Let's just die.

I hate people. I hate life. I hate university. I just want to shoot myself.

In summary, I'm a bitter, old hag. Whiny, First World brat. What's new?

I'm doing a mental health unit, this semester, actually. I get the feeling I'm going to end up nuts by the end, self-diagnosed with jizbillions of conditions. I already I think I'm something like manic depressive. My tutor mentioned something along the lines of these people having a tendency 'to internalise all their problems, not discuss it, and just lose it at some point'. Something like that. It sounded like me. Then everything does, when you do this sort of course. I could probably convince myself I'm pregnant. Immaculate conception. 

So I had a bad thought recently. Well, it seemed like a bad thought, but I'd like some feedback. Not dying for it. I've gotten used to you people not saying much. The views increase, but alas, all is silent on your front. I swear there are echoes sometimes.

Anyway, I was in a lecture the other day, and the lecturer was discussing all these statistics about the demographic of Oz and all. She talked about birth rates and death rates. Our birth rate isn't too bad, but from what I could deduce, our population isn't growing due to birth, it's more that we live longer. Hurray.

She then showed us these tables on the top causes of death throughout the last years. It varied some, with us 'curing' stuff and other conditions replacing them. Our lecturer very briefly mentioned that the moral is that we're all going to die of something. You cure one, something else comes along. 

I don't know why, but this just stuck in my head.

My thought, in summary: why don't we just let people die?

I've worked in aged care twice, as y'all know. Two different places - one in an affluent suburb, another in the ghetto that is where I live. It's the same thing.

Old people on drugs being shuffled about in this mind-numbing routine, around a prison like setting. They're not really there. Some have loving relatives that come all the time, but too many just sit and stare their days away. They're washed and changed and fed and put to bed like babies. They don't remember things on a daily basis. I'm sure the nurses and PCA workers care for them - I like to think that most people who go into the profession don't do it for the dough. I don't really know if there is a lot of dough involved, actually. I know I cared. Regardless, even if we assume they do care, the point is, it's still a job. It's hard to appreciate the company if you know they're getting paid. For a relationship to be meaningful, you need to be able to share your burdens on equal footing. You can't have a policy or boss dictate the terms and conditions. And yet, for the most part, that's the only kind of relationships that most of these old souls have.

And what is the point?

Aren't we for quality of life, over quantity? 

It's not that I think that we should just stop taking care of our elderly and let them rot. And I can't bring myself to propose a step back seeing as we've come so far.

There is something beautiful about how we traditionally take care of them. You in the Eastern world know what I mean. We keep good old grandma and grandpa in our big family home, forever and always. They get to watch their offspring blossom and expand into an empire. We take care of them, not an institution. Yeah, they may see the doctor frequently, and get given meds. But they're not freakishly doped up, you know? And we're always there. To the end. No one dies alone in a foreign room, staring at an empty ceiling, attached to tubes.

And when they reach 70, 80, 90, or 100, whatever affliction takes them, it still feels... healthy. Normal. Does that make sense? We fight for the lives of our elderly, but not to the point that they live an almost artificial existence. Our elderly, no matter how they decline, are regal. Not neglected. And in that sense, growing old is beautiful.

It's just not the same here.

But as I said, I don't mean that we should stop the drugs now. I just think that we need to stop trying to cure certain conditions that take old people. Alleviate pain, yes. Prevention, yes. But stop trying to fix 'death'. 

JUST LET THEM DIE, FOR GOD'S SAKE. 

LET THEM GO.

Stop holding onto people who aren't even there.

Is that a bad thought?

It's not just that. I remember in year 11, when I was doing literature, we were just starting on Frankenstein, and our teacher asked us if there was anything wrong in trying to banish death. 

"Who doesn't want to live forever?" he asked. 

I pulled a Hermione, for some bizarre reason, with my hand just shooting up. I was the only one. I don't think it's because I'm the only one who had this view. Perhaps the others just hadn't thought about it, or were smart enough to try and keep their opinions at bay.

Of course my teacher beamed.

"And why not, Laila? How could you possibly turn down immortality? Imagine all the never ending fun you could have."

I don't remember exactly what I said, but I remember floundering a bit. I couldn't find the words, but it just felt wrong at the time. I thought about it later, of course, and I realised that a life with a time limit is a meaningful one. When our days are numbered, every now and again, we wake up and realise that we have to make 'em count. Not always, but you know those random YOLO occasions. In this weird way, if we don't die, we have nothing to really live for. When you feel like you have all the time in the world, you don't really take the time to savour it, right? 

I donno. Just a thought. I realise this post is kind of pointless. No one is going to read this and care enough and nothing will change. 

I think this was just for me to make a mental note: at some point, I have to die. 

At some point, the battle to stay alive isn't worth the fight. 

I'm a nurse in the making, guys. Take a good look at your future ;)

Peace in,

Laila

Never grow up

I've done four placements for paramedics, and I loved them, but I gotta say that the one-week nursing placement I had last week was the one that really hit me.

Aged care. 

I've always been uncomfortable around nudity and stuff, but... now... I've seen it all. I helped with the bathing, the toileting, the changing, the moving, the feeding. It was exhausting stuff, and to be honest, I don't think I did all that much. I was, technically, just assisting. I can't even begin to imagine what it's like to be the actual one-woman-show on a daily basis. Or two-woman-show. For like, 15 dependant elderly residents.

And I discovered that I'm pretty capable. I didn't cringe or giggle stupidly. I did whatever I was told, because... I donno. It had to be done. It can't be helped, and there was nothing funny about it.

[INTERMISSION:

Okay, so there are some things funny about it - i.e. my favourite resident, Barry. 

Day one, he was hitting on all the female assistants in the vicinity. My mentor went to get him up in the morning, and she was trying to pull the sheets up, but he kept clinging on. She wrestled it off him, and she tried to lift his arm, but he refused.

"I'm holding down my stomach," he insisted.

"Why?" my mentor asked, exasperated.

"So I can look slim for you," he replied.

Smooth, huh?

Day two, he was in a bad kind of mood. He started threatening my mentor because he felt they weren't respecting him.

"I'd love to be your husband for a day or two," he said to her.

"Why, Barry? You were just threatening me, why would you be my husband?" my mentor joked.

"I'd clock you  one every morning," he retorted. When my mentors try to stifle their laughter, he continued. "Women like to be noticed."

Day three, I was allocated to another sector for the night shift. However, we went over to his area because we needed to empty the linen. When we walked past his room, I couldn't help but peek in, and he was awake, and before I could escape, he called me in.

"What's going on out there?" he asked.

"Oh, we're just emptying the soiled linen," I replied.

"Why wasn't I informed?" He had that self-entitled, imperious tone.

"Oh - it's not that big a deal. Just cleaning up, you know?"

"Oh, you would think so, wouldn't you?" he said, peering down at me. I mean, he was below me on the bed, but he has that Dumbledore-peering-over-his-half-moon-spectacles thing going on, although he was more conspiratorial as opposed to wise. 

"Well, I'll have you know..." he started, and went on to describe the various weaponry he apparently had around his room. Apparently he had a pistol under the covers, and the table legs weren't really as they seemed. He asserted that he was prepared to leave the room and shoot everyone in the shins, as necessary... something something... Then he started talking about the girl he loved, Phyllis, who apparently didn't love him back, and his father always said that 'you should never make a woman uncomfortable - if she doesn't want you, that's it'... something something... He was always a 'man of the land, not the administration', because the administration was always trying to change the world according to their beliefs and religion and political ideas, but men of the land just lived... and so  on, so forth.

These are just snippets, really - Barry and I had many conversations, most of them not really making sense, but I donno; I felt like there was some kind of wisdom in there. He's a cool guy. I love him.]

But most of it wasn't funny because... because. Because it's hard to see people who have a great number of years behind them, who must have grand stories, who should appear regal, who ought to be treated with a kind of a reverence... It's hard to see these people so diminished, mentally. 

That was really what confronted me - I can't see people losing their minds.

It scares me and it makes me sick, and it's... so hard to deal with. I don't even know how to explain it. I used to hate aging primarily because I like being a kid. Now I'm just scared of aging because I don't want to end up like that.

My mentor implied that one of the ladies could hold a conversation, so I seized an opportunity to feed her. So I started chatting, asking her some questions - do you have children, grandchildren, are you from around here?

We got to the point where she said she was born in England, but married an Aussie bloke, and she considered herself Aussie. I said, awesome, so when did this happen? As in, when did she come out here?

And then she got teary.

"I don't know, I can't remember! It's too long!" she cried out. And my heart broke a little. Ow.

She's not the only one. I mean, they're all (mostly) sweet, but it's just so hard because theoretically you should speak to them with deference, right? But you end up having to be patronising, and you can't help it. It's so hard. 

So no aged care for me. And I'm definitely not growing up.

Also, I had my first personal encounter with a corpse. On my last night, this guy had just been moved back from hospital into palliative care. They thought he had a couple of days at least. The nurse in charge went on break for 10 minutes, and when she came back, he was gone. I had to help wash him.

They go downhill so fast.

When I left, one of my other favourite residents was in the midst of a fever. She was stripped down, sweating and shuddering, and she kept calling out to God. It was awful. And I had to leave right there. I still don't know what happened to her.

Aged care is not for me. I was told that in order to deal, I shouldn't take things personally, but I can't not take it personally. I joined this profession because I like things personal. It feels so cold being detached. I can't do it.

Yep. 

Paramedic placements, on the other hand, have been a lot less overwhelming. I've had four one day shifts across the semester. Nothing particularly dramatic, so no good stories to share, but I do love 'em. I can't be bothered walking down memory lane for that stuff, so maybe I'll just write about my next one :)

Ramadan mubarak to all my Muslims out there ♥

Peace in,

Laila