Report from the bottom of the food chain.

As you should all know well by now, this is pretty much an "all-purpose" blog. Within the pages of this fine publication you will find philosophy, dementia, anger, lust, indignation (righteous or not), examination, and my own personal history as it occurs. The reporting of events within the narrow confines of my life is probably the least relevant of all one must endure to enjoy this blog, but tonight I think maybe this episode, based on real life events, might very well rival anything I have inflicted upon you in return for your loyalty and understanding. The steam valve is erupting, my friends, I suggest you duck and cover!

Back in 1993 I ended up, by virtue of a ridiculously easy test that I completed within the span of minutes, and aced by the way, with a piece of paper that "certified" me as a bonifide Nursing Assistant, blessed by the powers that be with the trust to bathe, feed, and otherwise care for in a myriad number of ways the elderly left to die in nursing homes. At the time it was only a step along the way to becoming a fully licensed nurse, which, alas, was not to be, for complicated reasons I don't have time to relate tonight. As it was, I remained a mere CNA, although by virtue of employment by a hospital I was elevated to the heady position of PCT, which stands for Patient Care Technician, a title which certainly makes one feel better about themselves, being referred to as a "technician", rather than a mere aid. I must admit that during my tenure I have been provided with a much more expansive set of capabilities, caring for critically ill patients suffering acute illness, but in return for this knowledge I actually get paid LESS than a CNA with comparable experience, although I do not think I would trade my work day with a nursing home aid due to the added physical stress they endure attempting to take care of the elderly population, which I did do during the first year of my experience with said certificate, and do not wish to return to.

And so, for the next ten years, I became (at the peril of sounding rather arrogant for one occupying such a lowly position) possibly the best PCT this hospital has seen, determined that if this was what I was going to be doing, then I was going to make a science of it. I refined the art of the bed bath, speeding up the procedure yet making it more effective and comfortable for the patient. I have named this "The Michael Method" and have trained countless nurses in it's nuances. I also developed patient transfer procedures which save time and effort, and again, lend less discomfort to the patient, and those procedures have become policy in the unit. I know where EVERYTHING is in the department, how to make all the machines work (the super-double-secret repair method of plugging the offending machine in or pushing the hidden "On" button are some of my mysterious secrets I guard jealously), and many a nurse that has any history with me has breathed a sigh of relief to see that I was working with them that day. What I have just said of course sounds like self-agrandization; I prefer to think of it as mere fact. And so, as reward for all these efforts over the years I have been awarded a few cents in "merit" raises each year that have fallen far behind inflation, effectively leaving me making less money in purchasing power than when I first started. Of course, on top of that, my insurance deductions have also ballooned outrageously, leaving my net pay a mere shadow of the gross. Such are the rewards of the working man.

As a man working in basically a woman's world, I have had the additional challenge of dealing with personalities that can test one's ability not to bring their favorite firearm to work and go hunting. Aside from the fact that each of these girls has that period once a month that makes them turn into some kind of banshee from hell, women have a different approach to conflict resolution than men do. First off, they take double secret offense at something you do and say and let it simmer awhile, usually about two weeks. THEN they storm off to the powers that be, who are also women, to put to rights said offense, which by then, the "perpetrator", having not realized any offense was made to begin with, has forgotten whatever was going on way back when said offense was claimed to have occurred. And there we are, having no clue as how to respond to something we didn't even know happened. Now, to you, my dear lady readers, you may seem inclined to believe that you personally would never handle things in such a fashion, but then again, who knows how many times you were involved in exactly that kind of behavior yet never realized it? Well, men tend to approach conflict in an immediate and direct way, dealing with it face to face, getting it over with one way or another, and moving on. We are not equipped to deal with it in the other fashion, and become rather paranoid trying to detect the next hidden explosion going on under their noses which might show up weeks later to bite them in the ass. Add THAT to the value-detracted joys of my profession.

Then, after all these years, as if my employers joyously happened across yet ANOTHER way to disrespect me as a human being, they nail me with a real dinger. I was scrolling thru my e-mail at work and came across a note from the night charge nurse reminding the nurses to be sure to get their license renewal paperwork in on time, and oh, by the way, aids now have to have their certification renewed also.

HUH?

So, I ask around......what's this about AIDS having to have their certifications renewed? No one knows, not the guy aid who's been there even longer than me, not my day charge nurse......all news to them. Well, she goes digging and comes back with an amazing story. But allow me to plug in some quick background here. Back in '93 when I first got my certificate, that was understood to be the end of it. Once certified, always certified. Well, in the smoke filled back rooms of the state legislature this last year, it seems that in order to protect the public from renegade criminal abusive killer nursing aids, the State of Florida decided that we had to fork over $25 every two years to renew our licenses (OH, yes, they elevated us to the lofty position of being LICENSED now), and to have a certain amount of educational credits acquired every year. This was not something that was advertised very heavily in the new media, and I do watch the local news often enough. Since I have moved something like 5 or 6 times since I first got that certificate, of course I never received anything in the mail from the State informing me of these new requirements. However, you would think that a facility that requires it's employees to keep on top of their job training requirements in a timely manner would also just happen to mention to same employees that their certifications needed to be maintained. Well, All the new aids that have been hired recently knew of all this, but human resources never saw fit to make sure that our department was made aware of it. So of course, we first hear about it several days AFTER the deadline to have our renewals completed! If I was the only aid to have been caught up in this web of cluelessness, I'm sure my manager would have gladly sent my butt home and told me I could work again when I had my license, but apparently it caught enough departments and their aids by surprise that it would have impacted too much of the workforce, so they begrudgingly gave us another month to catch up. However, they are not inclined to reimburse us for the extra $20 the State is making us pay for being late, a total of $45!

To say the least, I imagine you can plainly see the steam issuing from my ears as I type this tirade. There is one thing that matters most to a person that has more value than money, and that is respect. The "oh-well, it's your responsibility, not ours" attitude that my bosses take in this matter is truly a demonstration of their total lack of respect for us as employees. We apparently are so easily replaceable, so much cannon fodder, in their "health care team" that any negative financial impact that their own failures in responsibility may cause us do not warrant any petty consideration on their part. Even if I had gotten no more than an apology, it would have gone a long way in the respect department. For those of you wondering why I would make so much noise over a mere $45, I would like to point out that $45 as a percentage of my earnings is actually pretty large when measured against that of a nurse, who makes up to 3 times the amount hourly that I do. Pain is relative, my friends, and to me, this is relatively painful. Well, now I have to prove every two years to the state that I haven't lost so many brain cells that I can't keep performing my job, which was never rocket science to begin with. My value as a person that helps people overcome severe illness stems more from my experience and self-taught expertise than it does any formal training I have or will expect to receive.

The above "money sucking monster" I have described above pales in comparison to the unfathomably large electric bill I just received, which is only adding to my stress level. Our income isn't exactly fixed, but it is pretty much an immovable object against which unstoppable forces always seem be colliding with. Those poor seniors and others on truly fixed incomes, I can empathize with. I sometimes am tempted to try out another profession altogether, but you always start at the bottom when you do, usually quite a bit less than the pittance I have managed to get to so far, so that wouldn't solve much. And besides, this is the first job I've had that didn't start heading south as soon as I got involved with it. It's a good thing that machinists in general everywhere are not aware that my involvement with THAT profession was probably responsible for all the layoffs, at least of the ones paying a good wage. Such a curse to bare, indeed.

Now you have reached the portion of this post where you decide exactly how you should respond to it, if you are inclined to. Please, do not pity me. I still have a roof over my head. And please, do not laugh and inform me how petty my problems are.....I know that already. However, if this resonates with any of your own experiences, feel free to share. LIstening to YOUR stories might distract me from this one, and boy do I ever need a distraction right now.

If ever I needed the reassuring weight of Bob's hand on my shoulder, this is the time. Wait.......ahhhhhhhh..........smile...........there it is...........thanks guy..........