Helping People Die

Everybody who knows me knows that I am a poverty stricken student who is trying to make a career change. Those who know me well know that I am trying to transition to English teacher/writer/painter/anything but what I have done for 30 plus years--nursing. When people ask me what I did on winter break, they already know that I will probably say that I worked as a nurse.

What they are not ready for is my answer to their queries about specifics. "I help people die" I say with an evil little grin. This elicits a finite variety of reactions. The majority give a shiver and screw up their faces a bit in either fright or disgust at the implied macabre. Some people think I am incredibly noble. Now, we all know that the idea of me being noble is about as far from the truth as you can get. One fellow student asked me if I was a kind of Kevorkian nurse. I applauded him for knowing who Jack Kevorkian was. A number of people got a little closer to the truth when they ask/state "So, you didn't get a break." Nope. I didn't get a break.

What I did get was the car fixed, November and December rent paid, the cat neutered, November and December cable paid, my hair cut, and the list goes on. I worked every day but Christmas. I also started to count up the various ways you can make extra cash as a Hospice nurse. The most cost effective way is pronouncements. Ch-ching! This means pronouncing people dead and making a variety of last minute arrangements. It takes the least amount of time while giving you the same amount of money you make for an admission which can take 2 plus hours. I find myself praying for dead people on Friday night. If only I could fill my regular Saturday 12 hour shift with lots of pronouncements! This could mean a new laptop!

But I get ahead of myself. Right now, there are no dead people on today's schedule to pronounce or do anything with for that matter. I can attend to my other life until the phone rings. What will my future consist of? After all, I am an English major. After all, I am a nurse and I do like money. I visualize half dead patients and grieving families intertwined with teaching English while writing odd little stories about death and painting snow covered hillsides where the husks of human remains slumber.