The Belly of the Beast

October 12, 2009

The pregnant middle SIL had severe back pains around 9:00 pm. Her young husband had gotten very tipsy earlier in the night at a football game. She couldnt stand up with the pains, much less climb the stairs and her shouts and yells were not rousing him. By the the time Wifebian and I got there, he was awake and we drove to the ER. We met little sil there. Wifebian and I left around 3 am before middle SIL had even been seen by a doctor. We woke up at six to an uninformative text saying that the ER didnt do anything and she was going to her doctor today. According to Drs. Internets and Google, it could be normal, it could be a UTI or it could be a (second) miscarriage.

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When I got the call from the ER that my father had died, middle SIL was in town visiting. I woke Lauren up and drove to the hospital. It wasnt until we were in the parking lot that I told her he was dead. I think, if I get pregnant, I will want to hold the cards very close to my chest for some time. I havent quite pegged why I did what I did when he died, but my information is mine, the voice in my head tells me. And it has to become throughly mine before I give it to someone else. OK, I get it. Power and control. (I love how writing helps me explore reality, literally access concepts that are otherwise unaccessible to me. It’s like wearing glasses.)

Wifebian and I havent talked about our values when it comes telling people we are pregnant in the 1st trimester.

In other news, I got a call from a coworker on Friday telling me that she is “being investigated” by the agency and might not be employed with us by Monday. She was all kinds of defensive and immature, talking about how the “West Indian” was going to come out of her. I hate it when people of color attribute feelings of irrationality and anger to their racial or ethnic heritage.  Seriously.

I have yet to share half of the horror stories regarding employees at my quaint little for-profit social service agency. Also, there is paperwork at this place for no paperwork. Like, if you don’t have the correct form, you have to fill out a form explaining why. And get it signed.

I am in the belly of a mythical beast of which I have only ever heard tell.

This morning, the OPK was not exactly negative, it was just kind of negative.

For the month of September, I made 97% of my productivity at my for-profit, community-based mental health agency. Yay on me.

Last night, I saw Capitalism: A Love Story. In it, there is a piece about a judge in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania who made a deal with a for-profit juvenile detention center to detain as many children as possible for their financial gain.

Yesterday, a coworker who is leaving said that there was once this woman at the agency who kept taking a client to her house for sessions. The departing coworker complained to my boss, her boss’ boss and her boss’ boss, as well as her own licensing board, but nothing was done.

It makes me wonder how much money the CE-whatever of my company is making from my 97% productivity, if they even have the balls to distribute that data to emplyees and why all of my families seem so much more high functioning than my families in my previous state, but are receiving more intensive services.

Having worked for a year in a high performing, public charter school in one of the poorest neighborhoods in the country in one of the most scrutinized school districts in the country, I know the politics in these situations are always murky, heart-rending mixture of good intentions, federal funding and civil right violations. I’m not trying to cook up any conspiracy theories, but I would love an hour or two with Lexis-Nexus followed by a half hour with a social work scholar specializing on the privatization of human services.

Also, yesterday, the training director for our state kept saying how certification in the company’s treatment model would one day be more valuable than clinical licensure. I wanted to raise my hand and paraphrase what she had just said to make sure that I heard her right, but I just looked at other people’s faces instead. Maybe I’ll ask a few more questions when my probationary period is over and I’ve got that golden health insurance.

The Car Accident Dream

August 16, 2009

Last night I had a dream that my friend Meredith died in a car accident. She was driving back to Boston after our wedding. I was hysterical. Then, she and I and our two best friends were in a room and she was making comments about how she had these boyfriends who liked her to beat them. In the context of my dream, I had yet to reconcile her death with her presence, much less the sadomasochistic content, before I woke up. We decided not to go to Meeting today.

I got a job on Friday. I will be a supervisor making $6,000.00 less than I made two years ago to do the job I’ll be supervising. Both the paycut and that sentence are sad, but true. I am, of course, excited and terrified. Excited to develop other helping professionals, create team culture, and strive to meet productivity requirements.  Scared that I won’t be able to keep up with the paperwork or that I will have a particularly destructive crazy on my team.

Lauren and I talked with Lauren’s middle sister today about how to talk to Lauren’s parents about the fact that we are making a baby down here in their basement. I don’t want her parents to really be in on it because I don’t want them — as well as their advice and judgements — along for the ride. Lauren says the consequences of not telling them — hurt feelings, betrayed trust — are too serious. Her middle sister is kind, well-adjusted and trying to get pregnant, too. Basically, the middle sister said you have to tell them and lighten up. In my heart I agree, but my head is pissed that I live in someone’s basement.

I can’t wait until her father, who uses our bathroom, finds the first ovulation stick, or whatever they are called. In the mean time, I should be sure to keep the bathroom strewn with dirty pads. Oh, yeah, he uses our bathroom because his office is in the basement and this is his house. No one will really even let me bring up the possibility that maybe it would be nice if Lauren and I had a private bathroom.

At any rate, we are aiming to start inseminations sometime between October and December of this year, which means parent conversation will occur between September and November.

Now, I must write thank you notes for the wedding gifts.