Universal

There’s no dialogue. There’s no dialect The only language this idiot knows is glossolalia. Bring him to church, right? Then maybe somebody would care about this idiot or what this idiot is saying ,but nobody does. Nobody cares. When he was young, his parents cared, his teachers cared, his friends cared; people cared, but his parents are dead, he hasn’t kept in touch with his teachers or his friends and his parents put him in their will so our company could take care of him. I do my job, but that’s all it is to me; a job; a paycheck. I know the move he makes when he needs to go to the bathroom and I know how to help him in the bathroom. It’s a job and I want to feed him and I want to give him his medicine and I want to do everything a CNA should do. CNA is a certified nursing assistance. They’re also HHH which are home health aids. Maybe you knew that already.

It’s a job it pays the bills but again that’s all it is. It’s just a job. There’s no room for promotions. Occasionally they’ll give us a slight raise at Christmas what is the deadline Job and everybody knows that, except Jon. That’s the man’s name, Jon, with no H. Like the man who invented the flushing toilet; Jon. We don’t argue, but we don’t talk either. Talking to him would be pointless. Just saying nonsense in response so we use hand signals. He tells me when he’s hungry he doesn’t run. He needs a bathroom. He tells me if there’s points to stain out his clothes if he needs me to wash them wash his clothes once a week. What is it for fun? I don’t know because he can never tell us what he wants to do. He can point to things that he needs but he never really does anything for fun. I’ve tried different kind of music and doesn’t like any music. What does it like? GOK God only knows we have a chart with his diagnosis and all his problems with medicines. We make soap notes every month for the insurance. The insurance company care that he’s dead or alive cause they get paid or they pay for us rather what means they’d be happy if it was dead too. His life insurance but my job is a helping or just do what I need to do get my paycheck. Go home my enough money to get married and have kids, but probably not save up and go back to school or something I like doing, right? But I do my job, get my paycheck. Go to the clubs and try to get a boyfriend, like that’s going to happen. “How do you fit a full size elephant into a Safeway bag? Take the S off of safe and the F off of way”. Damn straight. Think about it.

Shit! New symbol this moron is making. Ask him to point to the problem. Strange. He’s shaking. He doesn’t have diabetes. Which means. Fuck. Get the shit from the car: the bp machine, O2 finger thing, and all the other shit. You know what nurses. CNAs, and HHAs have in common? We all hate paperwork. The son-of-a-bitch keeps moving even when I’m taking his vitals. The machines say error and retry. Damn it, Jon, sit still. We’re not allowed to tie him down or give him sleeping pills without a dr’s prescription. Sit still. Damn it. Call my supervisor to find out what the fuck I should do. She says to call an ambulance to be on the safe side. Great. Start filling out the fucking forms and ask the EMTs where the fuck they’re taking him. Maybe I should buy a lotto ticket.

When he dies, I’ll get another client with some brain cells. Maybe. Maybe today is the day. Do the ABC shit. He’s fine. He’s breathing, but his heart is fast. Probably having a CVA or TIA. He ain’t passed out though. Maybe an MI. Gotta explain to the damn medics he’s aphasian. From Aphasia. That’s his language. Gobbledygook.

They gave me this card. This person has aphasia. Please be patient as they can’t answer any questions. What they should have said is take this moron to the nearest veterinary hospital. They deal with people who can’t speak English. I hear the siren crescendo in the background thank God they can deal with him for a while

and I explained to them what’s going on. They put him in the stretcher and they’re able to take his vital signs, which are not good, so I was right. I ask the EMTs what hospital they’re going to and write it in my notes. That’s where I’m driving.

*

I hate hospitals most people do sitting around in the waiting room with people who might have contagious diseases. Brought a book. Gotta have something to do while Jon’s sleeping, if I’m awake. Lot of background noise. TVs on, babies crying, but I keep trying to read.

The book sucks. Figures. I could’ve gotten any, book but I get this one. I could pray, but I don’t care. I’m getting paid and packed breakfast. Brought my portable CD player, headphones, and 5 CDs. This ain’t my first rodeo. If there’s a surgery, I’ll visit after the surgery. Gave EMTs copies of Jon’s med carts. Paperwork’s in order. Need to figure out who to contact if he dies. Someone in the state. Company will take care of it.

Then, the receptionist calls me up. That’s what you call an update about Jon and she asks my name. So, I show her my Driver’s license and she sends me to room 532. I stop and think. That don’t make no sense. I’m on floor 2 where the 200’s be. Why for they send me to room 532? I get to the elevator, go to room 532 and I see them or rather her. This ain’t my patient, it’s my daughter. Shit!