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The 20-Something Barrage

Posted Jan 08 2011 12:02am
To delineate the present, I must expose the past.

I'm fuzzy on the time table (for time slows to a bloody crawl where Dialysis is concerned) so lets just say "two years ago."

That sounds about right. Or not. It doesn't really matter.

Gelatinous Clinic Manager was in charge and I didn't quite agree with her policies or actions.

1) Having new staff sit in the chair for three hours to "experience" Dialysis. Most staff members I heard from said it was "fun and easy." "I just sat there and watched TV. And got paid for it!"

What an IQ-Depleting Idea. You can't really experience Dialysis without really experiencing Dialysis. This was an abhorrent idea.

2) Brought her dog into the clinic to "improve morale."

You've just taken an attempt at a clean, sterile environment and vomited back in my face. I love dogs. I don't love your blatant stupidity.

3) Hiring new staff in hopes of getting laid.

This final act of brilliance is absolutely, positively, no-holds barred, Goddamnit-this-is-fucking-stupid true.

Near the end of her tenure (whether she was fired or quit is still quietly debated in the halls behind the urine barrels) she hired a bunch of new Cleaners. These are the individuals I depend on to keep my Dialysis filter free and clear from blood, bleach and other wonderful substances that probably aren't helping my situation any. But God help me, they're needed.

She hired nothing but young, 20-something knuckleheads. All male, sharing three different IQ points on every shift they inhabited.

Suddenly, the entire clinic floor became a frat house.

Melon Head. Spiky Fool. Blank Stare. Blank Stare II. Chris Farley.

And my current nemesis within the walls of Dialysis: Dark Haired Goon.

He started on the night shift and I began to notice that he would spend the last 45-60 minutes of every shift doing absolutely shit-fuck nothing.

Played on the computer. Talking up the other 20-somethings in his posse. Laughing and shouting while patients were suffering insufferable pain.

Every. Single. Shift.

Now here's where it gets disgusting. And appalling.

A major sporting event is airing on most of the patient's TV's. The Giants are in the World Series or something.

I'm seated in the Stacy Memorial Chair #15. Iif I die at clinic, a distinct possibility with these chuckleheads, they don't have to rename the chair.

To my right is a half wall. To my left is an empty chair due to my inability to deal with other patients idiosyncrasies (translation: dumb ass behavior.)

On the other side of said wall is Dark Haired Goon. He's whooping it up because the Giants are playing well. He has 60 other duties to perform, but he'd rather make himself the most important individual on the clinic floor.

Meanwhile, back in Chair #15, Wacky Beared Tech is doing his utmost best to insert menacing 15 gauge needles into my unwilling fistula. Both lidocaine injections missed (again) so I'm in incredible, blistering, violent pain.

I'm trying to keep as quiet as possible, but my body gives my secret away. I'm uncontrollably squirming, but my arm remains still in hopes of success.

The situation is already ugly. I'm going to feel this for days.

But what is Dark Haired Goon up to? Doing his best to try and distract my PCT (Patient Care Technician.)

"OHMYGODWACKYBEARDEDTECHDIDYOUSEETHATPLAYLOOKLOOKLOOKLOOK!"

Asshole Stacy began his Rage about ten minutes ago. I realize now the squirming is because I'm trying to keep him bottled. As the pain increases, so does my lack of control.

"Will you shut the fuck up you fucking moron!"

The celebration ceased. So did his attention on the game. He just stood there, mouth agape, searching the tiny crevice holding his brain, wondering what on God's Earth he could have done.

Wacky Bearded Tech finished, trying to stifle a laugh. The misery was over. The needles were placed.

Dark Bearded Goon continued to stand there, shocked that someone would call him on his bullshit.

Did I get a "hey, I'm sorry I was distracting your PCT?" Or a "that was rude, it will never happen again."

If you checked "none of the above" congratulations, you're following the story perfectly.

But it gets better. And I must rename my mortal enemy.

Dark Haired Pussy.

Over the next few treatments, none of the Pretty Boy Cleaner's would even look in my direction. And I hear from Raven Haired Temptress that he whined the story to everyone on the staff, making me the bad guy for desiring some professionalism from him for once.

If I had the chance, this is what I would say to him:

To you, this is a fast food job. A place to come, make some scratch, and pal around with your buddies. You seem to have no comprehension of the seriousness of your situation.

One mistake by you, my body fails. Death arrives while you're playing Farmville on computers intended to extend my Life.

You have no business in the medical field. None whatsoever. I curse you, for you will be my undoing.

Epilogue:

Two events have happened since that wonderfully venomous sentence I blurted:

1) Garbage is piled up at my chair.

Today I arrive at #15 to find a pile of garbage piled in the corner, behind my chair. Some of it was cluttered along the side, so I kicked to the back corner wall with his other rancid friends. It was disgusting.

Two other, overflowing garbage cans were between my chair and the staff computer. Garbage was strewn around them as well. Dark Haired Pussy was working at the computer nearby.

I've been a Dialysis patients for 6 years, 7 months and 8 days and I've never experienced anything like this before. It was his responsibility, and from what I could tell, he did it on purpose. Stilted Accent Tech had to ask him to do his job. Pitiful.

2) They're promoting him to PCT and he's being trained right now.

In case you're keeping score there at home, that's Mindless Bureaucracy 7, Stacy the Dialysis Patient, 0.
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