Some Good

Three years is a long time for some.  2017 was what I like to call my return to adulting year.  It was the year my eldest was born, and sacrifices I’d begun to make to ensure good parenting.  

So I took this job with this state hospital.  Was it a dream job for me?  Far from it.  I never wanted to go back into mental health, but I did because it was paying more at the time.

Other than really great stories about the patients, their psychosis, voice inflections, and personal interactions--there were the staff.  There’s nothing better than a good damn co-worker.  On the shift I worked, I had several.  Some took a minute to get used to, others were Saints from the start, and others still went from co-workers to friends.  

It takes a special type of muthafucka (and I mean that with the greatest respect) to work with acutely mentally ill patients.  There’s a level of professionalism that sinks slightly and is still acceptable.  There are pauses when patients say certain things, and staff faces become purple or red, doing their damndest not to laugh in a patient’s face; there is silent understanding, and inner laughter.  

These individuals knew me as a new dad.  A proud man who would glowingly show baby pictures to anyone if it would brighten their day.  They knew I worked hard, didn’t shy away from confrontation, or the trash at the end of the night.  They also knew I was always good for a smile if nothing else.  And they helped my black ass out!  They gifted me with baby shower offerings, covered shifts for me, and gave me space when I needed it.

I will miss many of my co-workers, our rituals, our routines, our ways, our end of the week jokes, and mutual respect for the work we put into the job.  We put in 40 hours a week, and rarely were there off days taken.  We knew our patients and forged relationships with them (at least most of the time).

It will be hard leaving these excellent people, it’s always hard leaving someone you’ve grown with.  I can honestly say I respect the bulk of my co-workers--definitely the floor staff.

In closing, this was some good.  In the end when you’ve checked out, suffering from compassion fatigue, with zero fucks to give, you look over at your co-worker.  And they’re doing their job.  You stand up, and remember your interview, when you said, ‘yes, when the time comes, if the time comes, I will give a two week notice.’ 

Then you bust tail for two weeks, because your co-worker deserves that.