The clients felt comfortable with me and felt absolutely no shame in telling me their various ailments. For some reason, still unknown to me, but not without speculation, clients felt especially comfortable and open on tuna casserole Tuesdays.
“Brandon?”
“Yes?”
“I have a yeast infection.”
“I’m at lunch right now. Is this something we can talk about later?”
“Well, I guess so, but…”
And what would follow was a detailed breakdown of symptoms using highly visual descriptors aimed at engaging all five senses. These intimate lunchtime chats were designed by the clients as an attempt to be pulled out of some existing responsibility like the therapy that might stop them from killing themselves or some kind of chore. The belief cleaning a toilet was worse than waiting for hours at Olive View Medical Center in Sylmar was not lost on me, but I rarely had sympathy.
These were typical conversations. I had them daily. A client would ask to borrow my lighter and tell me he thinks he has a staph infection while he’s handing it back. Another would have haphazardly changed the bandages on her abscess and it’s infected…again. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve asked questions like,
“Are you sure it was blood?”
“Is it loose and frequent, or just loose?”
“Well, why were you picking at it?”
“Why didn’t you say anything when it started two weeks ago?”
“Are you sure you didn’t steal the speculum from the doctor’s office?”
Or said things like,
“I understand you usually take six, but the bottle says two.”
“Maybe because it’s the first time you’ve eaten in three months.”
“We’re just going to trust the doctor on this one.”
“No.”
“Because.”
“We’re done here.”
“Go back to group.”
Each of these conversations had to be documented and reported, and I had to be able to answer questions about any of them at any time. It was exhausting. The paperwork on a scabies outbreak can outlast the actual outbreak.
On occasion, and especially during cold and flu season, clients would arrive at my office with headaches or congestion and as I’d start filling out the three pages of paperwork to give them an Advil, I would ask, “And how are you feeling otherwise?”
Outside of the clients who would list other benign symptoms looking for a trip to the hospital or bedrest, some clients would talk about feeling stressed about court, or sad because family wouldn’t return calls or hang up after hearing the client’s voice.
I’d remind the clients they were in a safe place and it’s going to be OK and all the other stuff someone told me when I sat in that chair, only a few months before. Sometimes I even meant it. Sometimes, I even believed it.
The only reason to work at a non-profit is because you believe so strongly in the cause; you would be willing to give up competitive wages, reasonable hours, personal time, and vacations. Every penny they save on salary and benefits goes to the services you provide. Job satisfaction and appreciation comes from the hope that as you send people out into the world, you have a part in making a difference.
For me, that wasn’t enough. I left after a few months, which was enough time to learn many, many things.
For instance, how some women’s periods are more difficult every other month because the ovaries alternate dropping eggs. Or how to expedite the welfare application process. Or how to properly strip search someone and administer a tamper-proof urinalysis drug test in less than 10 minutes.
Or just how to listen.
B
