truck that had to get flagged down two blocks away because he didn’t even know he hit someone. My crew, my senior member, was flagged for the job, and he expressed that she knew she was dying – how? I rather not spiral on death although lately i’ve been relieved after convincing myself that the rumination is the hardest part.

The main storyline that has stuck with me tonight, is walking into the projects in Coney, meeting 3 PO squads, and our patient, a 59 year old female, who was accompanied by her 21 year old son, “I.” The kitchen you walk into is lit by a faint yellow bulb, either bought that way or its encasing hasn’t had a chance to get cleaned. In certain standards the apartment may be clean although there’s an equivilant to what some would call “sout” all over the walls. See on the street, you see water bugs and cockroaches, but the roaches that live in the houses are more like “babies”. There is always about 3 different types, and they are blind to the eye on first glance but the longer you’re exposed, the more you see them. All the interior tends to be the same – the open stove and cream colored wooden cabinetry. There’s a baren table opposite the appliances, and in this lady’s home there were two large stacks of police paperwork. The seargent of the bunch approached us and told us the pt was a chronic caller. Her son, “I,” was swinging from the handles of wheelchair that was by the window, his head facing towards the sheet covered window. His swinging was distracting, like he was sending a message. The call type was for an injury that the mom sucumbed from an older son of hers one week ago. She told us that her kids are in and out of the house. I tried to speak to “I” from a slight distance, with mom and PD in the way – he didn’t answer, likely because he didn’t think I was speaking to him. Once I realized mom was off kilter a bit, I dismissed PD to get a better gauge. I spoke to “I,” again, this time with my voice projecting right to him. He stopped, looked up, smiled and said, “Hi.” He was gentle, and I did not feel anger being held back although I know I would be welting with anger. The seargant PO did not leave, he attempted to get the pt out of the house by reiterating things she had said that day and in the past. The pt dismissed him and his accusations. I, remained facing the window, and began laughing when mom spoke, it was relatable. I began to feel angry too. There is so much not talked about in society, b which is so devastating because what’s important matters, but nobody knows what’s important, especially those that can make some sort of a difference, what do you do. Mom is sick, something I relate too, but woman are tough enough to hide it – to remain unclassified as an EDP in the system because they are that selfish. “I” had eczema all over his body and he is 21. There’s a different time and place to talk about ignorance and responsibility. For now, mom did not do her job.

Ok, well, what else? This enviornment is not unique to the patient, most project homes are very similar. Depressing is too cliche. Anger is a minimum. Motivation, unknown. Perserverance, no doubt. Mom stated that “I” had done a flip the other night and his leg hit the stove – she asked us to check him out, he said, “no pain.” He said he doesn’t parttake in gymnastics or acrobatics, it was very sweet because it was obvious how active of a boy he is.

See, mom is sick. When we were leaving, after the RMA, PD was still outside, and they sighed after being there over an hour, and always having to report to the apartment. I said, “ah, she seems a bit EDP,” they said, “i dont know.” This is remarkable, honestly, with no negative president behind the statement. I have learned that almost everyone can’t identify or speak with the understanding for someone with psychological problems. Even my partner wasn’t certain. He expressed frustration with the system – he’s only been working in it 22 years. I am not surprised by PD not having their whereabouts. The seargent was a smart guy, he definitely knew she was sick. The only time I can tell of a PO understanding, I feel in my soul that there’s crazy ladies in their life. There could be many other reasons for their understanding, and I find it really touching when someone is able to reflect profoundly – their understanding of these diseases. It is not that I understand it all, to put it simply, I know close to nothing – this is why I am in school, excited for a more thorough understanding. What I do understand though is the sense of unconsciousness that these individuals have, when in and out of episodes. I understand that there is a an infinite range of stress that can occur for someone to begin to develop illness in the brain. Let me stretch it to say that physical health, can stem from mental health and definitely does. The body does inform the mind, but the mind is the only interpreter for the heart and all else. We desperatly need more people to work with this.

Something I do not want to get into at the moment, but is pertanent to this area of thinking, although beggers can’t be choosers, so it is hard to speak of definitively, is those that then do go through the schooling to put themselves in these helpful positions. I question why a lot. Why are you here if you use ego and bias to make your decisions? Why are you here if you remain thinking you have definitive knowledge? Why does “smart,” mean a piece of paper when you cannot maintain kind rapor with those around you?

Have a good day!