Special
Last summer as well as this, and into the fall, I took a job that changed me. I fully admit, I did not do my homework, I was just randomly answering ads for employment once I put certain words in the search engine, it appeared, and I answered it. I walked into the elementary school where the summer program was taking place, and was shocked. This was a summer program working with the developmentally disabled population, the student population age ranged from that of preschoolers to the early/mid twenties. The ambulatory ones were only a few (confined to wheelchairs and walkers), but most were mobile. And they were either suffering from autism or a form of mental retardation. It gave me pause as it would anyone. Our first reaction when we see a person like that in public is a feeling of fear, then replaced by a sadness. Having never been around people like this before, I had never gotten to the third phase of feeling about them, which is wonder. You look at them, from the little kids to the older ones, and wonder about them. What are they thinking or feeling? Do they see and feel and sense things the same way that others do? What are they aware of? And most importantly, you wonder, do they know that they're retarded? Rhetorical questions, to be sure, ones I don't have an answer to.
Though I could have backed out, I chose to stay in it. Anything to make a buck, I told myself. I was put in with the preschoolers, who were otherwise normal behaving children save for the one who hated me and the one who had irrational fits of screaming. They were emotionally disabled, had perpetual crying jags and explosive anger. Since they were preschoolers, it was easier to handle. On occasion I had to work with some of the older children who were in their early to mid teens, as well as the ones in their early to mid twenties. They were challenging to say the least, and a great source of fear at first. Like everything else, you learn to adapt to the needs and wants of people around you. When they had a tantrum and didn't get something they wanted, they would react with screams and an occasional lashing out physically. Fortunately for me, I had plenty of martial arts training behind me that allowed me to block them with hands and forearms before they made contact with my person. Those who used their fingernails to scratch were the truly evil ones who derived great pleasure from hurting others, and you got over it. People outside asked how I could stand being around the mooing, the tears and the screaming of the intensives, I said I just did. I enjoyed it I guess, or I felt I had to have a challenge and it changed me. It gave me a great sense of patience, endurance, made me more appreciative of the fact I was born normal. I just learned how to handle it. Nine out of ten times the person was having a fit of fear or being unsure of things around them, and you just needed to not be afraid, approach them, and calm them down with verbal ques. This summer, however, things were different. We had a pay cut, the kids in the program were not as intensive as the ones the summer before were, and I was placed in room where the kids were rather squirrelly. Teaching is difficult, or in this case being the adult in charge is difficult, to be sure, but when you are presented with the evil child who takes great joy in hurting others that you are forced at some point to be the 1 on 1 to is when you become disillusioned. What made last summer worthwhile was to be with my little angel P, a hydrocephalus who can somewhat walk with braces on his legs thanks to PT/OT from the walker he was in last year. He was cute, he was sweet, and he loved me as much as I loved him. The one you get up for every morning and change their diapers for is what makes the day for you. It made sitting in the sensory room in the dark on a gym mat rocking an autistic kid in your arms who was screaming and sobbing at you all the more vivid. You're doing this so you can be with P today.
At the beginning of the program, we were given a presentation by members of human resources who made an additional offer to all on staff. If anyone who was interested in becoming a direct care supporter at one of their group homes throughout the city, please contact her. I thought about it and decided that I would be one of those people who would do so. So in July I was placed at a group home for the developmentally disabled on the west side. How many things do we go into thinking "What's the worst that could happen?", right? Needless to say, it's been a learning experience.
Early mornings I am the first one to arrive on staff. After unlocking the office doors and pulling out the binders on each consumer, I distribute medication to each one who comes in. The place is a cluster of twelve apartments that look like little houses in a row behind a chain link fence with a main office up front. Each consumer lives in each apartment by themselves, usually coming into the office space to either pick up their meds or to the communal closet to collect toiletry items (paper towels, soap, toilet paper, etc.), or do the laundry in the laundry room. On weekdays, most will go off to their jobs once they are picked up from a transportation service or take the bus, and it's silent time for the rest of the morning. I should probably write an individual book or two based on each consumer's story, each is quite a character. D comes in and likes to listen to Alan Jackson on his tablet, and he has a million miscellaneous things stuffed into his pockets at all times. J comes in and takes her blood sugars and talks about things. Some days I don't listen to it, some days I do as she is directing questions at me. She likes it when I answer her even if it's an "I'm not sure" or "I don't know anything about that". Another gal, L, suffered from extreme anxiety and usually spent much of her time crying silently in the chair before the window. G was another sweet guy in his early twenties, he took pills by the bucket and a few injectables for his diabetes, and we went on an outing to Carol & John's Comic Book Shop for Halloween nearby once. Another was wonderful to work with, he was called GarBear because he was just that, a teddy bear. They were the enjoyable ones.
Some say that DDs are the sweetest people to be around. To be sure, but some are not. Eventually you learn that like normal people who have quirks and goods and bads to their personalities, there are the ones who annoy you. M was just one of those, a constant complainer who threw tantrums about everything and anything, made everything about her and had an endless string of doctor's appointments to have million and one surgeries for her myriad of problems. Z was the resident princess who refused to cooperate with anyone or anything, the perpetual pain in the ass who refused to take her meds, would not show up for her appointments with social workers or a doctor's office. H was the perpetual pervert who always wanted to touch any and every woman who came within spiting distance of him, and most days would be looking at internet porn on his computer. I kept my distance as much as possible, save for the one day he did not take no for an answer. Two left hooks and a right cross took care of that (not that the supervisor knew about that). And then there was Denny. Poor, lost Denny. He looked like one of those hippie burnouts who still hangs around Grateful Dead concerts (even though they do not exist anymore and haven't in a long time). Years ago he suffered from a traumatic brain injury and had short term memory damage, he could not remember how to get from Point A to Point B. A staff member saw him almost everyday for over two years and he still did not recognize her. During my first week or two, I opened the office door and ran right into a policeman just as he was about to knock. Denny had snuck out during the night and was found creeping around a golf course miles away, someone called the police and brought his creeper self back. I thanked him for bringing him back, and a few weeks later Denny was evicted. He was to be put in a higher security facility but was put in a hotel instead for some reason. Another staff member got a call from the Akron police department days later, they found him wandering on a highway shoulder. Unfortunately there was nothing anyone could do for him since he was no longer under protection and no one could go down to get him. Someday (if not already) he's just going to vanish.
I was assigned as a 1 on 1 to an older guy named Robert. Robert, although in his sixties, was a throwback to another time and place. Apparently his Great Depression Era family (long since passed away) had affected him to such a point that he hoarded everything possible. When I first came into his apartment, I found piles and piles of stuff that he had collected way up over my knees. And it was my job to organize it without having him throw a tantrum about moving things. He threw tantrums when I didn't sit in the right chair or when I broke his concentration, he liked to tell me all about the Jehovah's Witnesses he got a phone call from every day, or buildings that used to be in some place which had long since disappeared. Eventually he and I would sit and watch Walker, Texas Ranger or Cops or Judge Alex together some days once I had finally gotten him to part with things or put them in the storage locker in the parking lot. His existence was very depressing, being that he was all alone in the world and he had no friends or relatives who would see him. But he shoved me in the chest one day, he didn't say thank you for cleaning out his bedroom, things got weird between me and the managers, and when we had gotten down to eight residents, I realized my head would be the first on the chopping block if they cut hours and decided it was time to leave.
The primary reason I left was because it was depressing. It's sad to see people in such a state when nothing can be done about it. It's also a horrifying realization when you see the very shady element that hangs out around DD people who take advantage of them. One had a boyfriend who only appeared on paydays then spent the rest of the time wandering around to his other girlfriends who took care of him here and there (as I think the guy was also homeless), others had pushers come to their houses and kept their stashes of prescriptions and meth kits in their drawers. You can't do much about it other than inform management, and they sit back on their haunches and say "(Name) has rights and they can do whatever they want and we are not to interfere with their personal relationships with others." The world's full of lonely people, but a lot of them there are really alone. It's similar to being in a nursing home in that aspect, but at least with nursing home residents you know they have an ending in sight rather than this never ending mess that some of them are in.
Jobs like this have a high turnover rate, and I see why completely. Some days it's boring, some days it's crazy, and some days you have those "how did I get here" moments. Like the day I was cleaning out an empty apartment with garbage up to my hip in some places, feeling like I was Clarise Starling walking into Buffalo Bill's dungeon. And the guy had a cat named Precious which was super creepy. They pay peanuts, but it's a living, I told myself. Then my substitute teaching career started to take off and I realized very quickly that I would rather be subbing rather than doing this. So I gave my notice. Another chapter comes to a close, but once again, it changed me for the better. It was a slice of life few if any get to see, and I was there.
Though I could have backed out, I chose to stay in it. Anything to make a buck, I told myself. I was put in with the preschoolers, who were otherwise normal behaving children save for the one who hated me and the one who had irrational fits of screaming. They were emotionally disabled, had perpetual crying jags and explosive anger. Since they were preschoolers, it was easier to handle. On occasion I had to work with some of the older children who were in their early to mid teens, as well as the ones in their early to mid twenties. They were challenging to say the least, and a great source of fear at first. Like everything else, you learn to adapt to the needs and wants of people around you. When they had a tantrum and didn't get something they wanted, they would react with screams and an occasional lashing out physically. Fortunately for me, I had plenty of martial arts training behind me that allowed me to block them with hands and forearms before they made contact with my person. Those who used their fingernails to scratch were the truly evil ones who derived great pleasure from hurting others, and you got over it. People outside asked how I could stand being around the mooing, the tears and the screaming of the intensives, I said I just did. I enjoyed it I guess, or I felt I had to have a challenge and it changed me. It gave me a great sense of patience, endurance, made me more appreciative of the fact I was born normal. I just learned how to handle it. Nine out of ten times the person was having a fit of fear or being unsure of things around them, and you just needed to not be afraid, approach them, and calm them down with verbal ques. This summer, however, things were different. We had a pay cut, the kids in the program were not as intensive as the ones the summer before were, and I was placed in room where the kids were rather squirrelly. Teaching is difficult, or in this case being the adult in charge is difficult, to be sure, but when you are presented with the evil child who takes great joy in hurting others that you are forced at some point to be the 1 on 1 to is when you become disillusioned. What made last summer worthwhile was to be with my little angel P, a hydrocephalus who can somewhat walk with braces on his legs thanks to PT/OT from the walker he was in last year. He was cute, he was sweet, and he loved me as much as I loved him. The one you get up for every morning and change their diapers for is what makes the day for you. It made sitting in the sensory room in the dark on a gym mat rocking an autistic kid in your arms who was screaming and sobbing at you all the more vivid. You're doing this so you can be with P today.
At the beginning of the program, we were given a presentation by members of human resources who made an additional offer to all on staff. If anyone who was interested in becoming a direct care supporter at one of their group homes throughout the city, please contact her. I thought about it and decided that I would be one of those people who would do so. So in July I was placed at a group home for the developmentally disabled on the west side. How many things do we go into thinking "What's the worst that could happen?", right? Needless to say, it's been a learning experience.
Early mornings I am the first one to arrive on staff. After unlocking the office doors and pulling out the binders on each consumer, I distribute medication to each one who comes in. The place is a cluster of twelve apartments that look like little houses in a row behind a chain link fence with a main office up front. Each consumer lives in each apartment by themselves, usually coming into the office space to either pick up their meds or to the communal closet to collect toiletry items (paper towels, soap, toilet paper, etc.), or do the laundry in the laundry room. On weekdays, most will go off to their jobs once they are picked up from a transportation service or take the bus, and it's silent time for the rest of the morning. I should probably write an individual book or two based on each consumer's story, each is quite a character. D comes in and likes to listen to Alan Jackson on his tablet, and he has a million miscellaneous things stuffed into his pockets at all times. J comes in and takes her blood sugars and talks about things. Some days I don't listen to it, some days I do as she is directing questions at me. She likes it when I answer her even if it's an "I'm not sure" or "I don't know anything about that". Another gal, L, suffered from extreme anxiety and usually spent much of her time crying silently in the chair before the window. G was another sweet guy in his early twenties, he took pills by the bucket and a few injectables for his diabetes, and we went on an outing to Carol & John's Comic Book Shop for Halloween nearby once. Another was wonderful to work with, he was called GarBear because he was just that, a teddy bear. They were the enjoyable ones.
Some say that DDs are the sweetest people to be around. To be sure, but some are not. Eventually you learn that like normal people who have quirks and goods and bads to their personalities, there are the ones who annoy you. M was just one of those, a constant complainer who threw tantrums about everything and anything, made everything about her and had an endless string of doctor's appointments to have million and one surgeries for her myriad of problems. Z was the resident princess who refused to cooperate with anyone or anything, the perpetual pain in the ass who refused to take her meds, would not show up for her appointments with social workers or a doctor's office. H was the perpetual pervert who always wanted to touch any and every woman who came within spiting distance of him, and most days would be looking at internet porn on his computer. I kept my distance as much as possible, save for the one day he did not take no for an answer. Two left hooks and a right cross took care of that (not that the supervisor knew about that). And then there was Denny. Poor, lost Denny. He looked like one of those hippie burnouts who still hangs around Grateful Dead concerts (even though they do not exist anymore and haven't in a long time). Years ago he suffered from a traumatic brain injury and had short term memory damage, he could not remember how to get from Point A to Point B. A staff member saw him almost everyday for over two years and he still did not recognize her. During my first week or two, I opened the office door and ran right into a policeman just as he was about to knock. Denny had snuck out during the night and was found creeping around a golf course miles away, someone called the police and brought his creeper self back. I thanked him for bringing him back, and a few weeks later Denny was evicted. He was to be put in a higher security facility but was put in a hotel instead for some reason. Another staff member got a call from the Akron police department days later, they found him wandering on a highway shoulder. Unfortunately there was nothing anyone could do for him since he was no longer under protection and no one could go down to get him. Someday (if not already) he's just going to vanish.
I was assigned as a 1 on 1 to an older guy named Robert. Robert, although in his sixties, was a throwback to another time and place. Apparently his Great Depression Era family (long since passed away) had affected him to such a point that he hoarded everything possible. When I first came into his apartment, I found piles and piles of stuff that he had collected way up over my knees. And it was my job to organize it without having him throw a tantrum about moving things. He threw tantrums when I didn't sit in the right chair or when I broke his concentration, he liked to tell me all about the Jehovah's Witnesses he got a phone call from every day, or buildings that used to be in some place which had long since disappeared. Eventually he and I would sit and watch Walker, Texas Ranger or Cops or Judge Alex together some days once I had finally gotten him to part with things or put them in the storage locker in the parking lot. His existence was very depressing, being that he was all alone in the world and he had no friends or relatives who would see him. But he shoved me in the chest one day, he didn't say thank you for cleaning out his bedroom, things got weird between me and the managers, and when we had gotten down to eight residents, I realized my head would be the first on the chopping block if they cut hours and decided it was time to leave.
The primary reason I left was because it was depressing. It's sad to see people in such a state when nothing can be done about it. It's also a horrifying realization when you see the very shady element that hangs out around DD people who take advantage of them. One had a boyfriend who only appeared on paydays then spent the rest of the time wandering around to his other girlfriends who took care of him here and there (as I think the guy was also homeless), others had pushers come to their houses and kept their stashes of prescriptions and meth kits in their drawers. You can't do much about it other than inform management, and they sit back on their haunches and say "(Name) has rights and they can do whatever they want and we are not to interfere with their personal relationships with others." The world's full of lonely people, but a lot of them there are really alone. It's similar to being in a nursing home in that aspect, but at least with nursing home residents you know they have an ending in sight rather than this never ending mess that some of them are in.
Jobs like this have a high turnover rate, and I see why completely. Some days it's boring, some days it's crazy, and some days you have those "how did I get here" moments. Like the day I was cleaning out an empty apartment with garbage up to my hip in some places, feeling like I was Clarise Starling walking into Buffalo Bill's dungeon. And the guy had a cat named Precious which was super creepy. They pay peanuts, but it's a living, I told myself. Then my substitute teaching career started to take off and I realized very quickly that I would rather be subbing rather than doing this. So I gave my notice. Another chapter comes to a close, but once again, it changed me for the better. It was a slice of life few if any get to see, and I was there.
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